It's the year 2306, and the official newspaper of Otokopolis reported that the annual "sub hunt" would begin in two weeks. Brian Bentz already knew the dates, for this was the first year he would be participating. It had been a long wait.
Bentz' father had been a military man in the wars of the last century: the wars that lasted from 2192-2197, and threatened to go on for longer, much longer, until Bentz devised the plan that arguably saved the city, and definitely prevented mass slaughter.
The wars with the neighboring city state of Morstadt had origins that were lost in time. No one knew why the wars had started, but one day, a sentry in Otokopolis reported hearing distant noises. The "sharp seers" were summoned, and their reports were filled with dread. They had seen file upon file of Morstadt soldiers, beginning a forced march toward Otokopolis. Morstadters were known to be incredibly fierce, and cruel in battle. There had been a report, from one city they had conquered, of how after the inhabitants of the city had poured boiling pitch from a tower onto the Morstadt troops, the surviving troops merely piled the corpses on top of each other, climbed to the top of the ramparts, and had overwhelmed the city. There were further reports of the laughter of the Morstadt troops, as captured soldiers were dipped, head first, into the pitch and then hung to dry.
Otokopolis had a military, but it was not a particularly strong one. It was known, primarily, for its renowned university. Large, it was competitive. Students from a range of 1000 miles or so would begin studying when they were seven or eight years old, in the hope that they would do well enough on the entrance exams to be selected. Learning came before everything else. Except for the small band of "militants" as they were called, to which Bentz belonged. These young men - and they were all young men - put physical strength, cunning, and strategy ahead of all things. Except possibly for sex. There were exceptions, but by and large, the members of the band, which called themselves the Thermopylae, after the famous battle between Sparta and Persia, took to the beds at night with another man. To clarify, not with each other: to a letter, the Thermopylae chose other men , men they could dominate, control, or in simple parlance "top". Brian's father had learned, during his time with the band, of the intricate system of underground tunnels that ran underneath the university. He had estimated that, in total, there were over 25 miles of intricate, Byzantine pathways that it would take a lifetime learning. Brian did his best, and he knew the tunnels better than any other member of his band, or of anyone else, for that matter. He didn't know why he had taught himself the pathways. He just thought that knowing it might be of value someday. And it was.
By the time of the Morstadt "incursion" as it was called in the contemporary history books, Bentz had risen to a middle level command in what passed as Otokopolis' army. It was Bentz who had developed what was taught - usually by PROFESSOR Bentz (his grandson) , as the "Bentz pincer." It had been hard work, but Brian's grandfather had convinced the leaders of the army, when things were at their bleakest, to retreat to the university, and then into the tunnels. He led the "retreat," and brought the army out to an exit by following a very intricate pathway. Once the army was out, but the Morstadt army was underground, it didn't take much of an explosive to block both entrance and exit. To be sure, there were other portals from the tunnels, and it is possible that a few of the Morstadt soldiers found them. Almost none of them did, however, and while they held out for three weeks, eventually, the Otokopolis troops heard sounds of begging for terms of peace. ONE entrance was opened, and the Morstadt soldiers were led out, one at a time, no matter how long it took, manacled, and led off to custody. (Otokopolis did not believe in killing, even invaders; however, the question of what to do with well over 5000 captured armed men was a knotty one.
That is when the philosophy of slavery began to take root. Bentz was one of the leaders of that philosophy along with many of the Thermopylae. He argued "If they are going to eat our food, and live in our territory, why should they not earn their keep? And with all of these strapping men, is it not time to rebuild our city so this never happens again?" The philosophy was persuasive. Every Otokopolin household was assigned 3 slaves. Of course, there was the issue of keeping these slaves in line. That is where the engineering departments of the university added their resources. All faculty, all graduate students, all undergraduate students, were set to task on the development of "pain collars." The collars were configured such that they "synched" with the networks of the houses to which they were assigned. Should the slaves meander more than 1/4 of a mile from their owners, the signal would go out of synch and the pain would begin. Once a signal was out of synch, it could not be reconfigured. Freedom could be "bought," but the cost was a slow, painful death.
The philosophy took hold in the city: members of the Thermopylae were recruited to run for council and other government offices, and they were resoundingly elected. And re-elected. And re-elected. Soon, memory of a time without slaves faded from the minds of the Otokopolans. The astute reader will have recognized what happened during this period. The vast number of (mostly) young, muscular, strong men into a relatively small city, and the control that they were under, led to the owners having their slaves in various ways. Fight though they might, the Morstadt prisoners knew the "rules of war" well, and yielded. A second culture: one of domination and submission also grew. And the "sub hunt" developed out of that.
The sub hunt developed after the Morstadt prisoners began to age, die, or to simply not be attractive anymore. The ability of the governing class to have their own subs, however, was like a drug: it had to be satisfied. The sub hunt came out of that. Every year, the governing body would choose 100 (and ONLY 100) applicants and award them what could best be called "hunting licenses" . The "hunting licenses" enabled them to prepare a list of ten men (or women, but women were rarely listed) as potential "captures." The governing committee would then review the financial records of the applicant to determine how many sub slaves they thought the applicant could handle. So, an applicant could list ten names, but if the committee determined he could only support three, his "limit" was three. He had to "take" them during the week of the "hunting season," and he had to take them himself: he could avail himself of help, but in the end, the capture had to be at the hand of the applicant. Any man who was chosen as a potential target was notified, but he was not told who the hunter, or hunters, were.
When his father found Brian with one of the slaves, it confirmed what he had suspected: Brian had always seemed to him to prefer men to women. It concerned him. Until he caught his son, fucking the slave. He smiled. "As long as he's not being the woman, I'm fine with that." At Brian's birthday, his father handed over the ownership certificate for the particular slave to Brian with the words "use him any way you want." And Brian did, until he went off to school.
Brian became an expert in military history, and had written a dissertation on his father's campaign. As part of his research, he had become familiar with the tunnel system and, as a hard working, horny student will do, he had fucked several of his "dates" in those tunnels.
The thought of owning his own sex slave, or slaves, appealed to Brian. He was now a tenured Professor at the very university where his grandfather had devised the pincer gambit. Ostensibly, he was in the history department, but he was essentially a Professor of Military Strategy. His classes were always full. He kept in shape, the same way his grandfather had, and lived a rigorous life. There were times when the students, taking their required physical education classes, would find that Professor Bentz had joined the class, and was lifting, or running, or participating in whatever the exercise was, just as they were. More than one gay student had swooned over his magnificent calves, or his developed biceps or, if they were lucky, the six pack that he didn't hide when he changed in the locker room afterward.
Brian's father had died two years earlier, and his famous grandfather, many years before. Over the course of his career, he had amassed quite a fortune. There was the pension from the army, and the consulting fees. There were the investments. Brian was his only child. His wealth increased exponentially. He knew there was a qualifying income for participating as a "hunter" as they were called. His new wealth put him far over that qualifying amount. He applied. He was accepted. Now, he had to submit his list of potential "captures."
Brian actually had only two men in mind. Both were professors at the University. Professor Kevin McTine taught in the chemistry department. He was a burly man, with dirty blond hair that he kept long enough to tie in a man bun, even though he didn't. He didn't go in for fancy appearances, and he usually lectured in a flannel shirt, his chest hair sticking out, and jeans that looked like they could use a washing. His other standard "uniform" was a rugby shirt, which fit him snugly, and a pair of khakis from the store the old "H&M" had evolved into. Every curve showed. Brian had served on a few committees with Kevin. That's where he had met him. As far as anyone knew, Kevin was asexual. He lived for his lab. No one ever saw him with anyone else, be they male or female. There were no rumors of student dalliances. More than one student, male or female, complained about the "cold shoulder" they had gotten when they had flirted with McTine. "I think he doesn't get it, the egghead," one woman had complained. If Brian had his way, he WOULD be getting it.
His second target was a junior professor in the English Department. Billy Whelan had joined the faculty just two years previously. Thin, wiry, with a receding hairline, there was no question about Whelan: he was gay. Openly so. He came across as a bit of a preppy: always in a button down shirt and oversized khakis, with penny loafers, unless you caught him playing tennis, which is where he seemed to spend most of his off time. When he wasn't getting fucked by maintenance men. Yes, it had only taken six months for the first of the scandals around Whelan to happen. He had been heading to a building to teach one of his classes, and there was a brick layer fixing one of the outer walls. He was squatting, and in the hot sun, his sky blue t shirt was soaked. Billy knew he was popping an erection, and he figured his tongue was probably sticking out. The bricklayer sensed him and turned around. He growled. "What's so interesting, FAGGOT?" Billy blushed. "Uh, oh, uh... nothing. Well, that's not true. I'm.. um, well, amazed at the mortar. How it sets so fast." The bricklayer laughed. "Mortar huh? Where's your classroom? I'll introduce you to something that dries nearly as fast. " The bricklayer fucked him and then made Billy blow him. Some fenagling got Billy out of trouble, but the President's waqrning was severe: "DON'T let them catch you again." Billy promised. They never caught him.
Two more different men couldn't be imagined. "The heart wants what the heart wants," and so does the penis. Brian listed both of them, and then, using his strategy background, he investigated and learned the names of the four closest friends of both men. He listed them. If they knew they were "targeted," they'd be less willing to help their friends escape.
The hunting committee sent out the notices, to Kevin and to Billy, letting them know they had been named for the hunt that year. When Kevin got his notice, he smiled. It was the third time he had been named. He shrugged it off. "Nothing's gonna happen." Billy, on the other hand, began to fantasize about who it might be, and what it would be like to belong to another man: would he do Billly's favorite thing, and eat his ass before he fucked him? Was he big, strong and hairy? He sighed "Maybe it's that guy in the chemistry department. What's his name... McTine.. OH GOD. To be his BITCH..."
And Brian Bentz began to plan his "hunt."