Lucas
The sun hung high over the villa, sweat still drying on my skin from the morning's tasks, when Raymond's voice cut through the humid air. 'Oscar and Ethan, enough for now, boys. Officer Lane needs you in the training room. Go.' Oscar and I exchanged a glance—relief mixed with dread. Service had been intense, my ass still sore from the crop and his cock, cum drying sticky between my cheeks, but interruption meant something else brewing. Reyes appeared at the door, baton in hand, gesturing us out onto the path. We walked naked as always, cocks swinging soft in the breeze, the island's heat pressing down as we headed toward the low concrete building that housed the training facilities.
The door buzzed open, cool air hitting us like a slap. Inside, the room smelled of sweat and leather, whips and restraints lined the walls, a padded bench in the centre under harsh lights. Waiting there stood a man in his forties, broad-shouldered with a scowl etched deep, arms crossed over a crisp shirt. Beside him huddled a kid—no, young man, maybe eighteen—slender build, dark hair falling over wide eyes, dressed in jeans and a hoodie like he was anywhere but here. He looked terrified, fists clenched at his sides, avoiding eye contact with us or his father.
'Officer Lane,' the man barked as we entered, ignoring us slaves. A guard nodded from the corner, but it was the father who took charge. 'These the ones? Good. I'm Victor. This is my son, Lucas. Kid's gay as they come, but he's never so much as touched another guy without freezing up. I've had enough—brought him here to learn from Raymond's experts.' He jabbed a thumb at us, eyes raking our naked bodies, the welts on my ass from earlier still pink. Lucas's face flushed crimson, his gaze darting to the floor, then away.
Oscar shifted beside me, his cock twitching slightly—familiar with these setups, even if I wasn't. I'd been the trainee more than teacher, but the island broke you into all roles. Victor turned to Lucas. 'Strip. You're learning today: how to suck cock on that one,' he pointed at Oscar, 'fuck the other, and then take it yourself’. Master Raymond's slaves know their shit. Do it, or you're no son of mine.'
Lucas shook his head, voice cracking but defiant. 'No. I'm not doing this. You can't make me.' He backed up a step, hoodie zipped tight like armor. Victor's face darkened, veins bulging in his neck. 'The hell we can't. Guards—strip him. Oversee every step. And Lucas? Raymond offered a deal: refuse, and you spend three months here as one of his slaves. Naked, working, taking whatever they give including a good dose of the whip. Your choice.'
The guards moved fast—two of them, burly with tasers at belts. Lucas struggled, kicking as they grabbed his arms, but he was no match. One yanked the hoodie over his head, revealing a smooth, pale chest, nipples hardening in the cool air. The other unbuckled his jeans, shoving them down with his boxers in one rough pull. His cock sprang free, soft and uncut, maybe five inches limp, balls tight against his body. He was hairless down there, shaved or natural, thighs trembling as they yanked off his shoes and socks forcing him naked. 'Dad, please—stop!' he yelped, trying to cover himself, but a guard slapped his hands away, pinning him to the bench on his back, wrists cuffed to the sides.
Victor nodded approval. 'Start with sucking. Oscar, right? Teach him proper.' Oscar stepped forward, no hesitation—years on the island honed that. His cock was already half-hard from the tension, thickening as he stroked it to full mast, seven inches veined and straight, head glistening. He positioned himself at Lucas's head, knees on the bench, cock hovering over the kid's face. 'Open up,' Oscar said soft, like coaxing, but Lucas clamped his lips shut, eyes squeezed closed.
A guard pried his jaw open with gloved fingers, and Oscar pushed in slow—the bulbous head breaching lips, stretching them wide. Lucas gagged immediate, throat convulsing, but Oscar held steady, inches sliding over his tongue. 'Breathe through your nose. Relax the throat—swallow around it.' Drool leaked from the corners of Lucas's mouth, his cheeks hollowing as he tried not to choke. I watched from the side, my own cock stirring despite the scene—Oscar's shaft disappearing deeper, balls brushing the kid's chin on the downstroke. Victor leaned in. 'Suck it like you mean it, boy. No teeth.' Lucas whimpered, tears tracking down his temples, but he started to bob, tongue pressing flat under the vein, slurping messy.
Oscar groaned low, hand in Lucas's hair guiding the rhythm—shallow at first, then deeper, fucking his face steady. 'Good—feel that head hit your throat? Swallow to take more.' Lucas's gag reflex kicked, spit bubbling out, but he adapted, sucking harder, cheeks flushed. His own cock twitched on his belly, betraying him, hardening to a slim six inches. After minutes, Oscar pulled out with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting them. 'Not bad for a start. Lick the balls now—gentle.' Lucas hesitated, but the guard's glare made him lean, tongue darting out to lap Oscar's sack, sucking one orb into his mouth, rolling it soft.
Victor grunted satisfaction. 'Next—fucking. Ethan, bend over the bench. Show him how to mount.' My turn. Heart pounding, I positioned myself at the end of the bench, ass up, cheeks spread by my own hands—hole still slick from morning cum, winking exposed. Lucas's eyes widened, fixed on me, his cock now rigid, pre-cum beading. The guards uncuffed him partially, one holding his shoulders to keep him from bolting. 'Lube him up first,' Oscar instructed, squirting gel from a bottle onto Lucas's shaft, stroking it slick—up and down, twisting at the head till Lucas bucked involuntary.
'Line up—push slow.' Lucas trembled, guided by a guard's hand on his hip, the blunt tip nudging my hole. He thrust hesitant, popping past the ring, and I clenched around him, drawing a gasp from both. Inch by inch he sank in, his slim length filling me easy compared to the men here. 'Move your hips—pull back, then forward. Find a rhythm.' He did, shallow pumps at first, hands gripping my waist tentative. I pushed back to meet him, ass swallowing his cock whole, balls tapping mine. 'Deeper—fuck like you own it.' Victor's voice egged him on, and Lucas sped up, grunting with effort, sweat dripping onto my back.
The friction-built heat, his shaft dragging my walls, prostate sparking with each thrust. Oscar knelt beside, reaching under to jerk my cock in time—fist tight, thumb swiping the slit. Lucas moaned, pace faltering as his climax neared. 'Don't cum yet—hold it.' But he couldn't, hips stuttering before he buried deep and unloaded, hot spurts flooding my ass, body shaking. He pulled out sloppy, seed trickling down my thighs, face burning with shame and release.
'Last lesson,' Victor said, voice hard. 'Taking it. Ethan, you're up—fuck him good.' They flipped Lucas onto his stomach, ass up, cheeks pale and untouched. He whimpered, 'No, please—I can't,' but the guards spread him wide, exposing his pink hole, tight and virgin. I lubed my cock—hard from the show, six and a half inches throbbing—and pressed the head against him. 'Breathe out—push back like you want it.' He tensed, but a guard slapped his ass sharp, making him yelp, and I pushed in—the resistance giving way with a pop, his ring clamping vice-like.
He cried out, fists white-knuckled on the bench, but I held still, letting him adjust, cock buried halfway. 'Relax—it's just pressure at first.' Inch by inch I fed him more, till my hips met his cheeks, balls resting on his. Oscar stroked Lucas's back soothing, whispering, 'You'll feel good soon—rock into it.' I started shallow thrusts, pulling out to the head then sliding deep, the heat of him milking me. His sobs turned to gasps, body loosening, cock trapped under him leaking onto the pad.
Victor watched close. 'Harder—make him take a real fuck.' I obeyed, pounding steady, skin slapping, my cock pistoning his ass. Lucas's moans shifted—pain mixing with something new, hips starting to push back. Oscar reached under, fisting Lucas's shaft, jerking fast to match my rhythm. The kid bucked, overwhelmed, and came sudden—cum splattering the bench as his hole spasmed around me. That clenched me over, and I thrust deep, pumping ropes of seed into him, filling his guts till it leaked out around my base.
I pulled out slow, his hole gaping pink, cum bubbling free. Lucas collapsed, panting, body limp. The guards uncuffed him fully, but he didn't move, just curled fetal. Victor nodded, clapping slow. 'Lesson over. Clean up, boy—lick Ethan hard.' Lucas shook his head weak, but crawled over, tongue lapping my softening cock clean of lube and cum, tasting himself on me. Satisfied, Victor dressed him roughly. 'Three months avoided—for now. We'll see if it sticks. When we get home you will enjoy sex with your boyfriend on camera so I can watch. Fail to please him and I may just hand you over to Master Raymond for a five-year slave stint. You can join Oscar and Ethan and become a real man.' They left, Lucas stumbling in his clothes, eyes distant.
Oscar and I stood there, spent, guards dismissing us back to service. My ass throbbed with Lucas's load, his with mine, the room echoing empty, I really did not feel like a real man. How can a naked slave be a real man? Just another day on the island—teaching what we knew too well, breaking another will under the Master's roof.
Two weeks blurred by in a haze of sweat-soaked labour and nightly exhaustion, my body aching from endless tasks under the relentless sun. Oscar and I had fallen into a rhythm in our old cell, sharing quiet words after lights out, his hand sometimes brushing mine in the dark for comfort. But that morning, after scrubbing the villa floors on our knees till our palms blistered, Officer Lane appeared at the door, keys jangling. 'Pack up, slaves. You're moving. Three-man cell now—got a new roommate.' Oscar shot me a puzzled look, but we grabbed our scant belongings—a blanket each—and followed down the dim corridor, the concrete cool against our soles.
The new cell was larger, three narrow bunks bolted to the wall, a single bulb flickering overhead, and a barred window overlooking the choppy sea. But as the door clanged open, chaos hit us like a wave. There stood Lucas—naked, his slender frame trembling, pale skin goose bumped in the stale air. His dark hair was tousled, eyes wild and red-rimmed, fists pounding the bars as he screamed, 'Where are my clothes? Give them back! This isn't happening!' Sobs choked his words, his cock soft and swinging as he spun toward us, face twisting in fury and fear. He backed into the corner, arms crossing over his chest, but it did nothing to hide the smooth lines of his body, the faint bruises from our last encounter still fading on his hips.
Oscar froze for a beat, then stepped in calm, hands raised like approaching a spooked animal. 'Easy, Lucas. Breathe. We're not the enemy here.' I hung back at first, heart twisting—remembering his defiance in the training room, the way he'd broken under our cocks, only to shatter again. But Lane's voice barked from the hall: 'Calm him down, Ethan. You and Oscar—make him understand. No hysterics on my watch.' The door slammed shut, locking us in, and I moved forward, keeping my voice low and steady. 'Lucas, sit. Please. Talk to us.'
He slid down the wall, knees to his chest, breaths coming in ragged gasps—hyperventilating, chest heaving like he might pass out. Oscar knelt beside him, one hand on his shoulder, firm but gentle. 'In through the nose, out through the mouth. That's it. You're safe with us.' I crouched opposite, our naked knees brushing the floor, and started explaining soft, piecing together what we'd overheard from the guards. 'After you left with your dad, you went home, right? Tried things with your boyfriend?' Lucas nodded jerky, tears spilling fresh, wiping his nose on his arm. 'I... I couldn't. Froze up again. He got mad, and then... these guys showed up at the door. Said Master Raymond was collecting on the deal. They dragged me here, stripped me in the boat, and locked me in.'
His voice cracked, body shaking harder—a full panic now, eyes darting like trapped prey. Oscar rubbed his back in slow circles, the motion soothing despite our own bare skin pressing close. 'Listen,' I said, locking eyes with him, 'the island doesn't care about your fears. You're enslaved for three months. Punishment and training—same as what we did before, but deeper. No clothes, ever. You work naked, serve naked, take whatever they give and don’t fight back. Fighting it? That just makes it worse. Whips, stocks, cocks forced down your throat till you learn.' Lucas whimpered, head dropping to his knees. 'Why me? I didn't ask for this.'
I reached out, tilting his chin up with a finger—gentle, like Oscar had taught me with newbies. 'Because Raymond keeps promises. Your dad signed you over to prove a point. But three months? You can survive it. Accept the nudity - you really have no choice. Eat when they feed you, obey the guards, and lean on us. We'll show you how to take it without breaking.' Oscar nodded, his thigh warm against Lucas's. 'Nights like this, we huddle close. Share body heat, stories. It gets you through.' Slowly, his sobs eased to sniffles, breaths evening out as exhaustion hit. He uncurled a fraction, glancing at our exposed cocks and asses without the same terror, just weary resignation.
We sat there till the buzzer sounded - dinner call, but instead, guards hauled the door open. 'Master wants you three. Now.' We were led away for a meeting with Master Raymond, Lucas stumbling between Oscar and me, his bare feet slapping the floor. The walk to the villa felt endless, sea breeze teasing our skin, my balls tightening in the chill. Raymond's study loomed at the end of the hall, door ajar, the scent of cigar smoke wafting out. We entered single file, dropping to our knees on the plush rug—heads bowed, cocks dangling soft between our thighs.
Raymond lounged in his leather chair, legs crossed, a glass of whiskey in hand. Victor stood nearby, arms folded, face stern as stone. Lucas whimpered beside me, trying to cover himself, but a guard's boot nudged his hands away. 'Eyes up, slaves,' Raymond drawled, voice like gravel. His gaze fixed on Lucas, who trembled visibly. 'Boy, you had your chance. Went home, played coy with that boyfriend of yours—refused to suck or fuck like a man should. So here you are: three months as my property. No clothes, no privacy, no mercy. You'll train under Ethan and Oscar—learn to worship cock, take it deep in your ass, beg for more. Work the fields, clean the floors, service the guards. Defy me? Whips across your back, cane on your soles, locked in stocks for any man to use.'
Lucas's breath hitched, tears welling again, but Raymond leaned forward, eyes boring in. 'At the end of three months, you demonstrate. Pick an island slave—fuck his hole raw, suck his cock till he floods your throat. Victor here watches. If you're proficient, eager, no hesitation? He takes you home. But if you freeze, choke, or whine? Five years. Full enslavement—marked, broken, mine forever.' Victor grunted approval, stepping closer to prod Lucas's shoulder with his boot. 'Don't embarrass me again, son. Learn, or face five years of enforced slavery.'
Raymond waved a hand dismissive. 'Dismissed. Back to work— you can start his lessons tonight.' The guards yanked us up, telling us to “move” as we filed out, Lucas's sobs starting anew but muffled now, like he was swallowing the fight. In the corridor, Oscar squeezed my hand quick—solidarity—and I felt the weight settle deeper. Another broken soul in our cell, his panic echoing my own arrival. But we'd mold him, night by night, cock by cock, till acceptance sank in like island salt on skin.
The guards marched us back through the villa corridors, our bare feet padding silently on the cool tiles. Lucas kept his hands clamped over his cock and balls, shoulders hunched, face burning red as he tried to shrink into himself. The exposure hit him hard—his slim body on full display, ass cheeks flexing with every shuffle. Oscar glanced over, voice low but sharp. 'Drop your hands, Lucas. Now. Those genitals are Master's property for the next three months. Touch them like that again, and he'll have no issue slicing them off—castration's his favourite threat for defiant boys.' Lucas's arms jerked down quick, fingers trembling at his sides, his soft dick bobbing free in the open air.
I leaned in close as we exited into the blinding sunlight, the tropical heat wrapping around our naked skin like a wet blanket. 'Don't be ashamed of the nudity,' I murmured, keeping pace with him. 'There are over two dozen slaves like us on this rock—all bare, all the time. A naked boy picking rocks or scrubbing decks? It's just another day. Guards see it, other slaves see it, Master sees it. Hiding only draws the whip.' He swallowed hard, eyes downcast, but his hands stayed put, the lesson sinking in amid the salt-scented breeze.
The trek to the coastline twisted down a steep path, gravel biting into our soles already, but nothing compared to what waited. The guards halted us at the edge of a brutal stretch—no soft sand here, just jagged black stones washed up from the sea, mixed with tangled seaweed, broken shells, and splintered driftwood that could slice skin open. Plastic bottles, ropes, and rusted cans littered the shore, debris from distant storms. Each slave got handed a heavy black rubbish bag and a long litter picker, the metal pole cold in our grips. 'Clean it up,' one guard barked, cracking his whip against a rock for emphasis. 'Four hours. No slacking.'
I turned to Lucas, who stared at the ground like it might swallow him whole. 'This'll hurt your feet bad—the stones cut deep, grind dirt in. But you tolerate it, work steady, or the guards step in. First offense? Cane across the palms, ten strokes to start. Keep refusing? Worse.' His jaw set, eyes flashing defiance. 'No way. I'm not stepping on that barefoot. It's torture.' The words hung in the air, and before I could hush him, a guard's whip lashed out—leather slicing across Lucas's back with a sharp crack. Red welts bloomed instantly on his pale skin, and he screamed, twisting away. 'Fuck you! Get off me!'
That curse lit the fuse. Another whip from the second guard caught his thigh, stinging fire into muscle, and he howled again, doubling over. 'Bitch! I'll sue your asses!' But the strikes kept coming—three more across his shoulders and ass, each one drawing blood-flecked lines that made him dance in place. Oscar and I stood frozen, bags in hand, knowing interference meant sharing the pain. Finally, sobbing curses through gritted teeth, Lucas snatched his litter picker and hobbled forward. His feet hit the stones first tentative, then forced—one step, wince, another, yelp—as sharp edges pierced his soles. He bent low, stabbing at trash, bag filling slow while blood smeared his heels.
The four hours dragged like chains. Sun beat down, sweat stinging the fresh cuts on my own feet, each shift sending jolts up my legs. Oscar worked methodical beside me, picking bottles from the muck, his arches raw and blackened. Lucas grunted through it, tears mixing with grime on his face, but he pushed on—no more words, just the stab and toss of debris. By the end, our soles were a mess: gashes oozing, dirt caked in, every step a throb that echoed the island's rule. Barefoot hard labour broke you in, reminded you of your place with every painful step.
Guards herded us back to the cells as dusk fell, the path now agony on our battered feet. We collapsed inside the three-man space, the door locking with a final clang. Water trough first—splashing our faces, rinsing the worst from our legs—then a quick wipe-down with cloths. Oscar lit the small heater for hot drinks, the steam rising as we sipped tea, bodies slumped on the bunks. Food came through the slot: bread, fried fish with vegetables, enough to quiet the growls in our stomachs.
But lessons waited. 'Time to start your training,' Oscar said, voice firm as he stood, his cock half-hard already from the routine. Lucas's eyes widened, backing against the wall, but I moved in gentle, kneeling before him. 'Sucking cock—it's core here. Guards, Master, other slaves. You learn now, or they force it later with whips waiting.' He shook his head, lips pressed tight. 'I can't... not again.' Oscar gripped his shoulders, turning him to face me as I stroked my dick to full length, veins pulsing under my fingers. 'Watch first. Then try.'
I guided Lucas down, his knees hitting the floor, breath hot on my shaft. He resisted, mouth clamped, but Oscar's hand on his neck pressed steady. 'Open up. Lips over the head—slow.' I nudged forward, the tip brushing his teeth, and he gagged at first, tears welling. But I coached soft: 'Tongue flat, suck gentle. Bob your head—take more each time.' Inch by inch, he yielded, my cock sliding past his lips, filling his mouth with salty skin. He choked once, saliva dripping, but found a rhythm—suck, pull, tongue swirling the underside. Oscar praised low, 'Good. Deeper now.' Lucas tried, throat working around me, until I groaned and pulled out, not finishing yet.
Your turn on Oscar,' I said, swapping places. Lucas hesitated, but the memory of whips lingered—he leaned in, wrapping lips around Oscar's thick shaft, cheeks hollowing as he bobbed. Oscar's hand tangled in his hair, guiding the pace—faster, then slow—while I watched, stroking myself. Lucas took it better second round, no fight left, just wet slurps and swallows as Oscar thrust shallow. By the end, he'd drained us both, cum spilling down his chin first, mine then Oscar's flooding his mouth, forcing him to gulp it down without spilling.
We cleaned up quick, taking a shower and checking for wounds that may need a medic the cell air thick with musk. Hot drinks warmed us again, food filling the hollows and we settled down for some chat and banter before we turned in for the night.
It was then that Lucas made his announcement, “I am going to escape this fucking island, naked or not. I am going to try and steal some kind of clothes from the guard house and hide them away and I am going to leave this hellhole. But if I have to go naked, I will. I cannot put up with three months of this. How can you guy do this? How can you serve here for years? Surely you want to get away?” The cell went silent in shock; I looked at Oscar and waited for a response.
After a short silence Oscar responded. “Are you fucking mad? You will die a very slow and painful death if you try to escape the island. Listen Lucas, I like you, you are a nice guy but any plan to escape is fucking insane. We are on an island! The island is monitored and guarded 24/7. You are bollock naked. There is no way off this island. Do you think if it was easy to escape the other slaves would not have done so? We are here for YEARS and you have just three MONTHS. All you have to do is serve for three fucking months, go home and have sex with your boyfriend and it’s all over. We have to suffer here for years. Raymond is a psychopath he will punish you really badly if he thinks you are planning to escape. He has whipped and beaten me to within an inch of my life and I am his fucking nephew. He has no loyalty, not even to family. You are nothing to him, just slave meat. Your screams of pain are entertainment to his ears. In his eyes, you on your knees kissing his bare feet is where you were born to be. Get it into your head, YOU ARE A SLAVE. There is fuck all you can do about it. Many have tried and all have failed. If you keep up this attitude, you are going to find yourself here for years, like us. Be fucking thankful that all you have to do is three months of service, fuck your mate and you are free. It’s three months of service or five long agonising years. I know this is shit, it’s not easy but it is what it is. You would have a better chance of surviving by being the slave you are instead of whining and crying. Ask one of the slaves about Lennard. He would not shut up, always fucking moaning and crying, they cut his fucking tongue out. Eventually they sold him to a slave owner in the middle east. Three months dude and it’s all over unless your mouth and behaviour changes that. Your choice dude.” Lucas looked at Oscar with a defiant expression, “But,” he was about to respond when Oscar chimed in “But nothing. You are a slave, here to work and serve so stop snivelling and man up, for your own sake. Don’t let them beat you, Lucas, be a good slave and accept your sexuality. If you do, all this will be over in just a few months. Try and chill out my friend, relax, you are not helping yourself right now.” Lucas shook his head and asked why none of the slaves have tried to escape. Oscar responded, “Some have tried and every one has failed. The last one was caught trying to hide in a boat that would be heading to the mainland. They found him. Every slave was granted a ringside seat to watch the poor stupid bastard burn alive tied to a stake while the guards enjoyed a BBQ. Another was taken way out to sea and dropped overboard with weights tied to his ankles, and it took a long time to get the image of a friend crucified with his balls nailed to the wood out of my mind. YES, we have fucking tried but it never brings freedom, only pain, torture and death. This island is secure. There is no escape. When you accept your fate, you find peace. It’s really strange but when you stop fighting and work, serve, obey and take your punishments without resistance, life gets easier. You learn how to not get punished, how to please the Master and his guests and how to make life easier for yourself.”
Lucas went quiet looking down at his bare feet, a sign of his status on the island and he quietly wept. I gave him a hug and allowed him to cry on my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” Lucas said, “Please forgive me.”
I suggested sleep and we climbed into our bunks—me in the middle one, Oscar above, Lucas below. His breaths evened out to snores, feet throbbing like ours, the day's cuts a badge of the life ahead. I stared at the ceiling, the island's hum outside, knowing tomorrow brought more—more pain, more submission, but we'd shape him through it.
