The espresso machine hisses like a pissed-off cat. Devin Bianchi, one of the favorite football players in Denver, watches the steam curl into the crisp morning air on his terrace before taking another bite of his eggs. The yolk's already gone cold.
"Master, more coffee, Master?" Devin doesn't look up, just nods once, and his slave, naked except for the thick metal collar locked around its neck and the gleaming chastity cage between its legs, pours with steady hands. Another slave, equally bare, steps forward before its owner even thinks to ask, tipping just the right amount of cream into his cup.
The cream swirls into the coffee like a tiny storm dissipating. Devin watches it absently, flexing his left foot against the chill. His joggers are thick, but November mornings in Colorado have teeth. Meanwhile, his slaves stand motionless, their bare skin prickling with gooseflesh, their breath ghosting in shallow puffs. They don't shiver. They've learned not to.
Devin drains the last of his coffee and sets the cup down with a click. The nearest slave immediately picks it up. No words. None needed. He pushes back from the table, the wrought-iron chair scraping against stone, and stretches. No practice today. Just interviews. The thought makes his mouth twitch. Always interesting to see what shows up.
The living room smells like leather and the faintest hint of lemon polish. Devin's slaves keep things immaculate, even when he is out of town. He sinks into his favorite couch, the one molded over years to his broad, muscular frame, and exhales. The fireplace crackles softly, casting flickering shadows across the two slaves already kneeling by the doorway, waiting. Their collars catch the firelight with dull flashes.
A knock. Three precise raps. "Enter," Devin says, and the door swings open. His head slave, taller and clearly stronger than the others, ushers in the candidates. Both are naked already, just as instructed, their skin flushed from the brisk walk through the house. One stands unnervingly still, eyes fixed on the floor between his spread feet. The other is shivering, just a little, but stops the moment Devin's gaze lands on him.
Devin leans back into the couch, tapping idly against the armrest as he studies the two naked figures standing rigid before him. The firelight catches the sheen of sweat across the older man's hairy chest. "You already know who I am," Devin says, voice smooth, uninterested in ceremony. "But I don't care who you are. Names are for people. If I accept you, you won't need one anymore. You will be my belongings."
The older candidate, the bear of a man, his biceps bulging beneath dark hair, swallows hard but doesn't lift his gaze from the floor. "Yes, Sir," he murmurs, the words rough but clear. The younger one beside him remains eerily still, his ribcage barely moving with each breath.
"Tell me why you're here," Devin orders, flicking his fingers dismissively. "Start with you." He nods toward the older man. "And don't waste my time with lies."
The man shifts his weight slightly, his thick thighs tensing. "I..." He clears his throat. "I worked construction for twenty-three years, Sir. Foreman by the end. Good pay. But six months ago…" His jaw clenches. "A coworker's wife said I touched her. Didn't happen, Sir. But word gets around. No one hires you after that. Not in that business." His voice drops lower, almost ashamed. "Couldn't even get a job stocking shelves, Sir."
Devin arches an eyebrow, smirking. "And you think slavery is your next career move?"
The man's chest rises sharply, then falls. "Ran out of options, Sir. Savings gone. Landlord kicked me out last week." The muscles in his neck tense. "Figured... figured I'd rather belong to someone than freeze in a tent by the river, Sir." His gaze remains locked on the floor, but his shoulders tighten, as though bracing for impact.
Devin hums, tapping his fingers again. "You're used to giving orders, not taking them." It's not a question.
The man nods once, sharply. "Yes, Sir."
"And now you want to submit. To obey."
Another stiff nod. "If you'll have me, Sir."
Devin lets the silence stretch, watching the way the man's thick hands quiver at his sides. The firelight plays across his heavy chest, catching the silver streaks in his dark chest hair. He's clearly strong, used to hard labor, but there's a tension in his shoulders that speaks of something else, something broken. Devin has seen it before.
He shifts his attention to the younger candidate, who hasn't moved a muscle. "Your turn," Devin says, voice cutting through the quiet like a knife. "Why are you here?"
The younger candidate, who can’t be much older than nineteen or twenty, seems to stop breathing when Devin addresses him. His body thrums with restrained tension, though he keeps his stance rigidly correct. Color blooms across his smooth chest under Devin's scrutiny, the blush creeping down to his navel. "I..." His voice is soft, almost musical, but cracks on the first syllable. He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing above the empty space where a collar would soon rest. "Sir," he corrects himself immediately, bowing his head deeper. "I've dreamed of this, Sir. Since I was twelve."
Devin doesn't react, just tilts his chin slightly, encouraging him to continue. The firelight catches on the boy's golden curls, turning them almost amber where they brush his forehead.
The boy's hands flex at his sides, like he's physically restraining himself from covering his modest thatch of blonde pubic hair. His cock, small and soft, jerks miserably. "My parents were… strict, Sir. Evangelical." He licks his lips, and Devin notes the way his tongue trembles. "They taught me submission was sacred, Sir. That serving a higher power was the only path to purity." His voice drops to a whisper. "But I knew, even then, that my higher power wasn't God."
A bead of sweat trickles down the boy's temple. He doesn't wipe it away. "I used to kneel at the foot of my bed every night and pray, not to Jesus, but to the idea of a man like you, Sir. Someone who'd let me serve. Not just chores, but... Everything. Lacing your shoes. Washing you. Warming your bed. Whatever you'd want from me, Sir. However you'd want me, Sir."
Devin's fingers stop tapping. The silence stretches, thick with the boy's ragged breathing and the crackle of the fire.
The boy's knees wobble, but he keeps his stance wide, his feet planted. "I'm... I'm not naive, Sir. I know what slavery means. I know I'd never leave this house unless you ordered it. That you'd decide when I eat, sleep, piss..." His voice cracks again, and this time, a single tear spills over. It tracks down his cheek, catching the firelight. "But please, Sir. I'd rather be your property than live another day pretending I belong to myself, Sir."
Devin exhales through his nose, slow and measured. The boy's cock, soft as it is, twitches again, a pitiful little jerk that makes Devin's mouth curl. "You're trembling," he observes, voice flat.
The boy nods frantically. "Yes, Sir. Not from cold, Sir. From... from wanting this too much, Sir. I've waited so long, Sir."
Devin leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. The movement makes the older candidate stiffen, but the boy angles toward him instinctively. "You'd let me do anything to you," Devin says, testing. "Anything at all."
The boy whimpers, high and desperate. "Yes, Sir. Anything. Everything, Sir." His hands curl at his sides, nails digging into his own palms. "I'd be honored just to kneel at your feet while you sit by the fire, Sir. Or... or lick your boots clean. Or..." He cuts himself off, shuddering.
Devin doesn't answer. Instead, he stands up. The two candidates fall silent instantly, heads bowing deeper, shoulders tensing. Devin circles them first, slow, deliberate, his heavy sweater brushing against the older candidate's arm as he passes. The man doesn't flinch. He just stands there, massive hands clenched at his sides, his wide chest rising and falling in shallow, controlled bursts.
Devin stops in front of him, close enough that the heat of his body radiates against the candidate's bare skin. He reaches out, hands pressing into the man's thick pectorals, testing the muscle beneath. Solid. Hard. A laborer's body. He pinches one nipple between thumb and forefinger, twisting just enough to make the man suck in a sharp breath. The nipple stiffens under his touch, darkening to a ruddy peak. He repeats the motion on the other side, watching the man's jaw tighten, but not a sound escapes him.
His hands slide lower, tracing the ridges of the man's abs before wrapping around his cock. It's thick -too thick, really- and heavy in Devin's palm, already half-hard from the attention. Devin weighs it thoughtfully, squeezing just enough to make the man's breath hitch. "This might be a problem," he murmurs, more to himself than the candidate. His other hand cups the man's balls, rolling them in his palm, assessing. "Chastity cages aren't made for lumberjacks." He squeezes once, firmly. "Partial castration might be necessary."
The candidate goes rigid. For a moment, something raw flashes across his face -shock, disbelief, maybe even fear- before he forces it back under control. His jaw tightens hard enough to stand out beneath the beard, but he still manages a single sharp nod. "Understood, Sir."
Devin moves behind him, running his hands over the broad expanse of his shoulders, the thick muscles of his back. His palms slide lower, gripping the man's buttocks, kneading the dense flesh before spreading him apart. His fingers trace the cleft, pressing inward until the tip of one breaches the tight ring of muscle. The candidate stiffens but doesn't resist as Devin works a finger inside, then a second, twisting slowly. "Breathe," Devin orders, and the man obeys, his body reluctantly yielding. Devin hums, pressing deeper, testing the give. "You'll need training." He withdraws his fingers with a slick sound and wipes them absently on the man's thigh. "But you'll take it well."
The younger candidate hasn't moved, but his breathing has gone shallow, his pink lips slightly parted. Devin steps in front of him now, cocking his head as he takes in the boy's slight frame, the narrow hips, the delicate collarbones, the smooth skin unmarked by labor. His cock is small enough already, soft and pink. Devin flicks it once with his thumb, watching it bob helplessly. "At least you won't need alterations," he muses.
His hands slide up the boy's sides, tracing the faint outline of ribs beneath his skin. The boy shudders under his touch, his breath stalling when Devin's thumbs brush over his nipples -small, pert buds that stiffen instantly. Devin pinches one, rolling it between his fingers, and the boy whimpers, his knees trembling. "Sensitive," Devin notes, amused. He repeats the motion on the other side, harder this time, and the boy's hips jerk forward instinctively.
Devin circles behind him, one hand resting possessively on the boy's hipbone as the other parts his cheeks. The boy gasps when Devin's fingertip traces his rim, his body tensing before he forces himself to relax. "Good," Devin murmurs, pressing inward. The boy's hole yields too easily and Devin's fingers sink deep without resistance. "Practiced," he observes, twisting his fingers to make the boy whine. "How many?"
"T-two, Sir," the boy stammers, his voice cracking. "Just... just my fingers, Sir." His hips rock back involuntarily, chasing Devin's touch. "Wanted to... to be ready, Sir."
With deliberate slowness, Devin withdraws his fingers and holds them inches from the young candidate’s face, watching his breath hitch at the proximity. “Clean them,” he says evenly.The boy leans forward at once, eager and trembling, and takes Devin’s fingers into his mouth. His lips close around them with almost reverent care, sucking gently as though terrified of missing even the smallest trace.
Devin doesn't move until his fingers are spotless. Then, he settles back into the couch, drumming lazily against the leather armrest. "One thing you need to understand," he says, voice smooth as the cream swirling in his abandoned coffee cup, "is that service in this house isn't just domestic. Every slave services me sexually. Regularly." His gaze flicks to the older candidate, whose thick fingers flex at his sides. "Even you." The man's jaw tightens, but he doesn't protest. Devin smirks. "Before I decide, I'll test your obedience. You first." He nods at the older candidate. "Kneel. Pull down my pants."
The man drops to his knees with a thud. His hands hover awkwardly at Devin's waistband before hesitantly peeling the jogging pants down over his hips. Devin's cock, already half-hard from the show, springs free, thick and flushed. The candidate swallows audibly, staring at it like it's a live wire.
"Hands first," Devin orders, spreading his thighs. The man's calloused palms wrap around him tentatively, his grip too loose, his strokes uneven. Devin clicks his tongue. "Tighter. Like you're gripping a hammer." The man obeys, his rough hands curling into fists just shy of painful. Better. Devin's cock fills out in his grip, veins standing proud under the slide of the man's work-roughened skin. "Now your mouth."
The candidate hesitates -just a fraction of a second- before leaning in. His lips part, tongue darting out to lick a clumsy stripe up Devin's shaft. Devin watches, amused, as the man's thick brows furrow in concentration, his tongue lapping at the head like he's licking salt off a wound. "Use your lips," Devin murmurs, gripping a handful of the man's dark hair. "Not just your tongue." The man parts his lips wider, taking the tip into his mouth with a wet, sucking sound. His cheeks hollow as he sucks, his throat bobbing when Devin presses deeper. His nose bumps against Devin's pelvis, his breath hitching through his nostrils. Devin lets him work, his fist tightening in the man's hair when the teeth graze him. The man freezes, eyes flicking up in alarm. "Careful," Devin warns, but his cock pulses in the man's mouth anyway, fully hard now.
"Enough." Devin pulls the man off with a wet pop. The candidate's lips glisten, his breath ragged. Devin turns to the younger candidate, who hasn't moved but whose cock is now a stiff, leaking pink line against his belly. "Your turn," Devin says, nodding at his lap. "Ride me."
The boy scrambles forward. His hands flutter at Devin's thighs before he steadies himself, his narrow hips lifting as he positions himself over Devin's imposing cock. When he sinks down, his hole takes it all in one smooth motion, his body yielding like wax. The boy gulps, his spine arching, his fingers digging into Devin's thighs. "Move," Devin orders, gripping the boy's hips.
The boy obeys, rocking forward with a shudder. His cock bobs between them, dripping onto Devin's sweater. Devin watches the boy's face -flushed, lips parted, eyes glassy- as he rides him, his movements growing less hesitant, more desperate. The older candidate kneels motionless beside them, his jaw clenched, his cock half-hard.
Devin's fingers tighten on the boy's hips, guiding him into a faster rhythm. The boy whimpers, his thighs trembling, but he doesn't slow. His hole clenches around Devin's cock pulsing with every thrust. Devin's fingers dig harder into the boy's skin, sure to leave bruises. The boy moans, his cock jerking, a thin string of precum connecting it to his belly.
The older candidate's gaze flickers upward. Devin catches him looking. "Touch yourself," Devin orders. The man stiffens. "Now," Devin snaps. The man hesitates only a second before wrapping his right hand around his thick cock. His strokes are rough, unskilled, his jaw tight with shame. Devin smirks. "Look at him," he orders, nodding at the boy. The older man's gaze drags upward reluctantly, settling on the boy's trembling form. "See how well he takes it?" Devin presses on the boy's hips, forcing him down harder. The boy cries out, his cock trembling. "That's how you'll take it too."
The older man's grip tightens on his cock, his strokes turning frantic. His breath comes in ragged bursts, his shoulders rigid. Devin watches him before turning his attention back to the boy. The boy's movements have grown erratic, his thighs quivering. His cock is flushed dark, dripping steadily onto Devin's sweater. "Close?" Devin murmurs. The boy nods frantically. "Hold it," Devin orders. The boy whines, his hips stuttering, but he obeys, his body shaking with the effort.
Devin's head tips back with a loud groan as he comes inside the boy. The boy whimpers, his entire body tightening like a coiled spring, but he doesn't move, doesn't dare. Not until Devin growls "Withdraw," and the boy scrambles backward instantly, Devin's cock slipping free with a wet sound that makes the older candidate flinch. The boy's hole remains slightly open, glistening in the firelight as Devin's cum begins to trickle down his inner thigh.
"Clean me," Devin orders, spreading his thighs wider. Both candidates lurch forward, their mouths hovering uncertainly before the younger one darts in first, pink tongue flicking out to lap tentatively at Devin's glistening cockhead. The older man hesitates a fraction longer before leaning in, his beard scraping Devin's inner thigh as his broad tongue swipes upward in one rough stroke. Devin exhales sharply through his nose, watching as the boy's delicate tongue swirls around his shaft while the older man's thicker one works the base, his movements clumsy but earnest. Their breaths come in ragged puffs against his skin, their hands dutifully clasped behind their backs like good slaves-in-waiting. The boy's eyelashes flutter when a stray drop of Devin's cum smears across his left cheek, but he doesn't wipe it away.
Devin watches the older candidate swallowing. The man's eyes stay downcast, his tongue dragging over Devin's balls with the same focused intensity he'd probably given to laying concrete. The contrast is amusing—the boy's featherlight licks versus the man's rough, workmanlike strokes. Devin's cock shivers, still half-hard, when the boy kisses the sensitive spot beneath the head. "Enough," he says abruptly, and both candidates freeze instantly, their mouths still hovering inches from his skin.
"Replace my pants," Devin orders the younger candidate. The boy springs forward at once, trembling hands gripping the waistband of Devin's joggers with reverence. He slides the fabric up Devin's muscular legs with exaggerated care, his breath shuddering when his knuckles brush against Devin's still-damp cock through the material. The older candidate remains frozen on his knees, chin pressed to his chest, hands clenched behind his back, waiting.
"Stand," Devin commands, adjusting himself lazily as both candidates snap to attention. Their bare feet shuffle against the polished hardwood, arms rigid at their sides, heads bowed at identical angles. Devin studies them for a long moment, fingers tapping against his thigh.
"I've decided." His voice cuts through the crackling silence of the fireplace. The older candidate's shoulders tense almost imperceptibly. "You," Devin nods toward him, "I'll take you. You'll be delivered for processing and training at the facility in Fort Collins right now." The man's chest heaves with a suppressed breath, tension rippling through his hands. When he drops to his knees, the impact reverberates through the floorboards.
"Thank you, Sir," the man rasps, forehead pressing against Devin's running shoe. "Thank you for..."
Devin claps once, sharp, and the gratitude dies in the man's throat. The head slave appears instantly, rolling a heavy steel cage into the room on industrial casters. It's barely large enough to sit upright, the bars thick enough to withstand desperate thrashing. The man doesn't need instructions. He scrambles inside, folding his naked bulk into the cramped space. His knees press against his chest, his head touching the cold metal above him. The slave snaps the padlock shut without ceremony. Devin watches the cage roll away, his new slave's silhouette shrinking as it's wheeled down the hallway toward the service elevator.
"As for you..." Devin says, shifting his gaze to the younger candidate. The boy sucks in a sharp, uneven breath, his pink lips parting in anticipation. Devin leans back into the couch, stretching his arms along the backrest. "I won't be taking you."
The boy's knees buckle instantly, collapsing onto the hardwood with a muffled thud. His slender fingers scrabble at Devin's ankle before wrapping around it with desperate strength. "Please, Sir!" His voice cracks like shattered glass, tears already streaking down his flushed cheeks. "I... I'll be better, Sir! I can..."
"Silence." Devin's foot flexes slightly beneath the boy's grip, but doesn't pull away. The boy's mouth snaps shut with an audible click of teeth, though his chest heaves with suppressed sobs. Devin studies him dispassionately -the trembling shoulders, the flushed chest, the cock still stiff and leaking against his belly despite the rejection. "You're already too eager," Devin muses. "No challenge in training you. Just desperation." His gaze runs over the boy's slight frame. "And too soft. I prefer slaves who remember having been men."
The boy's hands tighten convulsively around Devin's ankle, his knuckles bleaching white. "I can... I can work harder, Sir! Lift weights, grow thicker..." His words dissolve into wet, hiccupping gasps as he presses his forehead against Devin's shoe.
Devin snorts and leans forward, gripping a fistful of the boy's golden curls. He yanks upward sharply, forcing the boy's face up at an awkward angle. Tears spill freely from reddened eyes, trailing down to drip from a quivering chin. "Listen carefully," Devin murmurs, tightening his grip until the boy whimpers. "Your desperation disgusts me. Your begging annoys me." He watches with detached fascination as each word makes the boy's erection pulse pathetically. "You'd debase yourself completely for any man with a pulse. That's not what I want in my household."
The boy's lips move soundlessly for a moment before forming words. "B-but... Sir... I... I only ever wanted..." Devin presses his foot against his collarbone and shoves him backward. The boy sprawls onto the hardwood, arms splayed like a broken doll, his cock shamefully hard against his belly. Devin stands, adjusting his bulge under the joggers with one hand while looking down at the wreckage of the boy's hope.
"You'd be suitable," Devin muses, "not for a man, but for a woman wanting a pet." Air snags in the boy's lungs, his tear-streaked face snapping upward in horror. Devin continues in a smooth voice. "One of my teammates has a wife. Blonde. Rich." His gaze drags over the boy's trembling form. "You'd fit nicely in her display cage."
The boy scrambles forward on his knees, fingers clutching at Devin's ankle again. "Please, Sir, not a woman! I'd rather be... be nothing than..."
Devin presses his foot against the boy's sternum, silencing him with pressure alone. "You misunderstand," he says coldly. "This isn't a negotiation." His shoe digs into the soft hollow between the boy's collarbones. "You came here begging to belong to someone. That someone happens to be Emily Kensington now."
Words gather uselessly behind the boy's teeth, his lips forming desperate shapes that never escape. Devin watches dispassionately as the boy's cock, still stupidly hard, spasms like a dying fish.
With a sigh, he pulls out his phone. The screen lights up his sharp features as he taps out a message. "Emily collects broken things," he remarks without looking up. "She'll enjoy fixing you." The boy whimpers, hands curling into fists against the hardwood. Devin pockets his phone with finality. "Her driver will collect you in twenty minutes. Naked, of course. She prefers her deliveries unwrapped."
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