Revenge He came to lying on a hard bed. Blinking, he tried, blearily, to focus on his surroundings: a slight movement to one side caught his attention. He rubbed his eyes, then grinned. The bitch was behind bars…!
Like being doused with freezing water he remembered what had happened, and with the memory came the chilling realisation that it wasn't Pugino's fucking whore of a wife who was behind bars, it was himself. He was in a small, cage-like cell, with barely enough room for him to stand upright.
Arabella was watching him, face impassive, but a deep burning hatred in her big dark eyes. Hatred, and something else.
After a moment he realised that it was a savage satisfaction.
He lunged for the bars, her suddenly frightened expression as she flinched backwards momentarily satisfying. Then she gathered herself and moved back, staying just beyond the reach of his arms - and spat in his face.
He snarled, gathering all the invective he knew to tell her exactly what she was - but nothing came out. And his throat felt raw, as though he'd swallowed something barbed. His heart sank.
They'd taken away his voice.Two voices, speaking Italian and rapidly approaching, distracted him. One was Pugino - the other… He didn't recognise it.
But Arabella obviously did. She smiled and hugged the strong man with the neatly trimmed beard and moustache, kissing his cheek as he hugged her back.
"'bella my sweet, Eduardo has been telling me about the horror you have suffered at the bastard's hands."
The woman nodded, flashing Jackson a glare then turning back to the stranger.
"I want him to suffer, Carlos. He has violated my honour and the honour of the family."
Carlos brushed a kiss over her temple.
"Do not worry, sweet cousin, he will suffer. I shall make sure of it…"
Pugino was obviously less than comfortable with the other man's presence, and Carlos respected his fellow businessman enough not to cause him any more discomfort than necessary. He clicked his fingers: three beefy strangers hastened forwards, dragging the cage bodily from the slight dais on which it had rested and onto a wheeled device. Jackson's last sight of his erstwhile boss, as they pushed it out of the villa and towards a nondescript unmarked van, was of Pugino and Carlos shaking hands…They were going to change him into a pet.
No. Couldn't be allowed to happen.
He sat on the bed in the cage as the van travelled, frantically trying to think of a way out of this mess. Perhaps he could jump the guards when they came to take him out of the cage…
No, forget that. There was no way they'd allow him to escape.
Perhaps he could convince whoever this Carlos was to leave him fully human. He could offer to work for him - for free, anything to avoid being changed…
But he couldn't speak… He could still write, though. While he still had hands, at any rate…
Unasked, his memory dragged up images from his past, the young people - male and female - he'd… 'softened up' ready to be made into pets. It was one of the perks of the job, fucking the girls - pretty ones, all of them, he'd never yet found a rich bastard owner who didn't want his sex-toy to be young and lovely - and fucking over the boys… He fondly remembered the toys in his case, the dildos and buttplugs, cockrings, the lotions that itched intolerably or burned without actually damaging tissue - and of course, his favourite, that long vibrator with the attachment that fitted over the victims balls: that one slid all the way up inside, a special studded bulge at one side that tormented the prostate while pressing upwards against the fucker's gut. Flick of a switch and it enlarged, right the way up to six inches in diameter (though after one of the pets-to-be had died of internal haemorrhaging he'd been warned not to overdo it): flick of another and it delivered tiny electrical charges to the inside of the rectum and the balls. He particularly liked that one: slicked in the mildly-acidic powder and shoved up a faggot's arse, cockring so tightly around the bastard's dick it left bruises, he used to leave it in for hours, varying the speed and size, until the queer had screamed himself hoarse…
Why was he reliving the old days when the important thing was to escape? He shook his head. There had to be a way…
He'd pissed through the bars three times (there was an antique chamber-pot under his bed, but he saw no reason to make life any easier for the bastards), and given himself a headache from trying to work out a plan, by the time the van stopped and the rear doors were opened. A different three heavies wheeled his cage into the garage of another villa, and he watched, committing everything to memory, as a concealed door slid back, revealing a capacious lift. Moments later he was descending into the depths of the building.
Carlos was there to greet him - if you could call it that. The businessman eyed him unsmilingly.
"I must compliment you on your timing. I have a meeting tomorrow afternoon with some… 'colleagues'… who might be interested in acquiring a new pet."
Jackson shook his head, lips exaggeratedly forming the words,
I can be more use to you like this
Carlos chuckled grimly and raised an eyebrow.
"You rape and sodomise and force my cousin to suck you - 'bella, another man's wife - and expect me to trust you? You are sadly mistaken."
He clicked his fingers: two of his everpresent heavies pulled themselves to attention.
"Make sure he sleeps well tonight, and is bathed and shaved in the morning. Tomorrow I want him shackled and brought to the auction room." The guards nodded silently. Carlos turned to leave, then turned back. "Oh, and Maria will be providing the entertainment. Ensure the tank is in position and prepare the rack."
Without a backward glance he exited the featureless room. The guards regarded Jackson impassively: the ex-tracker tried to stare back, to prove he wasn't intimidated…
"You need the bathroom?"
Jackson blinked - had one of them spoken? He shook his head - then, feeling his stomach complain, mimed eating. The guard who had spoken nodded and glanced at his mate.
"I'll get him a meal. You keep an eye on him."
He was back shortly, with a large bowl of pasta carbonara, a hearty slab of foccacia and a tumbler of wine: his colleague brusquely gestured Jackson away from the door of the cage as he unlocked the lower half and slid in the tray.
It wasn't until he'd finished the meal and noticed that the room was swimming that Jackson realised he'd been drugged.He woke to feel hands on his body, and something cold over his face, and tried to struggle, only to find he'd been strapped down. He forced his eyes open and glared up at the coolly efficient women who were… he peered down his body. One of them was applying a soft towel to his legs and groin, and it occurred to him he was wet. Fuck it, they must have bathed him while he was unconscious. But the soft touches on his cock and balls were tormenting, and even remembering why he was being tended to couldn't stop his swelling erection. The pretty bitch with the towel eyed the rising shaft for a moment, then smirked and began to stroke him, teasingly, until he was weeping pre-come and wriggling with frustration. At which point she deftly fastened a cockring around the base of his penis and tightened the strap that separated his balls. If he'd had a voice he would have screamed - it was fucking tight; he was throbbing painfully within moments.
A moment later the women stepped away from his body, making way for the two guards who unbuckled him from the bed and manhandled him upright, cuffing his hands behind his back and hobbling his ankles, forcing him to mince along embarrassingly between them as they escorted him, struggling, from the room…
… and into a luxuriously appointed chamber, with a large round desk to one side and what looked incongruously like an Olympic winners podium at the other. His gaze passed quickly over the oversized fishtank in one corner, then fixed on the five men nursing brandy balloons gathered in the centre of the room. Carlos smiled coldly.
"Ah, here he is. A creature of already animal appetites - for women, at any rate." He nodded to the guards, who lifted the ex-tracker to stand on what would have been the 'gold' position had it been a real Olympics. "His name is unimportant. He used to be a tracker until he lost his hands..." the host nodded at the stir of interest the comment generated. "Yes, they are prosthetics, which will save time and money: we may simply remove them and graft on whatever kind of hand you desire. He still has minimal psi abilities - he can sense another talent, though only faintly - and is in fine physical condition. We know from his records he is homophobic. I would therefore prefer him to go to a homosexual - or at the very least bisexual - male owner. My aim, gentlemen, is to sell him to someone who will make him suffer. That is why you are all here."
Jackson had been growing colder and colder while Carlos spoke, and now tried futilely to protest, snarling silently as the two guards held him still. Carlos's four 'guests' walked forwards to inspect him…
Jackson closed his eyes and swore he'd find a way to kill them all as for the next five minutes they inspected him, hands feeling the muscle down his legs, his arms, his chest, handling his throbbing, confined cock - teasing the still-enlarged urethra - and aching balls, turning him around and forcing apart buttocks he tried futilely to keep clenched. Fingers prodded ungently at his anus: he heard one voice ask if he was a virgin.
"Alas, no." Carlos's voice was regretful. "We know from his medical records that he was assaulted badly enough to require urgent hospitalisation at the same time as he received the prosthetics. He refuses to say what happened, but we can safely assume that the experience has added to his homophobia." He paused, then chuckled. "Which will, no doubt, add to his own anguish and his owner's satisfaction…"
One by one the four men left him and returned to Carlos. The last was a big African, his lovely ebony skin faintly sheened with gold, who stroked Jackson's cock firmly a few times before glancing over his shoulder.
"He's pretty. I want him."
Carlos laughed.
"You can all place your bids at the end. Now, however, I have a little treat for you." He gestured to the naked boy who had appeared in the doorway…
Jackson frowned. Was it a boy? It didn't seem to have a cock, or balls… then again, it didn't have tits either. Carlos laid a fatherly hand on the youngster's shoulder.
"This is Gino. The son of one of my business rivals who alas was unable to pay his debts. Out of the kindness of my heart I took the child as payment…" Carlos' hands slid down to the boy's groin: Gino's hips pushed forwards, the boy hissing, his eyes closing. Carlos' fingers circled something that looked like the head of a large penis but stuck out no further than half an inch from the boy's body, then moved to pull apart what looked like a pair of split, empty testicles to reveal a tight little cunt underneath.
"As you can see, I have made certain… modifications… You may play with him - the dear child takes a great deal of stimulation to achieve any kind of release since his makeover - but I would ask you not to damage him." He released the boy, leaving him trembling and rubbing furiously at his groin: one of the guests, a pale Nordic man, moved to stand behind him, one hand fondling the truncated penis, the other dipping into the dry cunt between his legs. Carlos beamed paternally.
"Thank you, Sven - I'm sure he will show his gratitude later." He clicked his fingers: there was the sound of something hissing open, and he gestured to the fish tank. "Here is the main course."
Jackson stared unblinkingly, impressed against his will. The mermaid was fucking perfect!
She swam slowly to the edge of the tank, eyes downcast, her whole demeanour resigned and miserable. Carlos was stripping: it was the signal for his guests to divest themselves of their clothing also as their host lifted the mermaid from the tank and carried her to the device one of the guards was fixing into place in the centre of the room. Jackson stared - it looked vaguely like some sort of exercise machine…
Carlos draped the mermaid over the thing: she tucked her tail forwards under the lower bars and wriggled until her full breasts were settled over the edge, then lay still, head drooping. Carlos slapped her backside and she winced.
"Now, the right tit holds Cognac, the left Barolo - please take your pick. Who would like to fuck her first?"
And Jackson watched, torn between lust and revulsion, as one by one they shoved eager cocks into her passive cunt, fucking her hard - except for the black guy, who forced himself into her tight arse, holding her struggling body still as the others took it in turns to suck hard at large plump nipples, gulping down the fine wine and rich spirit.
When they'd finished, Carlos gestured them to move back a little, and lifted and turned the mermaid onto her back, ignoring her anguished tears. Pushing her tail back until her semen-oozing cunt was exposed, he beckoned to Gino. The boy's body was flushed with arousal - Sven hadn't managed to get him to climax - and Carlos shoved his head down to the mermaid's groin, simultaneously ramming into the boy's cunt as the youngster whimpered in pain. Carlos gripped his hair and pushed his mouth against the mermaid's enlarged and twitching clitoris.
"You've both been very good. Make her come, and I'll make sure you do too…"
And the men crowded close to watch Gino lick and nibble and suck the clit that was bigger than his own dick as Carlos pounded into his slender body, one hand rubbing hard at what was left of his cock…
The mermaid pressed rubbery webbed hands to the boy's head as she came, back arching, mouth opening in a bubbling silent scream - and Gino froze, cock dribbling a thin stream of something that only vaguely resembled come as Carlos slammed into him one last time and held still, buttocks clenching rhythmically. The trio were motionless for several long seconds, then Carlos wrenched himself from the boy's cunt, smiling as his own semen trickled out and down lean trembling thighs. He stroked Gino's hair.
"Well done, child. Now take the mermaid back and get both of you cleaned up. I'll be down later with a treat for you."
Eyes huge in a suddenly frightened face - Gino had experienced his master's 'treats' before - the boy hurriedly lifted the mermaid into his arms and stumbled out of the room. Carlos watched them leave, then sighed and turned to his guests with a smile.
"I trust that was enjoyable?"
A chorus of laughs greeted him, and he chuckled.
"Good, good… now perhaps we can turn to business…"
"Before we do, Signor, just one question. I'd very much like a mermaid for myself…"
Carlos shook his head.
"I'm sorry, my friend, but I hold the patent, and I'm not prepared to allow another to be created. Yet, at any rate - of course, things do change. I will contact you if I ever decide to release the design."
The American sighed and nodded.
"Thought that'd be your answer. I want first refusal, OK?"
Carlos grinned.
"I'm sure we can agree something mutually acceptable." He turned to regard Jackson. "Now, you've seen him, and you have a good idea of what's possible. Do you have any further questions before we proceed to the bidding?"
The African inclined his head.
"I want to try him out."
Carlos blinked.
"But… He's had no mods fitted…"
"That's OK. I like my pets with spirit. He's clean?"
Carlos nodded.
"Has he been cleaned?"
The Italian frowned at the guards, who shook their heads.
"No, but we can do that for you now."
The black nodded.
"I would appreciate it…"
Moments later Jackson found himself carted through to an adjoining chamber, unceremoniously dumped on his back with his legs pulled over his head, and a tube shoved into his anus as the guards forced warm soapy water into his rectum. Holding him in position, they removed the tube and inserted a small, flexible soft-bristled brush, scrubbing at the inside of his body as he fought and squirmed and tried to cry out, entirely in vain… After five minutes he was turned and perched over a bucket to let the water drain out of him, then flipped back over as the whole process was repeated, this time with cold water scented with fucking roses, of all things… Forget anything else, Jackson thought he'd die of embarrassment…
They dragged him back to the auction room and bent him over the mermaid's rack, unshackling his ankles and shoving his legs wide apart as the African positioned himself - then shoved brutally into the smaller body below him.
Jackson nearly passed out. The man wasn't as big as that fucking horse-man, but he was still big…all thought of fighting, even of vengeance, left him as he gritted his teeth and just endured.It seemed to last forever. Jackson was limp and bleeding by the time the African grunted and came, throbbing in his aching arse then pulling out swiftly. He patted Jackson's rump and nodded to Carlos.
"Very nice. Very nice indeed. I want him."
Carlos smirked and glanced around the room.
"Then let's start the bidding."Two of the four dropped out early on: it was obvious the black was deadly serious in his desire for the ex-tracker. Sven, however, appeared to have taken a fancy to Jackson as well, and for a while the two bounced the bids between them. Finally, however, the Teuton raised his hands in defeat.
"Too high for me - my darling frau will kill me if she doesn't get her bi-annual diamonds…"
Jackson was declared the property of 'Mr Smith' - and he and Carlos got down to business as the others dressed and made their way to the other conference room, above ground, to await their host. They still had other, more legitimate, concerns to discuss.
Two heavies held Jackson upright as the businessmen talked, deciding his fate. Carlos glanced at the ex-tracker, then smiled at 'Smith'.
"Have you decided what design you would prefer?"
"I have always liked the idea of a pony, and this would make a pretty one."
Carlos nodded, making notes.
"Colour? Size? Physical peculiarities? Would you like a gelding?"
Reeling as he was, blood-mixed come tickling as it slid down his legs, Jackson froze for a second, then relaxed as 'Smith' shook his head.
"No. Not initially anyway. I might change my mind, it depends on how he behaves. Now…" he swivelled to run a dark-eyed considering gaze over the muscular naked body, the penis purpling above the cockring. "Palomino, I think. With a frosty mane and tail. And the legs must be altered. I want the genitals enlarged, of course. But don't do anything about the anus and rectum - I like it tight."
Jackson shuddered and closed his eyes. 'Smith' smiled and continued.
"I understand you can provide voice command modification?"
Carlos nodded.
"All we'll need is your voice print."
"Good - I'd like that put in place early. Now, memory wipe…"
Carlos raised a hand.
"That's one thing we do not do, except under certain circumstances."
'Smith' smiled.
"Good. I want him to keep his memories. Replace the hands with soft split-hoofs. I want the tail to brush the floor. Small ears. And leave his face as it is, he's too pretty to change too much. But I want the eyes to be a rich blue - can you do that?"
Carlos grinned.
"Certainly."
"Excellent. Now - behavioural mods… I like my pets to be feisty, to fight me on occasion, it makes breaking them all the more pleasurable. But I don't want him to go beyond a certain level. No kicking, no biting, and certainly nothing that will kill the man fucking him. Can this be done?"
Man? Jackson bit back a sob. Oh no… Carlos was nodding again, making more notes.
"I also want him to be affected by male pheromones."
Carlos frowned.
"To find them arousing?"
'Smith' nodded.
"While still hating the idea of being used. Is that possible?"
Carlos folded his hands over the notepad.
"Let me be quite clear. You want him to remember his past, remain homophobic but only become aroused by men, and not be able to do anything about it."
"In a nutshell. I want him begging to be fucked and hating every second of it."
Carlos smiled admiringly.
"I most assuredly would not want you as an enemy!"
'Smith' grinned.
"But that, of course, can never happen."
"Of course not… Is there anything else?"
'Smith' pursed his lips thoughtfully.
"Leave him voiceless. Make the soles of his hoofs soft, so he's less inclined to try to escape. And I would like a large sealed ring through his scrotum, between his balls, to tether him by."
Carlos added the last few details and glanced up at his guest, who chuckled.
"If I think of anything else I will let you know, but those are the main details."
The Italian nodded, toted up a column of figures, and presented the notepad to the African. 'Smith' raised his eyebrows.
"Very reasonable, given the specifications I require."
"I am glad you think so." Carlos clicked his fingers: two large glasses of Cognac were placed on the table, and the Italian raised one to his guest.
"A pleasure doing business with you. I would estimate we can have your adaptations completed in about a month."
'Smith' clinked glasses, then turned to his new purchase, running a hand down the strong body and unsnapping the cockring, stroking the rapidly softening cock as Jackson whimpered silently, tears brimming from his eyes as the returning blood flow made his penis feel as though it was on fire. 'Smith' smiled at him - but the beautiful dark eyes were cold.
"I can't wait to play with him…"
© 2003 July 26th Joules
Darkside
© 2003 WordWrights