Solid Gone

Bravo!

American, British, and Ukrainian intelligence agencies had come together with a common purpose where it concerned the activities of one Nikolai Volkov, bon vivant, polyglot arms dealer, confidant of men who run governments and armies, probable billionaire, and a member of Fletcher House. It was this membership that had brought the U.S. Army into the gamekeeper’s office in the person of E35-Counterintelligence Officer Captain Roland “Rolly” Brickstaff. It was Captain Rolly who had recruited slave 1094 and arranged for his course of training in intelligence tradecraft.

This afternoon, slave 1094 stood at ease in the middle of the gamekeeper’s office, eyes down, listening intently to the conversation between Master and Captain Rolly. They mentioned the portrait 1134 had drawn some weeks before. This was somehow important to them, and 94 was chuffed that he’d been able to please both his master and the captain with his discovery that the boy could draw. He worked hard at pleasing his master and it was delicious and gratifying when he could see his master pleased with his efforts. The captain got out of his chair and came over to the boy, came right up in his face.

“You are going to be the link between 34 and me,” Captain Rolly informed him. “You will gain the boy’s trust and affection; you will explain nothing of this business but what I tell you. Slave 1134 is to know nothing at all of our purpose or line of inquiry. At all!” The captain thought for a moment and continued. “For 34 to know anything right now would put himself in direct jeopardy.” The captain was clear, “We will start out simple and continue in the same manner.”

The gamekeeper stood by as Rolly continued with the boy’s instructions, lending the impression that what Rolly said, came from him too. “1034 was sold recently at auction. You know that. The boy was purchased by an agent for the principal, so the owner hasn’t yet seen the boy in person. That will change in two days when he’ll be shipped for inspection and approval to the owner’s residence in Yachats, Oregon, for the weekend.”

Rolly went on, “When 34 returns, he’ll be very busy. He’ll have to make up lost time in training. You will squeeze in where you can and get sketch portraits of everyone the boy remembers seeing at the residence. That includes drivers, gardeners, cooks, deliverymen, house staff, and particularly guests, but anyone he can remember. I’ll leave drawing materials in the small conference room on B-Level. Meet with him there if you can or in his cell at night. You know enough tradecraft to avoid being observed while the boy’s drawing, but your movements will be noticed. Do not discourage the idea that you’ve taken a fancy to the boy. People will talk. Your activities need to make sense.” 94 almost flinched. Did the captain and Master think he was soft on the boy?

Captain Rolly wrapped up saying, “This is serious shit and dangerous, especially for 1134. Keep it simple. Keep the boy out of it. Tomorrow morning, bump into him in the stalls and tell him to take pictures in his mind of everyone’s face. You can’t wait to see ‘em and have a laugh together when he gets back.” Rolly looked to the gamekeeper to see if there was anything else. ”Alright then, be off with you.”

“Sir! Yes sir!”

__________

The handler had changed out 34’s cuffs and collar, had got him into a really fine-looking set, beautifully hand tooled and brand new. The boy turned one of the wrist cuffs, admiring its workmanship. Just below the locking mechanism and the keyhole was a small bas relief monogram design showing NV. The boy made nothing of this as he was interrupted in his thoughts by another handler who wrapped him in blankets and laid him in a Stokes basket, strapped him in, and then turned him over to a two-man crew who put the basket on wheels and took it away. He was snuggly secured face up and could see only the passing lights in the hallway ceiling, the ceiling lights in an elevator, more ceiling lights, then bright blue sky, and then the blades of a helicopter.

In all of his 18 years, the boy had only this moment ever been in a helicopter. This was new. But then he’d had to be kidnapped, tortured and enslaved in order to enjoy the benefit. Nevertheless, he determined to be present in the experience. Maybe he’d live to tell someone about it. The engine started up with a slow whine that died away as the blades got up to speed. Maybe an hour later they were on the ground again. After a little while, the basket was lifted out and set on wheels again. This time he was taken into what must have been an aircraft hanger -- very high roof with lights hanging from cables -- then into a series of hallways and elevators and hallways and then into a room.

The boy was extracted from his traveling pod like a banana from its peel. There were three in the room with him. Of interest was the one who looked like a butler from an old movie. Think The Addams Family. Lurch, in particular. Pale and unhealthy looking. The other two were functionaries. 34 took snapshots of their faces. Of Lurch, he painted a portrait. Somehow the word gangrene came to mind and fixed his phiz in memory. Nothing was said. The two workers took themselves and their equipment away, Lurch gave the boy an appraising look, then turned and left, locking the door behind him.

The room was pretty much the same as all the other rooms he’d been locked in lately, a stainless-steel sink-toilet combo, a canvas-covered cot. This was the luxury edition. It came with a paper cup and the soap smelled nice. 34 was already used to being parked until needed. He lay down on the bed but kept his ears open to any least sound he could hear. He wouldn’t be taken unawares. He’d be ready to snap to attention and make a good showing. This was after all his new owner, and it wouldn’t do to get off on the wrong foot.

He had almost nothing to go on, so he kept open the question of who the new owner might be. The man owned slaves and helicopters and a clifftop compound overlooking the Pacific. Benevolent seemed a stretch to hope for, but he didn’t like to think about possibilities and instead, concentrated on listening for the door to open. For a long time, there were no sounds at all. Maybe he’d dozed off, but at the sound of the key in the lock, he was off the cot like a shot, standing straight even before the door was fully open.

This was the same two as before; 34 took their picture again. Maybe he’d get to know them. A leash was clipped to his collar, wrists clipped behind. No one said anything at all as the three of them walked out of the cell and into a wide hallway. The freight elevator took them to another hallway that led to the residence. Once at a service door, 34 was handed over to Lurch, who took him across a great open area and over to a small square carpet in the breakfast room. “On your knees boy. Eyes down. Do not move. Do not make a sound.” Lurch turned the collar around and draped the leash down the boy’s back.

There was a general bustle in the room, people coming and going. After a while a man came in who could only have been the master; he sat at the table under the window. Someone brought papers and laid them on the table and handed a phone to him. He listened briefly, said a few words and put the phone down. Some words were spoken to other people in the room. The smell of coffee and hot toast and bacon was overwhelming and made the boy’s stomach growl and his head spin. Master had put his knife down and popped a piece of buttered toast into his mouth. He chewed slowly and regarded the boy on the floor before him.

“Gerasim,” Master raised his arm and called across the room. “Come sit with me.”

“Nikolai, good morning, is this your new slave?” he asked, giving the boy a good look. “For God’s sake, Nikki, it’s bigger than you are.”

Nikolai smiled knowingly and winked at his friend as he sat down at the table. “That’s the point.”

“Oh, it’s a fine looking example of horseflesh,” observed Gerasim. “It looks pretty raw. Is it all new then? That’ll be fun.” A waiter laid breakfast on the table while the two talked in Russian. Lurch again was at Master’s ear, then placed a calling card on the table.

Master called out and a functionary floated over to the table. “The boy hasn’t eaten today,” said Nickolai. “See to that, and then have it secured position number two in the playroom. I’ll be up after an hour or so.” The functionary disappeared for a short while and returned with a dog dish that he placed on the floor before the slave and said simply, “You may eat,” and then disappeared. The bowl appeared to be filled with actual food, scrambled eggs and potatoes and bits of meat.

The smell slammed the boy’s senses and panged his stomach. And once again the thought struck him, this was new. He hadn’t yet had to eat off the floor with his hands bound behind. The maneuver was a little bit tricky and had to be approached carefully or there was the likelihood of unbalancing and falling full-face into the food dish on the way to toppling over. The gymnastics required much of the boy’s attention and the food took all the rest, so that when he’d finished feeding, he was surprised to notice Master had left the room, had missed seeing all his exertions and how gracefully he’d managed not to fall over. Please the master, that was the slave’s first priority. Second priority, right up next to the first, please the master’s minions. The boy sat back on his heels, back straight, eyes down. He ignored the food scraps and smear that covered his face and struck a noble pose, as if to show that the quality of Master’s property was not diminished even when covered in food scraps and goo.

34 closed his eyes and opened his ears to all the sounds far and near. The noise of the surf was constant and calming, the kitchen clattered now and then, somewhere far away a vacuum cleaner whined and after a while, footsteps on carpet and tile approached him. A towel wiped the slobber and food from his face, a tug on the leash had him on his feet and out of the breakfast room in short order, down hallways, up stairs and into a large room that looked a lot like the exhibition room on D-Level. There was a single rack at one end of the room standing in a patch of light glaring down from high windows.

Together with another man -- snapshot taken -- the boy was precisely hooked up to a rack so that he formed a perfect X, elbows and knees locked straight and tight and no room at all to move anything but his head and hips. One of the men strapped in a face banger while the other took off the chastity cage. Unbidden, the boy’s cock quickly swelled and stood up. Now loose from his cage and his cramped shoulder and leg muscles comfortably stretched out, he waggled his hips and shook his dick in the sheer joy of feeling his boner stand up. This was a moment of heaven; he had a full belly and a full hardon, and he didn’t have to do exercises or running or lifting; he didn’t have to do anything at all but just be here to witness what happens. He was feeling pretty good, given his situation.

Two men came through the main doors at the other end of the room; one carried a leather case, the other a small duffle. They stopped at a table near the boy and unpacked what they needed. Perhaps they were doctors, or maybe the one with the pale skin was -- he looked the part, all the more so putting on his latex gloves and hanging a stethoscope sideways around his neck. He crouched down to the floor and started with the boy’s feet, examining each toe individually, probing the muscles of the feet, the legs and so on. His assistant snapped open a step ladder so the doctor’s examination could extend to the hands and fingers.

The doctor’s fingers went everywhere. He had the boy’s gag taken out and put his fingers in there as well. He drew blood and made the boy pee. It was just here that Nikolai appeared. “Alex, thank you for coming, I know how busy you are.” The doctor took off his gloves and shook hands with Nikolai.

“I’m never too busy for you, Nikki. I’ll send you a full report when I get everything back from the lab. Barring anything unexpected, all indications are that you have one very fine animal in vigorous good health. It looks sleep deprived. I suppose that’s part of the program?”

“Its first year of training is handled under contract, but yes, I suppose that’s part of the program. I only have it here for the weekend, but it won’t get much sleep while it’s here. I intend a couple of tests myself now that I can have its undivided attention.”

The doctor’s assistant in the meantime had also put on latex gloves and had positioned himself between the boy’s legs in a low-slung seat that put his face a foot or so from its taint, the which he’d shaved clean and sterilized in preparation for tattooing -- the boy’s number and Nikolai’s chop fit nicely side-by-side and would be visible only to the curious. Finishing up, the assistant smeared an antibiotic on his work and applied a bandage to cover it. “Take the bandage off this time tomorrow,” he told Igor. “Wash the area carefully and then apply a little of this daily until it heals completely.” He handed Igor a small tube of ointment. “It will heal quickly; the inked surface is very small.” He then turned to the boy and said, “Keep your hands off my work. No scratching, no picking. No touching.” The boy nodded his head vigorously and the assistant packed up his gear.

Nikolai and the doctor were finishing up as well. The doctor said, “I expect this is where the program is going to pack it on, especially here in the arms and shoulders and I like what it’ll do for his legs and glutes in particular. Everything I’m seeing looks really good. Is this Octagon?”

“Fletcher House,” Nikolai responded. “Their one-year program.”

“I’ve worked with Absalom over the years. I know of no one finer in the training and forming of slaves. The man has a knack, and I believe he loves everyone of the slaves he trains, loves them like children or horses. I don’t mean to contend with Ab over feeding, but once you get the boy into your own care, I can help you with the food.”

The conversation continued as the three men walked the length of the playroom and out the main door. 34 was still a little shaken by the tattooing. It burned, but he could live with that. Right now, his shoulders were burning, and he wanted down from the rack -- wanted to curl up on his cot and sleep for a week. But wanting was for masters. He’d try sleeping now for a while, until his owner or someone else came to take him down.

And half asleep, half dreaming of falling asleep in algebra class, half listening to a Russian professor who’d got hold of his cock and was making him delightfully hard. This made so little sense to the boy he woke up suddenly to see Nikolai holding on to his cock. 34 smiled at his owner and pumped his hips and pushed his cock into the man’s hand because it felt good to do that, it brought him close to cumming, and then the man let go of him. Master leaned in and put his nose behind the boy’s ear, breathing in and taking a little bite at its earlobe.

“Before the weekend is over, I will see what you are made of," Nikolai murmured darkly. "Your trainer is keen to protect you. He’s forbidden all sorts of devices, but I have my hands and miles of rope and the rest of today and all of tomorrow. We’ll see just exactly where you break and start to cry, what it takes to make you scream. I want to see your face in the moments before panic sets in, when you lose control, when the chains rattle and you piss yourself without knowing it. I will measure what it takes to bring you to a slobbering, begging puddle of fear and submission. And we will begin just as soon as I change into something a little more comfortable.”

The boy watched Nikolai leave through a side door. He felt sweat break out on his forehead and run down his nose, run into his eyes. The man had put the fear into him. Screaming and crying meant pain, and he knew that for him, this was a bad place to go. 34 had loved baseball as a youth and loved playing. In high school though, he’d got as far as he could, and saw he’d get no further. And he remembered the day he’d given up thinking of himself as a player. He couldn’t call himself that anymore. He just didn’t have the grit. He’d swung hard at a low inside strike and hammered the ball into his foot. The pain was instant and exquisite and blinding. He’d danced around the batter’s box and hopped up and down and walked around and finally got back in the box. And all he could think about was his foot and the throbbing pain. The next pitch came exactly the same as the one before and he didn’t swing at it because he wasn’t going to chance slamming the ball into his foot again. Strike three. He just didn’t have the grit.

The boy’s thoughts and growing anxiety were interrupted by Lev and Igor, as he’d come to call them, Master’s two handlers. They’d got him down from the rack and walked over to a short post, maybe a foot high, with a ring in the top of it. A cord was wrapped ‘round the slave’s balls and passed through the ring and then pulled on by Lev. There was nothing to be done but bend his knees into a slightly squat position. Lev wrapped his end of the cord around a cleat, clipped the boy’s wrists behind and put on a blindfold; 34 could hear the two of them walking away and a door opening and closing.

Oh, this wouldn’t do. What the fuck? 34 very carefully, very slowly tried to straighten his legs just slightly. The pain came to him by degrees. The more he rose up, the more pain from pulling on his balls. The more he stayed in a crouch, the more the pain in his legs grew to a shaking burn. He’d like to get to his knees and relieve his legs, but the cord at his collar kept him from that possibility. This went on for quite a while. The boy had fine strong thighs and he was used to working them, but not like this, not stationary. He saw the conundrum at once -- and there panic loomed. And so, he started to move. First, rising on the balls of his feet, just an inch or two, first the left, then the right. Each thrust pulled at his balls, but he could manage trading off using his calves and thighs left and right like working his bike up a long mountain road, left, right, left, right, breathe. The gag in his mouth left only his nose for air.

The blindfold kept the sweat out of his eyes, but after a while, the boy could feel it pour off the top of his head and stream down his face, his back, his shoulders. He’d ridden his bike in the Davis Double Century two years in a row, and he knew how that felt; it’s long and you have to pace yourself. And about the time 34 had found a slipstream to ride in, he began to notice that unlike the bicycle saddle that made his prostate numb, this had a very different effect. Each pull on his balls had an effect. And all these effects were cumulative. While his mind had been everywhere else, his dick had got pretty hard and now he was starting to pay more and more attention to what was rising from his own exertions. The steady, repetitious assault on his balls produced something new and unknown to the boy. He’d tried to distribute the pain from pulling on his balls to all the parts of his back and legs, to keep his panic in check and he’d found an unexpected route to climax, even when his cock was untouched.

34 was enough of a natural athlete that he quickly incorporated the movement of his calves and thighs in an alternating, rhythmic pulling of his balls that worked to bring him ever closer and closer. He was riding high now and knew he had only moments left to savor his punishment. He was running strong and leaving panic behind. The further he ran the better it felt, and he was getting close. He’d maxed out his breathing that now came in snorts and made him dizzy. His only mindfulness was centered on where he was going, and that was just ahead. The boy upped his pace even though his breathing couldn’t keep up. And then he was there and broken through. The world exploded in white light, and he felt like he was a piece of free-flying shrapnel sailing through the air.

And indeed, he was moving. Lev and Igor had got him loose from the binding on his balls and the rope to his collar and laid him down on the floor. The blindfold and the gag were removed, and the boy laid his cheek on the floor greedily breathing through his mouth and drooling. After a while his sight returned, his breathing calmed and regular, he noticed first the feet near his face and then beyond to his master, sitting in a director’s chair, watching him thoughtfully.

“Bravo young stud!" said Nikolai, clapping his hands. "Resourceful, strong, beautiful, and brave. And brave! By God, we’ll make use of that.” Nikolai leaned back in his chair and put his hand to his chin and looked up at the ceiling. “Oh yes,” he went on, “You rest up for a little bit. We’ll be testing that again in a couple of hours.” Igor had unlocked the boy’s wrists and rolled him onto his back, so now the drool ran over his lip and down his cheek and into his ear. That made him sit up. Damn, he thought, everything is new, even swallowing.

Nikolai regarded his slave for a long moment and then said, “The fault is mine. I have underestimated you. Nor have you been told the rules, so you will not be punished for it. But hear me now! In my house, you may not talk, you may not cum unless I tell you to. Do not test me on this.”

Lev and Igor brought the boy to his feet and let him stand for a minute to get his sea legs and then frog-marched him off to a small room at the other end of the residence. The cot was the only thing in the room the boy noticed. He lay down on his side, drew his knees up to his chest and slowly became aware that virtually every muscle in his body was shaking.