Hunters and Hunted Released After Service By Evan Andrews 2022
This is a fan fiction.
"Released After Service" is the seventh part of a larger cycle of stories, The Hunters and Hunted series, and comes after "Squires' Communion".
Despite similarities in names and relationships the story is set in neither the Supernatural-verse nor the True Blood-verse nor the Buffy-verse nor the Sabrina-verse nor of any supernatural-story-verse. Those faces were just the ones I had in mind as I wrote. The thralls are based on real people, or my fantasies of them. This story should not be considered a true representation of the sexuality of any of the actors or the characters they play.
The story depicts males in sexual situations with other males. If this offends you, if you are underage, or if reading such is illegal where you are please stop reading now. Thank you.
If you enjoy this story, or even if you hate it, please contribute to keeping Nifty going at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
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Any time a vampire left the Manor on business, he took a retinue of one or more Brothers as bodyguards and one of the squires as a matter of routine.
Dean had sussed out that the choice of which squire got taken along depending on the squires' skillset. Pike was Mr. Personality; Oz, Mr. Innocuous; Sammy, Mr. Egghead; and he, Dean, was Mr. Scary Muscle. Since Dean's skillset usually just doubled up on what the Brothers already brought to the table, he didn't get out as often as the others. Today, though, Dean was the first choice to accompany Hannibal on a special job, and that confused him.
"What are we doing, sir?" Dean asked as he followed Hannibal downstairs and headed for the loading dock. "And where are we going?"
"Today, squire," Hannibal said, "We're attending to a sad duty. Eric has determined that two of the bloodthralls have done sufficient service, and our task is to release them."
"Release?" Dean said. For some reason he wasn't sure he liked the sound of that.
Oz had hinted to him and Sammy that thralls did get released from time to time—either because the vampires tired of them or because they were getting dangerously close to Changing themselves.
"You see," Oz said, "Vampires made from bloodthrall stock never work out in the long run. They haven't had the training that long service as a squire brings, so they really don't know how to behave. All they know is fucking and feeding, and since most nests don't have the patience to mentor thrall-stock vampires properly, they end up posing a danger to the whole community."
"Besides," Pike added, "There're enough fucking vampires roaming around. So responsible nests..."
"Like this one is," Oz interjected.
"Yes. Responsible nests release thralls rather than risk that happening."
"What if a thrall gets killed after he's released?" Sam asked.
But neither of the senior squires would elaborate any further on what release entailed.
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The Brothers Scott and George were waiting for Hannibal by the loading dock door, and they held two of the older thralls, Ray and Clay, by the upper arm. The thralls wore nothing more than ratty basketball shorts (even the minimal clothing clearly making them uncomfortable), and they had a look of concern on their faces. (They had absolutely no inkling that their days in the Manor came to an end today.)
"Sir," Ray said, "Uh, what...?"
"Stow it, thrall," Hannibal said, more brusquely than was his wont. "The six of us are taking a little road trip, so sit back and enjoy the ride. Sleep if you can."
The road trip turned out to be longer than Dean expected. He had thought maybe they'd just dump them on a skid row on the south side of town, but that was not the case today.
"Cleveland?" he said as the city rose around them.
"You got it." Hannibal said, "It's outside the Manor's immediate stomping grounds, and we have an arrangement with a man-brothel here. Dal takes Eric's released slaves and uses them in his house."
Dean glanced back at the thralls in the back seat. They were asleep, thank the powers that be.
"Does this Dal know...?" he asked.
"He knows, and he couldn't care less. You'd think most people would be wary about dealing with vampires, but this guy's secure that his usefulness to the community will guarantee his safety."
"Community?"
"You think maybe Eric is the only vampire lord that ever needs to release thralls?"
"But a whorehouse?"
"Better than killing them and having to dispose of the bodies. Or than simply dropping them on the street, naked with no resources and no history. People aren't kind to men like that."
"And what happens to the men that go to this Dal?"
Hannibal's face took on a pained expression.
"Dean, sometimes you ask too many questions."
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"We're just parking in front?" Dean asked.
"No," George cut in, "I'm parking in front. Then you four will get out and do whatever it is you need to do here."
Dean lowered his eyes. George was the gentlest of the Brothers contracted by the Manor, but still, you never did anything around a Brother that could conceivably be taken as a challenge.
"That's enough," Hannibal said to the Brothers. "Gentlemen, we'll go in and do our business, and I'll call you when I want to be picked up again."
"And us?" Scott asked. This Brother was young and petulant. "What're we supposed to do until then?"
"It's a big city," Hannibal pointed out. "Hunt. You haven't forgotten how to do that, have you?"
Dean tensed, ready to spring into action if either the insulted Brother or his companion decided to take offense.
"Maybe I will," Scott huffed as Hannibal and his crew climbed out. "Serve this fucking burg right if I did. Come on, George. Let's get out of here."
And the van rolled away.
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Dal's establishment was, Dean decided, an architectural nightmare. Maybe Sammy could have told him what the different styles were, but to his eye the place fucking stank of `just too much too much'. The door opened as they stepped up, and a man and a half of muscular bouncer greeted them and welcomed them in.
"I'll let Dal know you're here, sir," he said.
"Thank you, Lurch. We'll wait in the Parlor."
"Lurch?" Dean asked after the man was out of earshot.
"Old joke."
"Ah."
"An old joke that you don't get to use."
"Yes, sir."
They wandered towards the Parlor where they found an older (bit still trim) Latin man lying stark naked on his back on a fainting couch. His legs had been pushed up over his chest, and he was being fucked, rather emphatically, by a big (and I do mean big) Black man. Both spared a moment to glance at the new arrivals and then went directly back to their boisterous bout of fornication.
"Well," Hannibal smiled as he sat down in a wingback chair, "I guess we've been put in our place."
Dean and the two thralls sat on the sofa alongside Hannibal's chair and watched the show across the room. The thralls started to rub their crotches.
"Hannibal?" Dean said, watching as the bottom's head whipped from one side to the other.
"No, that's not one of ours. I have no idea what his name is or how he got here," Hannibal said.
And that was the extent of social intercourse until Dal swept into the room.
Dal turned out to be six feet of Latin muscle. A gaudy robe, loosely belted, did nothing to cover his prodigious pectorals and rock-hard abs nor to hide his 9 inch monster. (It was his house, so Dean guessed he had the right to prance around with his hard dick sticking out.) Longish dark hair fell off his head, and a beard covered his face. Dean's guess was that even freshly shaven Dal had a healthy five o'clock shadow. Absently, the squire reached over and pushed the two thralls' jaws shut.
"Hannibal," Dal enthused, "Darling, It's been sooo long!" It was not the voice Dean had expected.
"A day's too long, Dal," Hannibal said. "I've brought the boys Eric spoke to you about."
"Hmm."
Dal walked straight over to Dean and grabbed him by the chin.
"I didn't know Eric had developed a taste for rough trade," he said as he turned Dean's head from one side to the other. "He always used to go for something prettier."
Dean stared in shock, and pulled back as Dal leaned down, for a kiss obviously.
"Uh, Dal," Hannibal said, just in time, "That's my squire, Dean. The other two are the boys in question."
The brothel master turned to the thralls and gave them the once over. Ray and Clay's appearance proclaimed their origins. Shaggy haircuts and cheesy mustaches screamed "Late 70s!" to anyone with eyes—and a half an ounce of history. Ray was the younger and taller, while Clay had had a couple of years more to his credit when Enthralled, but he didn't have as many inches. In height, that was; so far as Dean had noticed they both hung about the same when erect. Which they now were, judging from the tents in their shorts.
"Boys," Dal said, "I have a desperate need to see what God gifted you with, and I can't do that while you have those awful shorts on."
The thralls stood and shrugged the basketball shorts off while Dal said, "Really, Hannibal, why does Eric always put his thralls in these wretched rags? He clothes his squires well enough."
"The mind of a master vampire is a chancy thing to try to figure out," Hannibal said. "I just do as my lord commands."
"Well, next time, stop somewhere along the way and get them some decent clothes, will you. There's a dear."
"Why?" Hannibal said. "I mean, you're only going to make them indecently naked as quickly as possible."
"That has nothing to do with it," Dal retorted, going all telenovela diva. "People watch to see who comes to my house, and I have standards to maintain. Do I make myself clear, Hannibal?"
Hannibal laughed, "Yes, Dal." But Dean felt he had suddenly had a glimpse of the steel behind the madam's bougie front.
"Good, now let me see what we're working with."
Dal passed eye and hands over Clay. This thrall was not the most handsome, and Dean couldn't guess why any master had Enthralled him. Maybe it had been a famine year for decent thrall-flesh? Ray on the other hand absorbed Dal for much longer.
"Tell me, sweetie," the brothel master almost cooed as he stroked Rays lank muscles and made a tube with his fingers around the thrall's hard dick. "What year is it?"
"Uh, 78? Or maybe it's 79 now," Ray gasped as the single eye of his meat wept a tear of precum. "I kind of lost track of time."
"Close enough. Show me how you suck your friend's cock here."
Ray went to his knees and swallowed Clay's prick, beating his own meat at the same time. Then, at Dal's direction, they traded roles.
"Okay," Dal said after a few minutes, "I'll take them, Hannibal. I had a feeling I would, so I've got a room full of volunteers downstairs ready and eager to fuck these boys' thralldom clean away. Then I'll slip them into my stable."
Dean shot Hannibal an obvious `What the hell is this dizzy queen talking about?' look.
"Dean's confused," Hannibal said.
"He's not alone," Dal said, point at Ray and Clay. "Did you explain nothing to my new meat?"
"You mean before I had them here? Do I look that stupid?"
"Well, then, do so now. There's no time like the present, I'm told."
"Okay, Dean, boys," Hannibal said, "We don't spread it around, but there is a way to break a bloodthrall's conditioning. The same way vampire cum keeps a man in thrall, an overwhelming amount of mortal cum (as in dozens of loads in one session) can break the bond."
(Dean noticed that Hannibal hadn't said that making a squire a cumdump would release him.)
"Break?" Clay said. "As in not a thrall after that?"
"Exactly, Clay," Hannibal said.
"But... but, Master, I don't want to stop being a thrall. I exist to serve the masters. I only live so they can feed off my vitality!"
"Don't worry about that, ducky," Dal said enigmatically. "Dal has her own use for that vitality of yours."
"But I don't want to leave the masters' service," Ray sobbed.
Dean saw the boy was really torn up about this. Understandable since his world was about to be brought down into ruins. Hannibal came to his feet and came to kiss the two naked men.
"Boys, tell me. When was the choice ever yours to make?"
Two jaws hit the floor. It was true, neither thrall could remember when he was last a free man, or even how to be free anymore.
"Well," Dal said, "Now that that's settled, boys, I am your new master. You will listen to me and do as I tell you. Right now, I'm telling you to follow me downstairs to the playroom."
Dal turned in a flare of robe and led the way out of the parlor, and after a half second the thralls fell in behind him.
Hannibal said, "Well, Dean, shall we?"
The squire shrugged, and they followed in Dal's wake. Dean gave a backwards glance as they left the room. Through their interview with Dal, the pair on the fainting couch never stopped fucking.
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Dal had spoken the truth. There was a crowd of men, all mortals with free will, waiting downstairs. Maybe five dozen men sat in chairs or stood up against the wall of the basement playroom. Aside from the chairs, there was no further furniture except for a plastic oil-pit bed in middle of room.
"Boys," Dal ordered the Bloodthralls, "Give us a show. I want you to do the sexiest dance you can all around the room. Let everybody get a load of what God gifted you with.
Clay hesitated, but Hannibal was alongside Dal in a raging second.
"You heard him! When your new master gives you an order, you comply. Immediately. Now dance!"
Shocked at Hannibal's tone, the thralls started aping some uninspired stripper they'd seen at a tittie bar decades ago, but before they'd gone a dozen feet it was obvious they were warming to the task. The crowd didn't go wild, but they shouted out encouragement.
"Move those hips, boy!"
"Make that hard dick wag!"
When the thralls had made their circuit, delayed by the number of men who had to touch them or kiss their bodies, they stood before Dal again.
"Okay, my boys, onto the bed now and get on all fours."
The boys did, and Dean had to admit they both looked worth fucking now. Once at least. (Straight though he was, Dean still had fond memories of studding the muscle-thrall Dan at the boy's Enthrallment.)
"Okay," Dal sang out, "Which lucky bastard got the golden ticket."
"Here!" a school principal-looking guy said, waving the golden length of paper.
"Okay, Mr. Meanie, you have a free hand, with one or both, for the next 15 minutes."
Meanie shed his clothing and all but leapt onto the bed. Mighty spry for an older guy.
"You, punk," he said, pointing at Ray," Get on your back and spread that hole for a good fucking."
With no further fanfare, Meanie planted six inches of cock into the ex-thrall and pounded Ray's whorehole with abandon.
"Ohhhhh!" the thrall cried out. "Fuck!"
"Silver ticket?" Dal cried out after Mr. Meanie's monopoly expired.
The silver had gone to a snow-haired muscle daddy who immediately forced Clay down onto his stomach and pulled him so that his legs hung over the side of the bed. Then he slammed his silver fox realness up the thrall's hole.
"Ass!" Clay howled, "You're fucking my ass! Oh fuck! Yeah!"
Silver Fox just grunted and started to pound while Mr. Meanie kept doing the same in his chosen slut-boy.
"Cumming!" Mr. Meanie finally announced to all and sundry before flooding Ray's guts.
"Everybody else," Dal said, "Get in line for your turn at these hot fucks. For the first pass (`First pass?!' thought Dean) your ticket number determines your place in line. Sort yourselves out."
As the crowd came to their feet, Dal continued, "If a man is fucking the slave you want to drill, and if he agrees, you can double team the slut. But only with permission. Otherwise you wait your turn. Remember the goal today is to fill these boys with cum, so no pulling out and jacking off on their butts or chests or faces. Got it?"
"Yes, Dal," the guests cried, and cheers broke out.
"And once we've run through the queue once, it'll be free-for-all time. But the same rules'll apply. Share my fresh meat, or Dal will get very angry."
`Second pass?' Dean thought. With sixty men in line this could take hours, maybe even all night.
"And, Dean, when they start the second pass, that's when you can join in," Hannibal said.
"Really, master?" Dean was surprised.
"You've gone without long enough without a good fuck. (Communion didn't count since the celebrants got fucked instead of doing the fucking.) Don't think some of us don't keep track of shit like that."
Meanwhile, Dal, Hannibal, and Dean settled back to watch (Dean in awe) as the new sex slaves got filled with more cum than they had ever taken before. After half the line had had a turn, Dal rose and went to mingle with his guests.
"Hannibal," Dean said quietly, "How often...?"
"Only when it becomes necessary, Dean. You might not have noticed. We try not to seed the thralls in the Club, but the temptation is sometimes just too alluring (for some more than others). These two caught Cash and Dallas' eyes, and they've been jizzing inside them more often than on their bodies. James, who has a nose for this, could sense that these boys were entering the initial stages of the Change, so Eric was left with no choice but to pass them on. And before you say it, no, there is no cure' for the Change once it starts in earnest, not even what you're seeing here. Neither Ray nor Clay could step back into their old lives (especially given that these two 70s construction workers were declared dead decades ago) so the kindest thing to do is pass them on to a man who will give them more of what they've become used to, giving up their asses, and more of what they crave, dick."
"And when they're not fuckable anymore?" Dean said. Once their thralldom ended, the ex-hunter knew the boys would start aging again naturally, and how long would a male whore last when he started aging?
Hannibal looked sad.
"Once they're out of our hands, their final disposition is out of our hands as well," Hannibal said. "Dal is a good brothel master as such things go. Some of his slaves he keeps on for sentiment's sake, some he sells to good masters who enjoy older fucks. But some just end up dead."
"Wow."
"It's how it works, Dean," Hannibal said. "And it's kinder than the old days when we just held such thralls on the edge for as long as necessary for new vampires to drain at their Change. That could be years of anguish, with the Change struggling, yet failing, to completely overtake them. We're not that cruel, at least not here, not anymore. Ray and Clay, if it makes any difference, have had more than thirty years of a young active life that they wouldn't have had otherwise."
Dean watched as the line of guests waiting for their first shot winnowed away to nothing, then he stripped off his clothes and went to join the free-for-all gangbang.
"Remember," Hannibal called after his squire as he advanced on the orgy, "Fuck the slaves, not anyone else. And cum inside them."
For what it was worth, neither Ray nor Clay look like they were objecting to being the center of fucking attention for so many men. By the time Dean got up to the bed, the slaves were leaking sperm from both holes, and still they wanted more.
"Fuck me, Dean," Ray grunted as the last guest pulled out of the leaking man-cunt. "I need more cum. More! Fucking! Cum!"
The slave's eyes burned with his need. Dean thought he could see the spark of the Change smoldering there. He'd just have to take care of that. The squire flipped Ray over on his stomach and, straddling him, began to drill fuck the boy's sperm-slippery hole.
"Fuck! Fuck me!" Ray screamed—or at least the thrall-whore did until some considerate soul plugged his mouth with cock.
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Dal returned to flop down alongside Hannibal.
"How about you, darling?" the brothel master asked, eying the vampire's tented trousers. "Do you need a good blowjob or a piece of hot slut ass? I'll even let you have blood and cum—if you promise to be careful."
"Well, now that you mention it..." Hannibal smiled. "But let's not chance me going too far."
"As you wish. But you can enjoy everything up to that, can't you?"
Dal disappeared and came back with some big blond muscle-stud Polish boy that had already been broken to regular sex slavery. The kid knelt down and, without waiting for permission, undid Hannibal's pants and sucked his freed dick like a professional. The vampire, groaning, grabbed the mop of blond hair and used the kid's head as a pussy substitute. Shit, but the boy had a fine mouth for fucking.
"Fuck me up the ass, sir," the blond begged during an interlude of shaft licking.
"No such luck for either of us, boy," Hannibal sighed.
Instead he lay the boy on the floor and squatted over his head.
"Eat my hole and suck my balls, blondie," Hannibal said.
The boy's tongue worked magic while Hannibal rolled him up and, propping his hips against the chair, and subjected the sexpot to an expert hand-job as well as some inspired fingerfucking. The blond whined (this wasn't what he was used to), but he figured it had been all worthwhile when his slave cock at length exploded, painting his six-pack and pecs with cum. Hannibal sat back then and (as the boy ate his hole out) he stroked out his own load onto the blond's muscular belly.
Hannibal came to his feet and parked his ass on the chaise. Then he pulled the boy up so they could cuddle up and enjoy the afterglow. As the boy slid towards sleep, the vampire looked at his hand. Maybe if he just made a single scratch... but no. He'd given Dal his word. Instead Hannibal leaned over and licked the slave's body clean of their combined loads. It wasn't as good as the same thing with a thrall since, though there was a hint of worship in the boy's cum, there was no freely-given blood. But the exercise filled the time agreeably.
"Can we do that again, sir?" the blond murmured with feeling.
Dean was still in line, as was A fully naked Dal now, so the vampire said, "Come sit on my lap, beautiful boy, and we'll talk about whatever pops up."
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The next day Hannibal had to half-carry Dean out to the van.
"What's wrong with him?" Scott asked, petulant as always. The young Brother had a black eye that he hadn't had the day before, and George was looking smug.
"He's all fucked out," Hannibal said, "Dean did a lot of screwing last night."
"Poor him," George said, smiling. "Life must be just oh so tough."
"How about you two. You catch anything worth fucking last night?"
Scott growled and showed his teeth.
"Let's just leave that painful subject alone," George said, grinning. "We've got a long trip."