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Chandan parked in front of the drab government building, heart in his throat.
It’s really happening!
He’d signed up for the new slave matchmaking site on a whim, and mostly to prove to himself that he was a modern, enlightened, progressive man with no silly prejudice against penal slaves. It was a site where prospective owners posted their profiles, describing their lifestyles and what they wanted in future slaves, and then when government penal trainers were getting ready to present their trainees for auction they could alert owners who they thought would be a good match.
There had been a fuss about it. Procurers who acquired slaves for corporate use frequented penal auctions, and some of them had claimed that the new influx of private buyers for these slaves, usually the least desirable slave demographic, was driving up the prices too high. There had even been an attempt at a lawsuit, but the trainer who started the whole thing lawyered up and it never went to court.
It was all still up in the air. Sales were not guaranteed. All Chandan really had was a time, a date, and a picture and profile of the slave he was considering.
But he was definitely considering it pretty strongly if he was here, in a completely different county, using a day of PTO.
He barely even remembered what he’d put in his profile all those months ago. That he lived alone, that he had a high libido and his slave would be expected to serve sexually several times a day, that his work was socially demanding and so he mostly liked to be quiet in the evenings, that he wanted a slave who could clean but was more flexible about cooking… something along those lines. Fuck, it was kind of a depressing little life when he thought about it in those terms. He’d always taken most of his satisfaction from work.
But maybe, like his mom always said, getting a slave would change that.
It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted one. His mom and her slave spouses were just… hard to live up to. It was a fucking fairy tale, the three of them growing up together as an inseparable trio of best friends and then Mama and Ba enslaving themselves to Mom once they were all adults. They were sickeningly in love, the most functional, healthy, adoring family anyone had ever seen. How were Chandan and his siblings supposed to live up to that?
Somehow, the photo the trainer had sent him had made him want to try.
According to the stats on the government site, the slave was about Chandan’s size, but he looked tiny in all the photos. Hugging himself tightly, tearstains visible on his cheeks, cowering more than groveling on the floor… even in the photos where he was displaying himself naked, arms and legs open to show off everything a potential buyer might be thinking of acquiring, he seemed to draw into himself. He looked totally lost and impossibly young, even though he was in his early twenties. Something about him made Chandan want to cheer him up. To save him.
This slave was arrested for hacking into a government site, the trainer had written, which impressed Chandan immediately. In custody, his natural slave tendencies were quickly ascertained and he was enslaved. I’ve found him to be very submissive and eager to please in training, and I think he would make for a diligent houseslave and devoted pleasure toy. He is very literal-minded and does best with clear directions and expectations. He will flourish with a predictable routine. He is struggling with accepting his slave diagnosis, but this has not made him disobedient or even impolite.
There has been some concern from my superiors about selling a slave with such capabilities in an open auction. They suggested removing his fingers or eyes, but I’ve convinced them to instead add a stipulation that he be sold only to a private owner with a spotless criminal record.
Maybe all of that was just another way of saying that Chandan was boring, but still, it had intrigued him. A clever slave, clever enough to understand what awaited him, in danger of mutilation… somehow, he just needed to see for himself.
I haven’t committed to anything, though! he reminded himself. If I decide not to take him, no harm done.
Chandan checked in at the front desk and followed the signs to the auditorium. The auction seemed to be sparsely attended, which made sense. There were only a few slaves available for purchase today. At least that should make it easier to win the auction, if he decided to take the boy after all.
The first slave presented was a middle-aged man who glared ferociously out at the audience, even as he obediently knelt and presented when ordered. Only one person bid for him, and he was sold practically for pocket change. His new owner, a young man who looked barely out of his teens, seemed pleased, at least.
The bidding picked up when a pretty girl mounted the stage, then faded again when the next slave was visibly pregnant. She was purchased by a bright-eyed older woman with another slave leashed at her feet.
And then…
“Lot number four,” the auctioneer said, and the familiar boy crept onto the stage.
He looked even paler under the bright lights of the stage, his light brown curls golden in their glare, his limbs dusted with freckles. He didn’t dare a look into the crowd, instead prostrating immediately, making himself a little white huddle on the stage.
“Only twenty-two years old!” the auctioneer called out. “Decades of service left in it! Hole practically untouched! Show the nice people, slave.”
Obediently, the slave turned around and reached back to part the soft, pale globes of his ass. Nothing could really be seen of his hole from this distance, but Chandan remembered the tight pink wrinkle he’d seen in the photos.
Chandan was startled to hear the soft ding of a bid being placed.
The irritation and denial that rose up inside him were unexpected. He was stabbing at his own button before he finished deciding to do it.
Chandan and the other person bid against each other half a dozen times, to the delight of the auctioneer, but Chandan’s rival gave up when they’d raised the price by two hundred dollars. In the end, it cost less than a month’s car payment for Chandan to claim his prize.
“Congratulations, Mr. Badu!” the auctioneer said. “Will you please speak with our receptionist for a moment before claiming your purchase?”
Chandan was confused until he remembered the stipulation. It was a little strange to get a background check before claiming a slave, as though he were applying for a loan or a sensitive job or something, but Chandan supposed the minor invasion of privacy was definitely better than having his boy maimed.
My boy. My slave. I have a slave!
It was an odd thought, but not really surprising. Judging by the pile of slave supplies waiting back at home, Chandan had made his choice well before the auction.
It took a little longer than expected to finish his background check, but in the end, he signed all the papers and the receptionist hurried back, then reappeared with his slave on a leash.
The boy kept his head bowed and his body hunched forward humbly, but Chandan could still see his terror in the way he trembled. When he prostrated himself at Chandan’s feet, he was clearly trying to make himself as small as possible.
“Congratulations on your purchase, Mr. Badu!” the receptionist chirped. “You have a nice day, now!”
“You, too!”
Chandan looked at the slave and swallowed. What was he supposed to say to him? What did you even say to a slave when it was your first time meeting?
“I brought shoes.” Not the most auspicious beginning. “So your feet won’t get hurt in the parking lot.”
The slave stayed prostrate and quiet. Chandan swallowed again, nerves spidering over his skin. What had he done?
“Slave,” the receptionist scolded, “you need to thank your new master for taking such good care of you! Not every penal gets spoiled like this!”
“Thank you, Master,” the slave said promptly. His voice was beautiful… unexpectedly deep, even though it was tight with terror. “Thank you for telling it, honored madam. It wasn’t sure what to do because Trainer said it mustn’t speak without permission.”
The receptionist rolled her eyes, but Chandan relaxed. Thank goodness it had just been a miscommunication and the slave didn’t hate him!
“I don’t have that rule,” he told the slave. “You may speak whenever you like! Respectfully, of course.”
“Thank you, Master.” Did the slave sound pleased? It was hard to tell. “What do you mean by ‘respectfully,’ Master?”
The receptionist tutted. “So many questions! If you’re not careful, the nice man might change his mind about wasting his hard-earned money on such a naughty slave!”
The slave winced and trembled, and Chandan knew he needed to get the two of them out of there.
“Stand up so we can get the shoes on you,” he said, “and then we’ll head home.”
His slave was even more beautiful up close. His eyes were a lovely blue-green, and they darted nervously around as Chandan laid the sandals at his feet. He was freckled all over, his cocklet hidden in its cheap plastic cage, and the vulnerability of his nudity made Chandan ache for him. He wanted to enfold him in his arms, in his life, in his ownership. He wanted to protect this slave like he’d never wanted anything else.
Chandan steadied the slave as he slipped on first one sandal, then the other. That first touch sent a hot thrill through his entire body- and judging by the flush that sprang up under the slave’s freckles, he wasn’t unaffected either. That seemed promising.
He put an arm around the slave’s shoulders as he led him through the parking lot, removing it only when he opened the car door for him. When the slave reached for the seat belt, Chandan stopped him with a nervous motion.
“Wait!” He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself and sound properly masterful. “You need to let me do it.”
“Why, Master?” As soon as the question was out, the slave flinched. “It means… was that not respectful? It’s sorry, Master!”
“No, it was fine.” Chandan stopped to think. “It would be more respectful if you said “May your slave ask why, Master?” Maybe that’s how you should ask questions in the future. But as long as you remember to address me properly, I don’t think you’ve been disrespectful at all. As far as the seat belt, it’s symbolic. It’s a way of ceding control to me and showing that you understand it’s up to me to take care of you now.”
“Yes, Master.” The slave hesitated, then continued. “Thank you for explaining that, Master. It’s very grateful.”
“You’re welcome.” Chandan buckled him in, blushing when the movement brought his hands close to the slave’s groin, then got in the driver’s seat.
“We’ve got a bit of a drive to get home,” he told the slave as they peeled out of the parking lot. “Why don’t we chat a little and get to know one another on the way?”
“Yes, Master.”
When Chandan glanced over, the slave was staring down at his folded hands, which trembled in his lap. His lips were a tight, terrified line. He clearly wasn’t going to speak first.
“My name is Chandan Badu,” Chandan said, feeling stupid. “I don’t have any other slaves. I’m an engineer. I like solving puzzles. I’m guessing you do, too?”
The slave just whimpered. Chandan supposed it probably wasn’t the best idea to reference his boy’s crimes right now.
“What kinds of food do you like?” he asked. “Any allergies?”
“It’s slightly lactose intolerant, Master. And… um… it doesn’t like very many foods, Master, but it understands that criminals don’t get their preferences catered to.”
Criminals? The poor thing was awfully torn up about being a penal, wasn’t he? As for the rest…
“What are your safe foods?” Chandan asked.
The slave rattled off a list without hesitation, which proved that this took up a lot of his focus in his previous life. It wasn’t a very long list, but there were a few fruits and vegetables, and Chandan could buy vitamins and supplements for his slave. He thought they would manage just fine without making the slave eat anything he didn’t want to, and said as much.
He’d expected the slave to be relieved at the news, but instead he looked more miserable than ever. Chandan had no idea what he was doing wrong.
“Let’s go over some expectations,” he said, and that at least seemed to be the right thing, because the slave perked up. “As I said, I live alone. I work from home on Fridays and go into the office the rest of the week. I’m going to ask you to take over the cleaning and household chores. Do you know how to clean well?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Good. When we get home, we’ll go over how long you think you’ll need for each task and work together to make you a daily and weekly schedule. As for cooking, you’ll be in charge of preparing at least your own meals. Does it bother you to handle foods that aren’t on your safe list?”
“Some of them, Master.” The slave shriveled in his seat. “Onions. Some others.”
“All right. Well, you’ll prepare my breakfasts and some of my dinners, but I can handle the meals that involve foods you really can’t stand. I like cooking and have some favorite takeout places, so that will be just fine.”
The slave was looking extra miserable again. But Chandan had said they would go over expectations, so he decided to power through the list.
“You’re allowed to freely eat, drink, relieve yourself, and use the furniture. I’ll also schedule in plenty of leisure time that you can use as you please. When I’m home…” Damn, why was this so awkward? He was a slave! Anyhow, the trainer had said she thought he would be a good pleasure slave! “I have a high libido, and I had intended that when I got a slave, I would use them sexually several times a day.”
The slave burst into tears.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!
“It’s all right if you can’t do that!” Chandan cried. Maybe it made him a slave-whipped cuck to care whether his slave actually wanted to be fucked, but he couldn’t help it. “I’ve got hands!”
“It’s so sorry!” the slave wept, burying his face in his hands. “You could have had a real slave to fuck and enjoy, and instead you were tricked into buying this thing! It’s so sorry, Master! You’re so kind! It wishes more than anything that it were a real slave!”
What?
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” he said. If this got any more confusing, he would need to pull over so he could give the conversation his full attention. “What do you mean, you’re not a real slave?”
“It’s not!” wailed the boy. “It always wanted to be a slave, but it just isn’t, Master! Slaves are sluts who will die without sexual use, but it’s barely had sex and it survived! And slaves can’t go to school or have jobs, but it did! So even though it wants to be a slave more than anything, and Master is describing the perfect life, it just doesn’t deserve to take that place from a real slave! It’ll do its best for you, but it will never be as good as a true slave would have been! It’s so sorry it helped to trick you, Master!”
Chandan pulled into a grocery store parking lot and turned off the engine.
“Feral slaves go to school and get jobs all the time,” he said, turning to fully face the boy huddled miserably in his passenger seat. “Some go for decades before turning themselves in or being discovered.”
“But those aren’t real slaves! They’re just posers looking to leech a free ride off of hardworking masters!”
“That’s nothing but bigotry,” Chandan said firmly. “Voluntaries and penals are slaves just like any others. My own slave parents are voluntaries, and they’re the most submissive, loving, slavish slaves I’ve ever met.”
The slave sniffled. “But… the sex, Master!”
“That’s hyperbole. It’s not a literal medical diagnosis. It just means that slaves feel like they’re dying inside when they don’t get used.”
“But-”
“Slave,” Chandan interrupted, feeling a little exasperated and increasingly fond, “just the fact that you want to be a slave is enough to make you one. Real people don’t dream about being slaves.”
The slave sniffled and peeked up from his hands. He didn’t look convinced.
“But being a slave is just objectively better, Master. No more choices and responsibilities and decisions, and you get lots of rules to follow, and you get fucked without having to decide when or how, and you get punished-”
“For me, those would be bad things.” His boy was awfully cute, fearful and teary and ever so slightly pouty as he made this foolish little speech. Something in Chandan was growing, the urge he’d felt since he first saw the photos- the urge to own this slave, to dominate and control him, to protect him, to fuck him, to put him in his place, to make him happy, to love him- blossoming into a need. “I like having choices and responsibilities. Including my responsibility to make sure my silly slave boy knows exactly what he is.”
He got out of the car and crossed over to the passenger side. It was a warm day, and the parking lot hummed with activity. Grocery carts were rattling, cars were rumbling along, birds were squabbling over dropped scraps, and children were whining and wailing as the late morning bent towards naptime.
Chandan had planned on giving his new slave his first punishment at home, in peace and privacy. But it would be irresponsible to let these delusions continue for even a minute longer.
He opened the slave’s door and unbuckled his seat belt, then guided him out of the car. Chandan took the slave’s hips in his hands, his body thrumming with excitement at the feeling of doing so, and turned him around so he was facing the open car door. Then he put a hand on the slave’s shoulder and gently pushed him down so he was bent over the seat.
“A real person would be horrified right now, honey,” he told the boy. “The idea of getting a spanking would make me furious. And to have it in public, with dozens of people coming and going, able to see the whole thing? I would be fighting, swearing, completely outraged. You’re just submitting quietly, because you’re a slave.”
The boy moaned, and Chandan laughed indulgently.
“Oh, even getting off on it. See, honey? A slave through and through.”
He’d never spanked a slave in his life, but when he brought his hand down on the boy’s pale buttocks, a satisfying thrill ran all through Chandan’s body. The loud smack, the stinging in his palm, the red spot that rose immediately on the slave’s white flesh, his little yelp of pain… it was all just so right.
Chandan relaxed. What had he been so afraid of? He could do this. Just like all three of his parents said, it was the most easy, natural relationship in the world. Slave and master. Property and owner. Submissive and dominant. The spanked, and the one who did the spanking.
He smacked the slave’s other cheek just as hard, and the boy squealed again, but held still.
“See?” Chandan soothed. “It just feels right, doesn’t it? This is what you’re made for. Because you’re a slave, sweetheart.”
He continued the spanking, raining the blows down faster, harder. Soon his slave burst into noisy tears. That was a good sign. Mom always said that slaves couldn’t really absorb anything important until they were sobbing.
“Daddy! Daddy! Was the slave bad?” shrilled a child’s thin voice.
“Yes, sweetie, but it’s okay. His master is making him good again, see?”
Chandan grinned, and his slave cried harder.
“See?” Chandan asked, not pausing in his discipline. “Even little kids know what you are. You’re the only one who had the slightest bit of doubt.”
“Master!” his boy whined. “Oh!”
“You’ve been making yourself miserable all this time when all you had to do was submit,” Chandan chided. “Silly boy. Why did you think you had the right to decide you weren’t a slave? I own you now. I decide what you are. Do you understand?”
“It understands,” wept the slave. “Master decides!”
“Very good!” Chandan rubbed a soothing hand over the boy’s flaming ass. “And I say you’re a slave. My slave.”
“Thank you, Master! Oh, thank you, it always wanted to be a slave! Thank you for making it a slave!”
Maybe arguing that the boy had always been a slave wasn’t really worth it. It was enough that he accepted his place now.
He was so beautiful, bent obediently over the seat of the car, his ass bright red and the cheap facility plug visible between his punished cheeks. Chandan had never wanted anything so badly.
Anyhow, as soon as Chandan had mentioned he was thinking about getting a slave, Mom had told him there was only one proper way to end a punishment.
He left the slave bent over, punished ass displayed to all the chuckling or indifferent passersby, and opened the back seat. Flipping down the seat backs made a small, but serviceable space. There weren’t any laws against fucking his boy out in the open, but it was considered rude to do it when children were present. The backseat could at least provide some semblance of privacy.
Chandan guided the slave to stand, his heart skipping a beat when he saw his boy’s tearstained, adoring face. The slave was looking at him now, gazing at him like he was the only thing that mattered, the only thing that existed.
“Master’s going to fuck you now,” Chandan told him, and the slave lit up.
“Really?” he gasped, swaying a little where he stood. “Even after Master had to go to all the trouble of spanking and enslaving it? It doesn’t deserve a reward!”
Chandan bent him back down and spanked him some more. His erection was almost painful by now, but he needed to be firm. Beginnings were important. It would be easier to relax excessively harsh rules later than to start out lax and impose stricter rules down the road. That had been another piece of advice from Mom, and it made good sense.
“You don’t decide what you deserve,” he told the slave as he went on smacking his ass. “I do.”
“It’s sorry, Master!” the boy sobbed. “Does it still get to be a slave, Master?”
“You are my slave forever, no matter what,” Chandan assured him.
The slave cried harder. “Thank you, Master! Thank you! It’s so happy to be a slave, to be your slave! It will try to work hard and be a good slave for you! It will do anything for you, anything, even eating onions! Thank you, Master!”
This time, when Chandan guided him into the backseat, the slave went meekly, lying on his back and spreading his legs as best he could in the cramped space.
Chandan clambered on top of him and clumsily shut the doors, enclosing them in their own little space. It wasn’t comfortable, but there was a certain intimacy to the forced closeness.
The slave gazed worshipfully up at him as Chandan eased the plug out of his hole. It was shockingly large and very well-lubricated, which would help. Chandan spat on his cock as well, coating it with saliva as best he could before positioning it at the slave’s gaped, shiny hole.
“Master,” the boy whimpered, blue-green eyes wide, freckled chest heaving with rapid breaths, “what are the rules? Is it supposed to move? To make noise?”
Chandan smiled down at his boy. He’d never felt so powerful. So right.
“You have to be quiet this time,” he said. “We don’t want to bother the nice people. But you can move all you like.”
Then he pressed forward.
The slave’s ass opened easily for him, readied by that monster plug. It was hot and slick, and Chandan groaned in ecstasy at the knowledge that this hole was his exclusive property, all his, to fuck whenever and however he chose, forever.
His slave’s reaction was nearly as gratifying as the tight heat. His eyes widened, then rolled back, and he clapped both hands over his mouth to stifle a sweet moan of pleasure, his body arcing up towards Chandan in a silent plea for more.
“That’s a good boy,” Chandan murmured. His head was all the way in now. “What a sweet little ass I’ve got.”
He was an experienced lover, and had used many slaves. He knew he could make this good for his new property.
But he didn’t expect the slave to lose his damn mind.
The boy scrabbled wildly, trying to get some purchase on the seats as he flung himself forward, eyes frantic as he tried to impale himself deeper. Chandan gripped the slave’s hips to keep him from cramming it all in at once.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” he laughed, and the slave whined desperately and wriggled his hips, still trying to get more. “Goodness. I thought you said you’d done fine without sexual use?”
“But now it’s a slave, Master!” The slave’s whining whisper was adorable, as were his further frantic motions. His ass squeezed and fluttered delightfully around the head of Chandan’s dick. “It feels so good, Master, so much better than ever before, because now it’s a slave that needs superior cock to live!”
Better than ever? Chandan couldn’t help preening a little at that. His ego thoroughly stroked, he rewarded the slave with a few more inches, and the boy moaned and clenched, his face a rictus of pleasure.
“Master,” the slave gasped, writhing gorgeously in Chandan’s grip, “Master, Master, Master, oh, Master-”
“Almond,” Chandan decided. “I’m going to name you Almond. They’re my favorite, and now so are you.”
A dopey grin spread over Almond’s face. Chandan realized it was the first time he’d seen his boy smile.
I’m going to make him smile all the time, he vowed, pressing a little deeper into his slave. I’m going to do whatever it takes to make him the most deliriously happy little whore in the world.
“Almond,” the slave said reverently. “Thank you, Master! Thank you for naming your slave! It’s so happy, Master! Please more cock, please, Master, please? For your slave? Your Almond?”
Chandan fucked him gently, easing a little further into his ass with every thrust, until his balls were pressed against Almond’s punished ass. The slave arched into him again, arms twining around Chandan and face pressed to his chest.
“Is it allowed to come, Master?” Almond whimpered, voice muffled by Chandan’s shirt.
Chandan had done some research about that. “No, honey. At home Master will allow you ruins sometimes, but it would be much too messy in the car. Some slaves can stay healthy even if they have real, full orgasms, but most can’t. I’ll think about trying it for our first anniversary, though!”
“Yes, Master.” Almond’s pained submission, offered so easily despite the obvious need he was feeling, melted Chandan’s heart. “Only it’s not sure it can keep from having a ruin, Master, this feels too good!”
“Don’t worry,” Chandan soothed. “Master won’t take long.”
After all, this was not terribly comfortable, crammed into the backseat. He had no intention of drawing it out.
It only took a few more minutes for Chandan to feel the tight tickle of approaching orgasm. He relaxed into it and came hard, a sharp jolt of heat and pleasure spurting into his slave’s clasping ass. Almond shrieked adorably, the sound stifled by Chandan’s shirt as the slave clung to him.
Panting, Chandan bent over Almond and kissed him. He kissed him long and deep, a kiss of exploration, a kiss of claiming.
A kiss for a brand new beginning.
When he pulled back, he found his slave gazing up at him with a look of pure, dazed adoration.
“Master,” Almond breathed, the word a prayer.
“That’s right.” Chandan kissed his forehead. “Now let’s get you plugged up and finish our drive home. We’ve still got your welcome home punishment and fucking to get to before lunch. This was just a little detour.”
Almond’s face lit up. “Detours are much more fun now that it’s a slave!”
“They sure are, honey,” Chandan chuckled, opening the car door and shuffling out into the sun.
He might not have expected anything to happen when he made that profile. But he thought he could learn to relish the unexpected.