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Kerry

By Tasha
Page 2 of 3

"You bastard!" he spat, kicking out at the older, heavier man. The guard twisted the scarf and Kerr found himself fighting for air.

In a full roundhouse blow with his open hand, Sardon Avon caught the youth full in the face. Then he reached over and grabbed the disheveled, dark hair. Looking into the enraged eyes, he spoke. "I have been wanting to do that for years. It gives me a great deal of satisfaction to be rid of you. You are entirely too moralistic to join the family business, dear Kerry." He sneered the pet name. "Your precious person will pay off the final debts of the cartel. You should feel honored to do your father's family such a service." Turning to the oily, little man who had stepped back under the overhang of the building, he said, "Take him away."

"Yes, sir. Yes, sir," the Beta fawned. He stroked the gasping young man's reddened cheek. The pudgy man turned and pushed a button near the door.

"When will the credits be delivered?" questioned Sardon Avon.

"The auction will be in six weeks," answered the little man who was still staring at his newest trainee. "We get so few of these young Alpha males that there should be no problem finding the proper Master. But first we must condition him properly. Rare is the Master who is willing to buy such a hooligan as he is now as a pleasure slave. You understand that we prefer to use old-fashioned methods rather than modern drugs to condition slaves."

Commissioner Avon nodded his agreement to the master slave trainer. "Will there be tapes of the training sessions? I think I would love to see my dear, late nephew being taught his new duties."

"Certainly, sir," smiled the Beta. "I will be sure to lay aside a copy of the best sessions for your enjoyment."

It had not taken long for Kerr to regain his breath. He tried to listen to the conversation between his uncle and the fat man. Slowly through the haze, he began to understand the meaning of what was being said. He had heard stories about this kind of establishment, but he had not truly believed in its existence until now. He started to curse. He never noticed the three dark-clad figures that moved toward him. His first warning of them was when a hood and gag were slid skillfully in place on his head. He was forced to his knees and a choke-chain collar was looped around his neck and the scarf removed. His wrist cuffs were then unfastened and refastened behind his back and attached to the collar so deftly that he never had a chance to struggle. The unseen hands lifted him upright and he was marched into an echoing hallway. He stumbled as he was led down invisible steps.

* * *

That had been the last time Kerr had seen his uncle. His life had been reduced to moments of stark terror and excruciating pain. How long he had been in this hell he had no idea. There was no way for him to judge the passage of time. He was only occasionally without the hood and gag. The intervals between waterings, feedings, toileting, training sessions, and rest periods constantly changed. He did not know if a week or a month had come and gone. He was never unrestrained. Some of the positions he was put in were terribly humiliating and painful. In those first few hours he was stripped, given a genetic and medical examination, received his first enema, and fitted with a bladder catheter and butt plug. When he refused to cooperate during the sex training sessions, he was rewarded with whippings, mild electric shocks, tit clamps, and other forms of punishment. Even when he did cooperate, he still might be punished at the whim of the slave trainer. Rarely did cooperation earn him any rewards. But occasionally it did. He savored the memories of a drink of fruit juice or a bowl of salted gruel or the chance to feed himself. There was no pattern to his life that he could grasp outside of pain and humiliation. He felt his very sanity was hanging by the silken thread of revenge against his uncle.

* * *

"There is one last piece of new business," Sardon Avon looked about the Governors' Boardroom of the Banking Cartel. "I spoke with the law enforcement authorities just before I convened this meeting. At that time, Commissioner Talmard told me that there was no new information concerning the disappearance of my nephew, Kerr. Personally, I think they are still treating his disappearance as a young Alpha's lark in the lower domes.

"I blame myself. I know that Kerr and I haven't always gotten along, but I do care deeply about the boy." Sardon's eyes glistened and his voice quavered. "If only I had been able to prevent him from getting out of the ground car, he might not have vanished."

"Sardon, what is done is done," Ivir Jonz spoke softly.

"You speak truly, friend, but I cannot help but go over and over that last evening with Kerr. I keep looking for clues. I keep looking for ways I could have changed things and perhaps prevented that last disagreement." Sardon wiped his hand across his forehead. "I just don't know."

The board of governors sat quietly looking about the room and at each other. They looked everywhere but at Sardon. Most felt embarrassed at Sardon's emotional outburst. They waited silently for Sardon to continue.

"I have asked my solicitor for advice. If Kerr is not found before his birthday, I need to know what legal steps I should take." Sardon's voice grew stronger as he spoke. "My solicitor is in the process of filing a guardianship continuance for my nephew's shares. I will continue to administer his interests until he is found."

* * *

Kerry waited. He waited. His life had become a series of periods of solitude interspersed with periods of discomfort and pain. And pleasure. While he waited, Kerry chastised himself for the pleasure he felt through the pain. Before his captivity, he had tended either to ignore pain or to relieve it with medication. Now he was not permitted to either. Pain was a constant part of his life. There had been a few times when he was being hurt that Kerry found himself begging for more pain. Pain and pleasure intertwined until the sensations became one. His mind reached for an emotional high while his body reached for physical release. Kerry reddened in anger at the memories when his body responded to the pain. His rationalization was that his body anticipated the soft, stroking caresses that infrequently followed a whipping session. Kerry wept silently. He knew not if it was from the obscene memories or front desire.

Finally, he slept.

Awakening with a start, Kerry froze. Had he been seen sleeping? He had not been given permission to sleep. Breaking the rules of his existence would bring an end to the few luxuries he had earned during his training. Food was more varied and in larger quantities than it had been at the beginning of this nightmare. Rather than just poorly cooked grain, occasionally, Kerry found bits of vegetables in his bowl. Once or twice, the grain had been flavored with spices. Taking a deep breath, Kerry decided whatever happened because he fell asleep, he could and would take it. He had to take it. He had to survive in order to take revenge on his Uncle Sardon.

Kerry felt his cage shake slightly as the door was unlocked and raised.

"Out," ordered the trainer.

Inching his way on his knees out of the cage, Kerry kept his head bowed. Looking any place other than down was one way to find oneself chained to a post for a long session with a belt or whip. Despite his memories of pain and pleasure, the bound man did not take any chances. He had spent a relatively restful period as his hands had been cuffed to the leather belt he wore. His feet had been left unhobbled. So he had been able to move a little within the confines of the cage. He had learned to ignore the discomfort of the cage's wire mesh flooring.

Immediately, the trainer tipped Kerry's head back. Quickly and efficiently, the trainer put drops in Kerry's eyes. He then slipped audio-distorters into Kerry's ears. Within minutes, Kerry could distinguish light from dark. He could still hear, but all voices sounded the same. They were sexless, flat, and mechanical.

From past experiences in this hell hole, Kerry knew better than to try to predict what would happen next. A scrubbing might mean that he would be serving at a private party.

Serving was right. Private parties might not be the right term, but that was how Kerry thought of them. There were times when he was taken from the training area to another location. The smells were different. The air was cleaner, scented with flowers. The floor was not the coarse stuff that scratched and irritated his knees. Sometimes in this other place he served as a decoration--a naked man bound in suggestive poses. Other times he was the sucker and the fuckee. Always there was a discipline session afterwards. Through pain and punishment, the trainer would impress upon Kerry each and every fault. Kerry would do better the next time or else...

* * *

Numerous video screens covered the console in front of Sardon Avon. He lounged in an overstuffed chair, swivelling from side to side to glance at each monitor. Each screen looked on a different part of a training area. He watched a woman trainer whipping a bound male. He studied two trainers slowly wrapping with cloth strips a slender girl. Two more trainers were enjoying themselves torturing an obviously recent slave acquisition with an enormous dildo. One trainer oiled the asshole while the second trainer teased the slave with the phallus. Even though he had the sound turned off, Sardon easily guessed what was being said. The second trainer was obviously describing in great detail what he was planning to do with the dildo and the slave's part in the fun.

Ah, there was Kerry. Today Kerry was working out on a treadmill. Sex might be great exercise, but it hardly put muscles on a slave. Sexual activity did not emphasize the pectorals or round the buttocks.

Sardon sipped his glass of wine and watched with increasing interest the continuous exertions of his "late" nephew. Kerry no longer looked the way he did when he started his life as a sex slave trainee in this establishment. Despite the monotonous diet, Kerry looked as though he had put on weight. His muscular definition was enhanced. Kerry no longer looked like the stereotypical scholar that he had been. Now he looked like a young man who exercised routinely and regularly. Sardon itched to run his hands over Kerry's sweat-covered body.

No matter how much it might be interesting and exciting to have Kerry as his own sex slave, the elder Avon realized just how foolhardy such a situation would be. It would be better if Kerry belonged to someone--someone like Gurwold. It didn't matter if it were business or pleasure, Gurwold liked to play rough. Yes, Gurwold might be the perfect master for Kerry. He was certainly rich enough to pay the price of a young, well-trained slave like Kerry. The man was also a generous friend. His slaves' services were always available to his closest friends. And Sardon was a close personal friend of Gurwold. If Gurwold bought Kerry, Sardon would still have limited access to his favorite fuckee. Sardon would make sure that Gurwold knew about this particular sex slave at the next sale.

It was so much fun to fuck Kerry. Sardon smiled at the memories. He had fucked Kerry the first time when he stole the younger man's inheritance. The second time Sardon fucked Kerr was when he kidnaped the youth and sold him to his present life of sexual service. Sardon felt himself growing aroused at the memories of the other time he had fucked Kerry. They were good memories. It was amusing to stick his prick into the asshole of the bound, blinded, and gagged slave. It would certainly make it more exciting if Kerry knew who was his fucker. Perhaps the next time, Sardon would make himself known to Kerry.

* * *


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