Hello! Thank you very much for choosing to check out this story!

I should take the time now to reiterate that this story is not for the faint of heart. It is an M/M AU with slavery, non/dub-con, and "BDSM" (especially D/s) themes. I will do my best to attach more warnings as I go, but I have yet to decide exactly what the story will contain, so please read with caution or find another story. I will say that it will likely focus on service, and that the master is perfectly comfortable with owning a slave, so he will not be soft.

Having said that, I hope you enjoy the read! Thanks again! ^.^

- Kip


"Kneel."

The command rang loudly through the long block of caged slaves. Halfway down the second row of cages, Brin knelt with his knees together, resting on his heels, his back straight, his hands locked behind his back, and his eyes fixed to the grey mat beneath him. Slaves on either side of him did the same as two guards, robed in the deep red of government employed soldiers, strode in. Quickly, they scanned the large, white room, inspecting all the slaves through the thick glass of their cages. Then, satisfied that every slave had obeyed, they stood aside from the door, allowing another man to enter.

With his gaze properly averted, Brin couldn't see what was going on near the doorway, nor hear this new man's entrance. However, he had been in this compound long enough to know the routine. He knew from more than four months of being on sale here that an important potential buyer had arrived. The client's identity would not be revealed to the slaves, but he must be important if he was permitted a personal inspection of the merchandise, rather than being required to come during the hours the warehouse was open to the public.

"You have as much time as you would like, sir. If you have any questions, we will gladly answer them," the same guard who had ordered the initial command said these customary words. Then the guards filed out of the room, presumably to stand outside, where they could quickly come if there were questions or concerns.

Patiently, Brin waited in his tall, narrow cell, wishing he were tall enough to climb over the glass and escape. Even if he could manage that, there was nowhere to go. No home to return to, if he did bypass the dozens of guards that patrolled the compound, if he did evade the police when they were deployed to track him down. No, a slave couldn't escape this. He wouldn't run away.

It seemed to take a long time, but eventually the client reached the middle of Brin's row. Perhaps it had only been 10 or 15 minutes, but it always felt like people took so long to reach his cage. Brin knew that part of this was his anticipation making him perceive time differently. His breathing had been erratic since the potential buyer stepped into the room, as it always was.

Me. Please, take me.

When he was younger, still in training, Brin had thought he would never wish to be sold to a stranger, his entire existence given over to someone else's control. He had once wished to be an unsold slave forever. But living in this same cell, alone and idle all the time had taken a toll on him. He wanted desperately to have contact with other humans, to receive attention. He wanted desperately to be sold to a master, terrifying though that prospect was.

Quiet footsteps came closer to him, pausing briefly nearby. Sensing that the client was perhaps two cages away, Brin straightened more, trying to adopt the posture they had been trained to assume as well as possible. He worried, though, about not standing out. It seemed to him that the beautiful, blond or red-haired boys near the front of the room were usually the ones chosen.

Once, he had been placed next to a wild looking boy with a strong, lean body, who had sold in just days. Brin was plain compared to many of the other slaves here, with his brown hair and brown eyes, and his somewhat slight frame. His card was even worse. On his card, buyers would read that he had no special skills, that all he could do were the basic, generic things taught at the training center in this compound. He couldn't sing or dance, nor read or write particularly well. He only knew one language and had only ever lived in one place. Moreover, he had no experience in bed, which seemed detrimental, given that he was being marketed as a personal slave.

Brin was so occupied with the probability that he would remain in this cage unsold until his thirties, when he would be disciplined one last time as an example to new slaves and then put down, that he hadn't noticed the client's presence before his cage. Panicking when he broke out of his thoughts, he noticed that his posture had slumped, that his hands had slid to his sides.

Horrified, Brin straightened up and pinned his arms back tightly, sure the thudding of his heart was easily audible through the glass. He expected the man to move quickly on to the next boy, repulsed by his evident incompetence. Instead, he was relieved and terrified to see that the brown leather shoes didn't move at all, except to get closer to the glass so the man could read his card.

My ID. He wants to be able to name which slave ought to be punished when he complains to the guards about the terrible quality of their products.

Or he's interested in me. Please.

Brin resisted the urge to speak, to cry out, to do anything but maintain his posture. Internally, he pleaded desperately to the man.

Please, choose me. I'm good. Really... Why do I want this so badly?

The client tapped twice on the glass. The sound seemed so loud.

Please.

Brin rose dutifully, anxious but unable to disobey the signal to rise and present himself. Quickly, eager to prove that he was worth his 40,000 credit price tag, he spread his legs shoulder width apart and stretched his arms out to either side horizontally with the ground, so that they nearly touched the glass walls of his cage. He kept his eyes down, wishing he could see the man, but also relieved that he couldn't.

After a couple moments, the client circled slowly around his cage, appraising Brin. Brin began to doubt himself. Was he in the right position? Was he expected to do something to show himself off better? He had never been bought, even after being given the order to present himself a half dozen times in the last few months. Maybe he had forgotten his training, now so long ago. Was this what a master would expect? He remembered that he knew very little about masters. He'd been free once, but his family had been too poor to associate with anyone of enough wealth or standing to possibly be a slave owner.

Realizing he was sweating despite his nakedness and the cool room, Brin started counting the seconds. Ten, eleven, twelve. Eighteen seconds had ticked by- or perhaps less, because he may have been counted very quickly- when Brin heard the knock.

A single knock. With relief, Brin almost forgot to hold his posture as he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Suddenly he had the urge to cry with relief and exhaustion.

A knock. He was sold.


The knock was a courtesy given to the slave. Or perhaps a warning.

It was common that a client knocked to let a slave know he was owned before the guards were summoned. After that, the client left and the guards unsealed the cage, leading the slave to be processed. Brin was released and ordered to follow one of the guards. On wobbly legs, unable to do much except follow the simple orders he was given, he crossed into unfamiliar rooms until they reached a new part of the compound. Here, he was handed over to a doctor, who confirmed that he was healthy and ready for his new master. He was led into a shower and then given a haircut. Finally, a white t-shirt and a pair of cotton pants were handed to him and he was led to a new cage.

Around him, several other recently washed slaves sat or lay in identical cages. He was locked up and then left alone, able to take everything in. He was tired, but hopeful when he saw many contented looks on the faces of the slaves around him. He must be in a holding area, awaiting his new master's arrival, when he would be picked up and brought home. It was late, so that would probably happen the next day or perhaps another day or two after that, depending on his master's urgency. Feeling relaxed, he lay down and fell quickly asleep.