Disclaimer and preamble:

1. This story is fictitious and any resemblance to persons living or dead is pure coincidence.
2. This story may depict acts of physical intimacy between boys, as well as between men and boys, as well as between adult men. If this content is anathema, distasteful or otherwise illegal for you to consume, please take necessary steps to surf elsewhere.
3. This story is part of a collection of original works based on the author's real life observations, encounters and imaginings. No men, boys or cucumbers were harmed in the making of this film.
4. I wrote this story for me, that is- my enjoyment. I hope that you enjoy reading it as much as I hope you will.
5. This has been uploaded to the Nifty Erotic Stories Archive and may not be reproduced without express written permission from the author.
6. The author welcomes constructive feedback and critique from readers. I can't promise to do requests, but I welcome reading what you would like to see in stories- maybe I can incorporate those ideas into future work.

7. Last but not least, please support Nifty financially as your means permit. It is a gem of a community resource and we all have a part to play in keeping it alive. If you do nothing else, let this be your activism.

Charles Rubin
December 2016

 

Chapter 2: Fast forward

The muscles in Ian's legs flexed and twitched as he bounced up and down on the bed. Lying face up beneath him, Tranh, the man who had introduced and inducted him into his new life, grunted sweetly as he thrust his seven inch, bottle shaped penis repeated into the boy's hungry ass. Ian had lost count of the number of times he had taken dick up the ass in the two years since he had started living in the Commune, as their village was called. Nominally a prisoner and sex slave, Ian had distinguished himself through his obedience, devotion and, to no small extent, skill as a sex partner such that he had gained access to a few privileges not otherwise available to the other boys. Ian wore his collar, as all the `boys' did. It was black, of expensive leather that retained its strength even when wet or stretched. It had been a gift from Tranh after his eighth in `captivity', as a reward for helping to break in one of the newer boys who had come through. A soldier's dogtag, in the style common among modern militaries, hung from the front of Ian's collar. Inscribed on the metal was the word Vu in some kind of Asian script and the numbers "09041" which was a personal identification number that the criminal gang who ran the syndicate in this region used to track him and the other boys who, like him, had been abducted for use in the boutique slave trade.

Ian had learnt, partly from overhearing some conversations and partly from talking to others directly, that the outfit they were held by was not a typical human trafficking network as such, not that it made kidnapping any less reprehensible. This syndicate specialized in boys, for a start, but also only supplied to a very well-heeled and well-connected clientele in Asia, Europe and the United States. One more thing made the syndicate slightly unusual, at least from what Ian had learnt since his capture. There was a `compulsory' incarceration period during which kidnapped boys were transported here to the remote mountain village... somewhere in Asia... and given drugs, among other methods, to make them more compliant and trainable. Ian remembered his first day with a mixture of terror and bliss. Their families or next of kin were not even contacted for any kind of ransom, as the ultimate business plan was not to extract money from the ordinary families the boys often came from, but to recruit and train boy `companions' for rich clients who sought everything from a no-strings body to use in their depravity to a devoted valet whose loyalty, discretion and limitless services could be relied upon in even the most trying circumstances. In short, there was more money to be made training the boys to be skilled operatives, whether purely for sex or for other services, rather than ransom them for varying degrees of pittance.

Ian moaned sensually as he felt Tranh's penis expand and spurt deep inside him. He had initially learnt to do this as part of his training, helping to heighten the excitement of the other party's orgasm by creating the impression that the pleasure in the moment of climax was shared, even when it was not. Over time, though, Ian had reached a higher level of skill, learning to keep himself hovering at the very edge of his own orgasm, keeping the water on a low boil that did not overflow, until he discerned the right moment to push himself over. Sensing his Master cum, he mentally tapped into the roiling heat that he had kept on slow and turned the knob to full.

"Masterrrr!! I cum master!!!" Thạc sĩ, tôi cumming chủ!

Tranh's native language was Vietnamese, and Ian had learnt a little here and there during his training, as well as from Tranh himself during their almost nightly marathon sex since Ian's arrival.

Ian's cock twitched as it fired four moderate salvos of white boy cum onto Tranh's chest. Having already cum several times that day, his cum was a little thicker and less watery than if it had been his first. The boy let his hands caress his pecs on the way down, glistening in sweat from his exertions in the humid shade of the room, before massaging his own cum into Tranh's slightly hairy chest. Tranh was stocky, having once been quite buff but over time he had let some of that turn to flab as he had graduated from `muscle' work in his early days in the syndicate to his current role which more often involved administration and office work. Even evil criminal syndicates that kidnapped boys to become sex slaves had to file tax returns, or at least keep track of where all the money was hidden and laundered. Tranh sighed in satisfaction as he pulled his deflating prick out of Ian with a wet plop. Though the white boy was a little older than most who were chosen for abduction, his youthful and pretty features had caught the eye of his scouts. After some consultation with Tranh via videoconference (yes, the kidnappers were crooks, not barbarians), they had been given the green light to proceed with the rendition.

They got dressed in silence, Ian put on his threadbare t-shirt and a tattered pair of beach bathers while Tranh wore his signature wife beater and a pair of converted jeans which had been cut off at the knees and made into shorts. There was no need to get dressed up in the spartan environs of the Commune. The humid climate and frequent occasions during which sex occurred made complicated clothing both unnecessary and impractical.

               "Master?" Ian asked in his halting Vietnamese.

               "Yes?"

               "Why I been here so long? Other boys sold after four, five months. I been two years in Commune village." Ian had pondered for a while whether this was an impertinent question to ask. A slave had no desires of his own, other than to please the one he was commanded to serve. Ian knew that he had completed the necessary training that boys underwent long ago, but he still did not know why Tranh kept him around. There was no particular special affection that Tranh had ever shown toward him, other than the fact that (for a kidnapper who drugged him and basically dildo raped him on his first day) he was perhaps the most considerate lover he had ever known. Tranh always insisted that, unless Ian was truly tired out from servicing others or from his duties in training some of the newer and younger boys, he experienced climax when they had sex. Ian had been with other men from the syndicate. In fact, his status as a `white boy' made him quite sought after among visitors. None were as thoughtful as Tranh, though caring would have been too strong a word. Once he had even had the honour of waiting on General Vu himself, a senior, if not the most senior, boss in the syndicate. Ian suspected that the Vu character on his nametag was related to the General, but he could never be sure and never sought to find out. People who knew too much were liable to disappear, and while Ian was- in his own way- quite happy with his life on the Commune, he knew that danger was never far away in this business. Better not to know, unless knowing increased one's power, influence or safety.

               As a slave, Ian's wellbeing was directly tied to being in the good graces of the Commune's officers, Tranh among them. As such, he was genuinely pleased that he was a popular lay, and endeavored to make each service he rendered memorable. `A man has only one good cum every day', Tranh had taught him early on. `It is honour and blessing for man to give slave his cumming, and it is honour for slave to bring out best cum in man.'  Ian had once been an independently minded university student and, he recalled, quite a player when it came to the ladies. All that was behind him now, and for the better, he mused to himself. There was no respect, no dignity, in the way that he had treated others before. Sexual partners who had feelings, had been hurt as Ian treated them like playthings to be used and discarded at his whim. Thanks to Tranh, he had been shown a better way not only to give pleasure, but to receive it in humility and gratitude. A slave expected nothing for himself, seeking fulfillment only in the giving of pleasure to his master or designated client. Likewise, a slave expected no gratitude or reciprocation as thanks- the act of service was thanks enough. No feelings were hurt, everyone knew their role and, most importantly, a good time was had by all. Ian had come to learn that beyond the crude dynamic that western culture had often painted about slaves and masters, here he was part of something almost spiritual in the way slaves submitted their masters and were sometimes honoured in return.

               "You have been kept here so long because I like you," Tranh continued, still in Vietnamese. "Plus, you are white. Very rare, very expensive. But old, most clients want younger."

               Ian nodded, understanding most of it. Tranh seemed to pause briefly before he made one final statement as he walked out the door, flip flops clicking and clapping as they scraped along the gritty concrete floor of the room which served both as Tranh's residence and the local communications hub for the village.

               "You are dead to the world, E-han," Tranh had never quite gotten the pronunciation of Ian's name down. He then switched to English, knowing that they were less likely to be eavesdropped upon because few spoke it. "Your cloth, your money, your shoe, left on beach for police they find."   Ian had not heard this part before, he had always assumed that his belongings had been pillaged and sold, or sent to the city cells for use by the boys there. "They think you swim and no live."  It seemed that the syndicate had made it appear as though Ian had drowned while swimming, his body lost at sea.

               "Master?" Ian called out in Vietnamese. Tranh turned around but did not speak. "I never go back to old life, they dead to me, my life is here."

               Tranh walked back toward Ian and, for the first time ever, kissed him very gently on his forehead. "You good boy, E-han." Tranh said softly, still in English. "Now, go report to Kwai, he has new boy for you tomorrow train."

               Ian adjusted his collar in the small mirror that hung on the wall. Noticing that his beard was starting to grow back, he went to the shower and stripped naked. Washing himself thoroughly inside and out under the clean running water, a luxury only Tranh and a few others had access to in the village, Ian shaved himself smooth from the cheekbones down. There was no time to wax today, but he didn't really need to do so for another few weeks. Prepped and smelling better, he put on a fresh set of clothes- a ratty but clean black t-shirt and a pair of extremely short blue cotton shorts- and made his way over to see Kwai the quartermaster on the far side of the village. His cock was already half hard, ass tingling in anticipation of what was to come.