Author's Note: This story is strictly an erotic fantasy. It's not real, nor is it in any way an endorsement of the activities described. In the real world, kidnapping, forced sex, slavery, non-consensual physical and emotional abuse, and the buying and selling of human beings is morally reprehensible and I am staunchly opposed to it all. In the real world, it's important to play safe with condoms and PrEP, exclusively with consensual partners, and to respect your partners' limits and comfort. Please don't kidnap and molest straight eighteen year old boys, just enjoy this completely made-up fantasy instead. :) 


At the mention of new stock, I sensed a shiver of excitement and anticipation pass through the five slaves kneeling before me. Surely some of my boys had guessed at this; while I had left the compound for two or three days here and there over the course of the past three months, my most recent trip was the only time throughout their training that I had been gone for two whole weeks, and of course they knew that the five boys who had formerly occupied the stalls opposite their own had all been sold just prior to my departure. Soon the five boys in front of me would be the seniors, rather than the freshmen. This was significant, not least of all because they would soon be released from the shiny steel chastity cages that had encased their cocks since March.

“Tiny,” I said, turning my attention to the slave situated in front of stall number two, “fetch me a chair.” As the slave jumped up to retrieve a sturdy oak chair from the far corner of the stables, I reflected on the humor of his name. The boy stood just over 6’5, with a long, ropy musculature. His creamy skin had the faintest undertone of pale brown, suggesting a drop of African ancestry mixed in with his mostly European heritage like a dash of biters in an otherwise perfectly clear martini. He had silky brown hair with a slight kink to it, kept close-cropped against his skull, a sharp nose, and a wide mouth with some of the biggest dick-sucking lips I’d ever seen on a boy. 

Had the boy been 5’5 rather than 6’5, the name would still hold an ironic appeal due to the frankly ludicrous size of his endowment. Tiny had two low-hanging testicles the size of racket balls and a cock so prodigious that I had to special order an oversized cage just to contain it. To call it “thick” would be like calling Einstein “smart.” Just under eight inches flaccid and a remarkable foot long turgid, even now it strained at the seven-inch chastity cage I’d had forged. Hung like a horse is an understatement; Tiny could make a stallion blush. To that end, I’d already put him through quite a bit of pony training and would increase that over the coming months at the behest of a buyer who had placed a speculative deposit on the slave. 

Returning with the chair, I sat and instructed the boy to get on his knees in front of me. 

“I’d like to see what you boys have been up to these past few weeks. Tiny, you may service my cock and balls while your brothers give me a little show. Would you like that, boys?”“Master, yes, Master!” came the chorus of replies from my five kneeling slaves. To be honest, at this point, none of them meant it. They’d largely abandoned resistance, but were still simply trying to avoid punishment. That’s why Sunshine was late; a spanking from one of my assistants is a relatively minor punishment, and should be eagerly accepted by a diligent slave in service of its true master. Right now, any punishment was dreaded. Some of the boys still probably harbored vague fantasies of escape, even though they knew intellectually it was impossible. 

Still, I was pleased with their progress. My stock, half-trained though they were, were performing as expected and on schedule. Even if they were still disgusted by what they were made to do, they did it. By the time they were ready for market, they would love performing for me. 

“Bongo and Sunshine, due to your disappointing morning you won’t be playing. Go in the corner and give each other a proper scrub down and shave; I don’t want to see a single hair beneath your eyebrows or a spec of dirt on the soles of your feet. Once you’re done, clean each other out until the water runs so clean you could drink it. You’ll be spending the evening at the big house and you had better be ready.” 

“Master, thank you, Master,” they chirped in unison and scampered off. I couldn’t help noticing a barely concealed look of disappointment on their faces; until now I’d allowed the boys to maintain a small patch of pubic hair. Denuding them was further punishment and would further cement their status as sexual playthings without any autonomy.

“Cubby and Icarus, step forward.”

If you were to look up “corn-fed” in the dictionary, you’d find a picture of Cubby. Hailing from Nebraska, the former farm boy was six feet of solid muscle, with milky white skin, apple-red cheeks and a soft sweep of brown hair. He had a broad smile and had been remarkably eager to please from day one. My research told me that he had been a foster kid who’d bounced from group home to group home growing up. I’d heard that kids like that were always “performing,” desperate for someone to keep them. Cubby certainly fit that mold, and I had no doubt he’d end up making his master extremely happy. His cock wasn’t especially impressive, an average five and a half incher when hard, but what he lacked in that department he made up for with a beautiful, bouncy ass and a willingness to do absolutely anything requested of him. If I’m being perfectly honest, I will admit I felt a particular fondness for the lad. 

Icarus, on the other hand, was Cubby’s opposite in nearly every way, including his increasingly frustrating reluctance to perform. The boy was bred from pure Greek stock, with dark, shining eyes, a mop of black curls that flopped down over his ears and eyebrows, and unblemished olive skin. At 6’3, the boy was skinnier than Tiny, with a remarkably narrow waist, ass, and pecs that had seen only the barest development despite to the relentless exercise regimen I had assigned him. He did have beautifully toned legs, and despite his borderline scrawniness he possessed impressive stamina and was doing exceptionally well at pony training. He had an amusing habit of shifting his weight from one leg to another, like a horse cantering, when the long, silky horse-tail butt plug tickled the insides of his thighs. He seemed to take to the physical labor, perhaps because every minute spent hauling a cart was a minute spent not providing sexual service.

“Icarus, on your knees. Cubby, how long has it been since you’ve had a piss?”“Master, not since this morning, Master.”

“You must be about ready, then. You may relieve yourself in Icarus’ mouth. Icarus, you’d better not spill a drop.”The young stallion failed, or couldn’t be bothered, to hide his disgust. All he said, though, was, “Master, I won’t spill a drop, Master.”


It was, of course, a fool’s errand. 

Given the strict rules against any of my slaves touching his own or a brother’s cock without explicit instruction, taking a full load of piss without spilling any was essentially impossible. Further complicating the matter was Cubby’s swollen penis straining at its cage, the steel bars of which turned the pale yellow stream into a wide, unpredictable spray across Icarus’ face and chest. To the slave’s credit, he did manage to catch and swallow a fair amount.

“That was a rather disappointing display, Icarus. Clearly you need more practice. Until further notice, whenever you need a drink, you are to beg myself or one of my assistants for our piss. Do you understand, boy?”

“Master, yes, Master,” said the sticky, humiliated lad, his usually bouncy black curls soaked and stuck to his forehead.

“Cubby, you made a bit of a mess. Lick every stray drop off your brother’s body.”“Master, yes, Master! Thank you, Master!”

The sight of my beautiful teenage muscle stud running his thick pink tongue over every inch of his mate’s lean, dripping, olive torso was nearly enough to make me come on the spot. Instead, I reached down to Tiny’s collar and brought him to his feet, leading him around behind the chair and bending him over the back of it. Reaching down, I unceremoniously popped out the slave’s butt plug and dropped it on the seat in front of him.

“I trust that this hole is nice and clean for me, boy?”

“Master, yes, Master!” Tiny replied. I licked my right index finger and shoved my thick digit knuckle deep into the slave’s tight, shaved hole. I grinned at Tiny’s little gasp as I twisted my finger inside, tickling the boy’s cunt. I pulled it out and took a good sniff; it smelled of musk and sweat, earthy but clean. 

“Good boy,” I said, lowering my face to the slave’s tight little hole. I pulled apart his pale, dun cheeks and dove in, my three-day beard tickling the boy’s tender rosebud while my tongue explored him more intimately. As I worked my tongue in and out of his anus, Tiny began emitting a low, involuntary moan of pleasure, amplified when I brought my hand up between his legs and began to knead his pendulous testicles with my left hand. Almost immediately, a steady stream of precum began spilling from the slave’s locked cock.

“Tell me, Tiny, who do these balls belong to?” I asked between long licks up and down the boy’s twitching crack, punctuating my query with a good hard squeeze to his jewels.

“Master, they belong to you, Master!” he yelped. I gave him a solid smack on his right flank.

“Excellent answer, boy. And who does this tight little slave hole belong to, boy?” Another swat.

“Master, this tight slave hole belongs to you, Master!”

“Precisely correct. Is there anything you’d like me to do with it, boy?” Another swat. He let out a little yelp, half pain, half pleasure.

“Master, please fuck this slave cunt, Master!” he squealed, sounding a little surprised to hear himself utter the request, begging for me to fuck his pussy.

“With pleasure, boy!”


I’m the first to admit that I don’t have the world’s largest dick. At a reasonably thick nine inches, I’m no slouch, but compared to Tiny, my cock is practically a rounding error. Despite some men’s hangup on dick size, though, I find it doesn’t matter a whit to a slave whether your meat is three inches or thirteen the moment you bury it inside his tight, straight hole. Tiny squealed like a stuck pig as I grabbed his hips and rammed the full length of my member up his fuck chute, my balls slapping against his ass. 

Unlike some men in my business, I don’t train my boys to stoically hide their pain or pleasure, to lie motionless and quiet like a wet fish while they take a cock. If my clients were interested in a lifeless sex doll, they could buy one much more cheaply than any of my merchandise. When a man fucks his slave, he wants an active, though obviously not equal, participant in the act. All of my boys are allowed and encouraged to grunt, moan, yelp and squeal like the little piggies I’ve trained them to be. As I pounded away at Tiny’s hole, he punctuated each stab, each ping on his prostate, with a little grunt. From past experience I knew that by the time I unloaded inside him those grunts would turn to high-pitched whines. Tiny had an impressive range.

Laying into the slave, feeling his sphincter tighten around my cock with each thrust, slapping his ass as he bucked his hips against mine, I looked up to see Cubby, still dutifully lapping at a now piss-free Icarus, who looked uncomfortable and shiny with his brother’s spit.

“I think Icarus is clean enough, Cubby. Why don’t you two show how fond you are of each other and kiss while I finish fucking your brother?” I called out with a smile. The two boys immediately had their tongues in each other’s mouth, or at least Cubby had his tongue in Icarus’. It was extremely erotic watching this pair of beautiful, straight teens making out with each other for my entertainment, their dicks leaking prodigiously against their will, while I felt their slave brother squirming beneath me. 

I continued to fuck Tiny’s hole for another twenty or thirty minutes, enjoying the show in front of me, occasionally glancing to the far corner of the stables where Sunshine and Bongo, now completely hairless from the noses down, were squirting crystal clear, ice cold water out their asses and down the drain in the floor after what was probably each boy’s dozenth enema. 

I was ready to pop. Pulling Tiny up from his bent position and pressing his oversized, smooth slave flesh against my hairy musculature, I unloaded inside the boy’s ass. As I dumped my seed into his rectum I bit down on the slave’s well-muscled shoulder, my groan of satisfaction harmonizing with his squeal of pain and pleasure, both sounds diminishing into sighs of spent satisfaction. Still inside him, I called to Cubby and Icarus, who crawled over like eager puppies.

“Cubby, clean my cock. Icarus, suck your master’s seed out of Tiny’s asshole. I expect you not to make another mess,” I instructed as I pulled my shaft out of the slave’s still-twitching cunt.

“Master, thank you, Master!” the boys replied in unison. As Cubby dutifully slurped the sweat, cum, and anal juices off my cock as eagerly as a kid with a lollipop, I watched Icarus turn a deep crimson as he set to his task. Of all his brothers, he was certainly the most resentful of his station. While no longer displaying outright disobedience, he was plainly the least acclimated and accepting of his new life. I’d have to really buckle down if I wanted to turn a decent profit on him at the end of the summer. 

With my cock and my slave’s hole given thorough tongue baths, I replugged Tiny’s ass and sent the boys back to display position in front of their respective stalls. I checked my watch; it was nearly five o’clock. A bit early for dinner, but some of my boys had a long night ahead. I walked to the back of the stables, pulled a bucket of Viagra-spiked chow out of the small walk-in refrigerator and poured it into the feeding trough. A quick whistle brought the five straight teens crawling over on all fours to feed. 

I smiled as they eagerly lapped up the grey slop. For the moment, there was plenty of room for the five slaves to feed in relative comfort and dinner was an almost calm affair; soon they’d be joined by six new brothers, all eleven trying to eat at once, the boys pushing and jostling like eleven newborn pups jockeying for position at their mother’s teats. I never let my boys go hungry, but it is always amusing watching each one fight for his share. 

As the boys literally licked the trough clean, a buzz in my pocket pulled me out of my reverie. It was a message from Dr. Bohrman, letting me know he would be by the stables shortly for the boys’ check-ups. I instructed the boys to clean up and await the good doctor in their stalls. There was no need for me to observe the physicals; he’d be my guest at the big house tonight and would give me the full report over dinner. I reminded Bongo and Sunshine that they would joining us and instructed them to provide their veterinarian with transportation back to the house for dinner after he completed his inspections. 

Due to their small statures, neither of the boys would ever make a proper pony slave, but the two of them together could certainly carry a small carriage with one passenger over the half mile between the stables and the big house. Not to mention the lads looked absolutely adorable with bit gags in their mouths and, knowing Dr. Bohrman’s tastes, I imagined that each would be sporting a few bright red marks on their hinds where his driving whip had encouraged them to go faster. It would be a mere taste of what awaited the lads who had disappointed me this afternoon.


Jackson Blooms

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