Solid Gone

Cowpoke and the Package

The secretary breezed into Archie’s office and dropped a tear sheet on his desk. “Just went out to scouts and House two minutes ago.” Archie picked up the notice and read: “to:SCOUTS REGION 6, from:FLETCHER HOUSE HUNTMASTER, immediate effect: muscular 18yo wht alpha male, med build, brn hair, fine-featured face, five-ten/five-eleven, pleasant aspect plus pecs & glutes. REPLY with pics: [email protected].”

Archie handed the note back to the secretary. “Thanks, let me know what comes back on it. That should be the first of five notices to go out in the next few days. It’s for a private sale. You may want to start a file on that. These will be the last captures this year before the Harvest Festival.”

__________

Sunshine streamed into the bedroom and across the foot of the bed. It was afternoon by the look of it. Terry was propped up on pillows reading his messages and sending emails. When he got to the announcement from Fletcher House, he nudged the naked man sleeping next to him. “Wakey wakey Marty. Time to get up. We’ve got work today.”

The two got showered and dressed, fed and organized for the evening ahead. Terry had the cameras in a go-bag; he checked all the batteries and functionality as he set them up -- the camera in the baseball cap and the camera in the field glasses. This was in addition to the 35mm SLR, his smart phone, and Martin’s pocket protector camera. Martin set up the costume changes in a suitcase and got out a transmitting device and its receiver. He put on a spot of super glue to attach a little magnet to the transmitter so it could be set on a car body. “We’ve got a good shot at this,” Terry observed. “We don’t have to be first, we just have to settle before Fletcher’s morning review at 9:00 o’clock.”

It was a short drive from McCook Lake into Sioux City. Tonight was a baseball night, the RailCats were in town to play the home team Explorers and there would be a crowd. Terry parked in the ballpark lot midway between the two exits.

They got their tickets and waited chatting outside the gate, watching the stream of people going in. Terry was carefully got up as a suburban dad with an incipient beer belly and an alcoholic nose. Martin wore a plaid shirt and chinos and looked like a math teacher who wasn’t quite sure where he was. The horn-rimmed glasses completed an image that made him entirely unremarkable.

It looked like some of the crowd might be players themselves, high school, NAIA. There were a lot of young males in baseball caps. The two scouts wandered the main concourse, stood in line at the concession stand, watched batting practice, ambled over to the bullpen and watched pitchers warm up -- as people do at ballparks -- all the while busily scanning the crowd. In less than an hour they had two subjects in view. Outwardly, both were in spec; one was at the top end of medium build, the other right in the middle.

They’d already given them names. The one Martin favored they’d called “Package Boy” because wow, he had it, and wasn’t shy. Terry insisted on “Cowpoke” for the other one -- all of five-eleven and strong on pecs and glutes. He was sitting in the boxes inside third base, nursing a supersized Coca Cola, girlfriend beside. Sooner or later, Cowpoke would need to pee, and Terry would be ready.

And he was still ready in the sixth inning when Cowpoke finally had to go. Terry followed the boy right up to the next urinal, where one quick glance was enough to satisfy any least doubt about minimum requirements. The guy had his entire fist around his cock. Terry got himself back into his pants and out of the restroom without recourse to the sinks. He wanted to stick to the boy like glue and not be seen. “Oh, Marty my love, I think we may have struck gold.”

“Not all that glitters is gold,” replied Martin. “I’m watching The Package.” And an inning later, Martin followed him into the urinals where he took his dick out to pee. Package Boy surprised him, looked directly and obviously at Martin’s cock and then looked up at him and smiled. For half a second Martin froze. The cold thought struck him that he’d been identified by the target -- that was some kind of pro-level trade craft... What? No. This was just some horny kid for God’s sake.

Martin almost laughed out loud at his confusion but managed to look shocked. “O Lord!” he gasped piously, as he hurriedly tucked himself back into his pants and walked to the sinks. Before leaving the restroom, Martin reversed his pale plaid to a blue and white Hawaiian print, took off his glasses, and put on a bucket hat from out of his back pocket. The Package was sitting behind the plate in a row with similar types who all seemed to know each other. They more or less paid attention to the game and stayed till the end.

“It’s one or the other,” declared Martin. “Cowpoke’s got the pecs and the glutes, no?”

“I think he’s got a pronated foot,” said Terry. “Left side.”

“Uh huh. Any negatives on Package Boy?”

“All go from here,” said Terry. “I say we let The Cowpoke go.’”

Martin followed The Package into the parking lot while Terry got the car. The boy got into the driver-side back seat of an SUV. In the dark, Martin walked right up behind the car and placed a transmitting device inside the rear wheel well, then walked over one row and got into his own car as Terry pulled up to him. The target SUV turned south on Old Highway 75 and drove into Sergeant Bluff to drop off a passenger on 3rd Street, then south on to Golden Drive, right next to the high school. This is where The Package lived. Address noted. They waited for two minutes. Terry pulled away from the curb and went past the house slowly while Martin took down the license plate numbers parked in the drive, and then turned the headlights back on and drove home.

There were a lot of pictures to sort through, and what they needed now was the best presentation they could make with the pictures they had. The sequence from the restroom was examined minutely and cropped to show the probable size of the boy’s dick. The Package had been wearing shorts thank you, so there was much to make of his legs and naturally, his package. There were after all, those masters who let their slaves out of their cages from time to time, if only to admire or amuse them. Some masters might even make use of them. That had to be laid on the table, if discretely.

But both agreed the pitch would be made on the boy’s arms and shoulders, on his pecs and torso, less on the glutes. There was nothing lacking there, just, they weren’t disproportionately amazing, and the announcement had sort of made the point that this is what the House was looking for. The boy was the real deal, though. No one has his muscles that well developed without dedication and hard work over years. And with this one, the motivation for the work is entirely interior, for the self and what the self gets from it -- sex, belonging, admiration. He has a need. And masters know and recognize that need, and they want and prize it in a slave. That’s the package the scouts would try to sell.

There was one short clip from the pocket camera that showed the boy’s butt roll as he sashayed along the concourse, rolling his shoulders to match. That was pure sex. The final brochure contained at least one picture of every aspect of the boy’s body, the shoulders, the ears, nose, lips, Adam’s apple, ankles, and so on. There was a picture of his pleasant aspect as well as his ample pecs. They put the final touch on the presentation and sent it off to the hunt master just before 6:00 a.m. They’d put on their A-game and done their best. In a random cross-section of the west side of Region 6, this was among the best of corn-fed all-American male flesh to be found on short notice.

__________

At last year’s business meeting, a group of House members had come together with the intention of purchasing slaves privately for their own residences. As members of the House, they enjoyed access to the gamekeeper’s office, and through that, to the hunt master’s office. They had proposed a scheme in which the hunt master would present one slave to the group each month and the members would draw straws for who got to buy it, a sort of slave-of-the-month club.

Among the members it is well known that Fletcher House put ten-year slaves up for sale at the end of the fiscal year, and any of these members could easily have had any of these trained and experienced slaves at the member’s discounted price, but this group wanted 18-year-olds, wild-caught, raw and untrained. But they were told that sadly, because of the demands of the upcoming Harvest Festival, the hunt master’s resources would reach only so far. There could be only five such slaves available for private purchase until the end of the season, some eight months hence.

This was the cause of great consternation and open grumbling among the group. But some of them were lawyers, some were politicians, others businessmen who could count. Within two hours they managed to work out a suitable solution to the problem. There would be an auction of the five. The starting bid for each slave would be the cost of capture and a year of training and maintenance on D-Level, plus ordinary expenses, that is, specifically, the first set of harness and tackle were included. Owner access to slaves in the first year per attached appendix, et cetera, et cetera. At the end of the year, the slaves would be removed by their owner or incur per diem costs as guests of the serai. Continued training was available at cost, and all five slaves, under the existing rules, could be sent to any of the House punishment chambers, at no cost. The agreement was completed by proclamation and a date was set for the auction.

In the meantime, the hunt master needed to come up with five 18-year-olds worthy of the members’ taste and inclination, such that among the dozen bidders, there would be a little bit of something for everyone. The hunt master invited Archie and his boss Miles to review the scout submissions for the first hunt. Archie knew several of the scouts in Region 6 and was interested to see what they’d found. After breakfast, he took his boss down to the hunt master’s lair, explaining what they would be looking for.

On arriving, the two were shown into the multi-media room where a number of people were standing about in front of video displays that encircled the room. Miles drifted off to talk to someone, leaving Archie to focus on the submissions. He’d been kind of excited about this hunt, eager to see the best the hunt master’s scouts could find. Frankly, the first presentation was just disappointing. The subject wasn’t bad probably, but from the poor quality of the videos, it really wasn’t clear. Were those surgical scars at the left knee?

And the next one was disappointing as well. Archie knew the scout here and wasn’t really surprised by his work. He’d been somebody’s boyfriend once, but somehow didn’t go away when the boyfriend did. Yeah, he was remembering now. This was not a serious submission. The subject he presented didn’t even meet the requirements in the announcement. It wasn’t even 5’ 7”, the torso was too long in relation to the femur, and somewhat short on pleasant-of-aspect. Altogether, no.

The next three presentations, however, were engaging. In each case, there was some aspect of the subject’s character that could be seen in the face and postures, in the eyes and the set of the mouth; even the eyebrows expressed something. These scouts had shown some thought in how the House would see these candidates. The layouts told a story, and as Archie got through each story, he was able in some measure to see the targets for what they were. He liked number three, he liked the short video clip of the boy walking, shot from behind. He liked how the boy was comfortable in his skin, how he walked cat-like and gracefully, how his aspect was not only pleasant, but inviting. The scout called him The Package. He looked strong and resilient, but somehow dreamy and incomplete.

“See anything you like?” Miles asked, reappearing in the video room.

“Look at this one,” Archie said, steering Miles over to a video screen. In the clip, the Package dropped a mustard packet on the ground and, balancing hotdog and soda in one hand, bent down and scooped it up with the aplomb of a ballet dancer -- strong legs. More vids, one showed the boy throwing his head back, shaking out his curls and scratching his head with both hands. Another, a shot from below, the boy slowly turning his head as he follows a long fly ball into the bleachers. The light plays across his face as it moves out of the shadow, revealing a flash of excitement as the light gleams off his perfect teeth in a joyful smile of surprise. Miles’ heart skipped a beat and he too smiled.

A series of stills showed the boy seated, standing, walking, peeing. “Jeepers!” said Miles innocently, looking at the pics from the urinals. “That would tip the balance in a close call.”

“Yes,” mused Archie. “But how much? If the buyer is going to keep it in a cage, it won’t be a selling point.

“Ha!” barked Miles. “Leave that to me. I can sell cocks of any size.”

__________

For the rest of the week, Archie continued to see hunt notices sent out to regional scouts, each one a little different. The Region 4 notice required curly blond hair in addition to the standard set, Region 3 wanted a six-foot subject and Region 1 called for curly black hair and blue eyes. On Friday, the Region 1 notice was repeated to all regions in the Western District because there had been no response to the first call. As the days went by, Archie and Miles quickly fell into a routine. Archie started his day reviewing material from the scouts and Miles got input from as many of the buyers’ group as he could corral during the day.

One member that Miles brought to the video room dismissed his suggestion out of hand. “Won’t be bidding on that. I’m looking for six feet of curly blond hair, square pecs and fine strong legs. You come up with that, and I’ll pay for it.” This was the difficulty of course -- more demand than supply. But among many other things, Miles was a salesman and wanted to engage the member as was not often possible at this level. This was a titan of industry, a man who commanded the lives of tens of thousands of employees and billions of dollars -- and handled skillfully, as only Miles could -- the man had told him what made his dick hard. And that’s worth money. Miles made sure Archie knew this directly and pressed him to find curly blond hair in Region 3’s six-foot requirement.

It is said of the British Navy that captains propose, and Admirals intend. In this masters’ scheme, Archie was a captain and thus intended to propose what pleased the Admiral. “to:SCOUTS REGION 3, from:FLETCHER HOUSE HUNTMASTER, immediate effect: As per last, plus BLOND CURLY HAIR, premium attached, plus SQUARE PECS, premium attached.” This naturally threw the scouts in the region into confusion as well as the hunt master himself, who looked sideways at Archie’s lame explanation -- it’s what the boss wants.

The notice did however, have the effect intended. On walking into the office one morning, Frankie Pederson was handed a slip of paper by the receptionist that said simply “Boss.” He walked straight down the hall and right in to the office of the man who employed him at Liberty Bail Bonds, LLC. The boss looked up at Frankie as he came in the door and said, “There’s a change order on the Fletcher account, or maybe it’s a clarification. I need six-foot curly blond hair with square pecs and fine large legs,” he explained, laying his cigar in an ashtray. “What have you got so far?”

“Let’s take a look,” said Frankie as he opened up his laptop. He clicked around and scrolled down. “I have three so far. This one’s blond but wavy, not curly, so that leaves these two. This one’s all curves and sumptuousness and he’s five-ten. This one’s got light brown curly hair and square pecs, beautiful legs, and the width of my finger over six feet. Will this one do?”

“Bingo! We have a winner. Where’s this one to be found?” Frankie gave his boss the vids and pics and all the details, printed out maps that showed the boy’s usual locations and routes to and from home, car plate number, cell phone number, bank pin number. “You’re a good boy Frankie. Keep it up.” Frankie smiled back at the boss. He liked being called a good boy. And the boss hadn’t even mentioned the double premium.

Ham-handed is the word Archie used to describe the Region 3 submission he had before him. The field scout was tech savvy and well qualified to scout, he could tell that right off. Clearly the submission was put together by someone else, but there were some good pics from a long telephoto lens and a couple up close -- a shirtless dude who caught a fish from a public pier, big easy smile with curls in his face. Couple of vids of an awkward teen trying to look casual, nervous around girls. Pics of the boy lifting hay bales into a pickup -- excellent view of the leg muscles through tight jeans. One black and white sequence showed the boy standing up from a chair with a scale superimposed at the side, reaching 1835mm, just over six feet.

Diamond in the rough, Archie thought. But a bit of spit and polish and the boy should present well on the auction block. He was raw. There was something here for the bidders. Exuberance, openness, humor. He’d got those legs from heaving hay bales from an early age. This was not a narcissist, but someone who got strong by working on the family farm, by working for the benefit of others as well as himself. This is someone who gives. Archie was glad for this candidate. It fit right in with the program. Still, they were one short for the auction, and this made Archie nervous. Nothing satisfactory had come back on the curly black hair and blue eyes. Archie got the ink stamp out of a desk drawer and applied it to the form from Region 3, scratched his initials on the stamp showing acceptance of the submission from Liberty Bail Bonds, LLC, then walked the form over to Miles’ office and left it on his chair.

__________

The auction was a very quiet affair, on a Thursday, late in the afternoon, sun streaming into the East Reception Hall. The bidders, now eleven of them, milled about in twos and threes, drinks in hand, chatting. Under foot, beneath this spacious and sunny room was a low, crowded assembly room connected by a long dim tunnel to the cells outside the slaves’ entrance. Here, five naked teenagers, gagged and shackled, on their knees, waited with their handlers to be taken upstairs and sold.

Miles and three others came quietly into the reception hall from a side door. This was the auctioneer with assistant and Archie as Miles’ assistant. A plain wooden box was placed on a side table as Miles addressed the room. “Gentlemen, good afternoon. We are ready to begin. If you will, please be seated.” There was a general shuffle as people dragged heavy club chairs across the stone floor into little groups in the center of the hall.

The auctioneer moved closer to the bidders and began by explaining that, “The bidding will be in two rounds for each slave. The starting bid for each slave is posted above its head. Write your initials and a number representing US dollars on one of these slips, then drop it in the slot in this box.” The auctioneer made sure everyone was paying attention before going on. “Once all the first-round bids are in, the high bid will be posted on this chalk slate. You may bid above this number in the second round.” He turned, looking for Miles and signaled that he was ready for the sale items to be brought in. “You will have about an hour to examine the items before bidding begins.”

The same low side door Miles had come in now opened to admit a parade of slaves led by their handlers on leashes. Wrists cuffed behind, the boys were walked around the hall twice to show how they moved, and then each handler took his charge and secured it spreadeagle in its assigned display rack. Some of the bidders remained seated, taking in all five from a distance, others were right up to the items with catalog in hand, sniffing, fondling, caressing, pinching. Within minutes one of the slaves was grunting rhythmically before leaving cum on the floor. It wasn’t long before all five had been relieved of their precious bodily fluid, proving to all present that all the slaves were in operating condition.

The first to be sold was a breathtakingly beautiful thing with long fingers and fine large thighs, whose wide blue eyes were streaming with tears that dripped off its chin. The new owner came up to his new toy to have his victory picture taken, as though this was a big game animal he’d stalked and taken. “Oh, my sweet,” he whispered in its ear. “We will have so much fun getting you trained. You are going to be the best boy ever,” he declared, as he bent forward and took the boy’s nipple between his teeth and teased it with his tongue. The boy said “Unnngh, unnngh...” and shook its arms frantically.

“The next item in the catalog,” called the auctioneer, “is wild-caught and has begun standard House training after admittance at the Slave Portal. It has therefore a number, 1134. You may submit your bids.” They needed five slaves for the auction but found there hadn’t been enough time to collect five high-quality candidates from the wild. 1134 had recently been bought by the House at auction to fill a slot in the hospitality division, but a few words between Miles and the gamekeeper the evening before settled the matter and brought ‘34 to the block.

This was showtime for the boy, and he knew now how to do it. Head up and eyes down, legs soft at the knees and quiet, let the arms rest on the cuffs. Another auction. It didn’t matter much to the boy if he was sold again. The good part, he was out of the cage for a couple of hours. Having a new owner might mean having a different cell, different handlers. Would he get more sleep with a different owner? And who owned him anyway? Everybody was his master -- the handlers, the trainers, the big spooky guy at the Slave Portal, even the barbers and the porters. The boy wondered idly as he hung from a steel-pipe display rack, what he’d be doing in the days to come one by one that would be worth the money someone spent to own him.

One after another, as the boys were sold, each was led out of the hall through the side door, down the stairs and back through the tunnel to a small cell outside the slave entrance. Here, four of the five would be kept apart without food or water for a day or two, or until each in succession was ready to humiliate himself in an act that would forever change his life, to declare himself a slave and beg to enter service in a solemn ceremony at the Slave Portal.

__________

It was near noon and Terry was still in bed propped up on pillows, reading his messages. When he got to the text from the Fletcher House hunt master, he gave a start and then got a warm feeling in his chest and a smile came to his lips. His cut was .078% of the sale price. Nice, for one night’s work. He wouldn’t wake Marty with the news, but it was enough that he would mention it over coffee.