Break the Chains

by Reis Asher

  Table of Contents

  Break the Chains

  Book Details

  Avery

  Conrad

  Avery

  Conrad

  Avery

  Conrad

  Avery

  Conrad

  Avery

  Conrad

  Avery

  Conrad

  Avery

  Conrad

  Avery

  Conrad

  Avery

  Conrad

  Avery

  Conrad

  Avery

  Conrad

  Avery

  Conrad

  Avery

  Conrad

  Avery

  Conrad

  Avery

  Conrad

  Avery

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Break the Chains

  REIS ASHER

  In a near-future United States where slavery is alive and controlled by an organization known as the Circle, Avery Tulano is up for sale yet again—and it might very well be his last time on the auction block. As a young man, he signed his life away in a contract willingly, driven by the desire to escape his life. Now, eight years later, he's broken, battered, and sick from a life of unspeakable horrors. When the bidding starts as low as $200, it may as well be a death warrant.

  Enter Conrad Fisher, a corrupt ex-cop discharged from the force who runs a failing private detective business. His wife died chasing one final high and he's been in a state of isolated depression ever since. He's only at the auction to help his journalist daughter Christina get a scoop on the Circle. When he sees Avery up for bid at such a low price, however, it's an offer he can't refuse and before he knows it, he's walking out of the auction house as Avery's new owner.

  It's a mistake. Slavery is wrong. Conrad can't afford to keep him anyway, no matter what strange connection they find in each other. But even if a real relationship was possible, a life of drugs, alcohol, and bad decisions is rapidly catching up with both of them—if the Circle doesn't kill them first.

  Break the Chains contains explicit content, scenes of non-consensual sex and scenes of sexual content with dubious consent.

  Specifically: this story includes a scene of a sex party where slaves expected to have sex with multiple masters and each other; sex between master and willing slave (multiple times); master and slave forced to have risky dub-con intercourse on threat of death by third party; a public hand job between master and slave witnessed by third party; graphic violence; suicide ideation and planning of suicide; drug abuse, use, and overdoses; slavery, ownership of human beings; and self-medicating HIV with Internet knowledge and dubious drugs bought on the Internet.

  Break the Chains

  By Reis Asher

  Published by Less Than Three Press LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

  Edited by Megan Derr

  Cover designed by Natasha Snow

  This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

  First Edition March 2019

  Copyright © 2019 by Reis Asher

  Printed in the United States of America

  Digital ISBN 9781684314836

  Print ISBN 9781684315079

  Avery

  Avery sat on the floor of his cage, piss pooling around him. The noise of the slave auction was deafening; he could barely hear the auctioneer rattling off prices or the shaking of bars from the cage next to his.

  Once upon a time he'd been one of the cage rattlers, when he'd resisted the life he'd sold himself into. He laughed but choked on a sob. He could hardly remember the cocky young man he'd been: fresh out of college and believing he knew everything there was to know about the world. He'd been bored with politics, bored with luxury, bored with life. One shady online listing later, and he found himself signing a contract for life with the Circle.

  "We can't promise your life will be pleasant," the suited man in shades had said, "but we can assure you it will be unusual." From there, Avery had been shipped to a slave auction naked and in chains.

  He recalled the eager, wide eyes he'd had back then, scanning the crowd, wondering with relish who his new owner would be. Would he become an agent for the CIA, a ghost traveling the world and engaging in black ops? Would he be chosen as a sex slave, a pet for a politician domestic or foreign? An assassin? A porn star?

  A glob of spit jerked him back to reality, and he looked up from his dirty knees to see a fat politician eyeing him with lust.

  "Don't spit on the merchandise," a bouncer warned him, and the politician backed off with a sneer, the flag pin on his lapel gleaming as it caught the low fluorescent lights in the warehouse. Avery might have felt relief at one point, but there was only weariness in his soul now.

  His fingers absently traced a scar on his lower back from the time he'd been bought by an Indian hospital as an organ donor. A part of his liver and one kidney had been taken before they'd sold him on at a profit. The missing limbs he often saw among other slaves told him it could have been much worse—that it could still become worse. He was no longer young and pretty, unbroken by the world. His blue eyes had lost their spark, and his body was raked with scars and wounds from various owners with a proclivity for violence. His current owner hadn't even bothered to wash him before sending him to the auction, and his cum still seeped from Avery's hole.

  He wanted to die. Worse, he wanted to go back in time and strangle the child he'd been to think the world he'd lived in was boring. He would kill to go back to that life, but it was too late. Once the Circle had your signature, you were doomed to Eternity in their Hell.

  "Cheer up," a neighbor whispered. Avery looked up to see a cute young boy, barely eighteen, with long blond locks hanging down to his waist and a collar made of studded diamonds around his throat. "Maybe you'll get a good Master next time."

  "Maybe you won't." Avery said. The boy recoiled as Avery had intended.

  A spotlight shone on his cage and a stick prodded him through the bars. Avery scrambled to his feet before the security guard could activate the shock features of his baton.

  "Nice cock on this one," the auctioneer said. "Shame he's beat and dirty. If only owners washed the merch before the auction, they could fetch a much higher price."

  "Looks like he's been around the block a bit," the security guard said. "Let's face it, they lose value as soon as their owners put scars and tattoos on them."

  "Record says he came back from the organ house. Surprised they didn't take more."

  "Probably gonna end up at the mines, despite that nice prick. A shame." The auctioneer shrugged.

  The security guard stepped forward with a needle. Avery pressed his limp cock through the bars, barely even feeling the needle pierce his skin. He'd been afraid of it once upon a time, but resisting was far worse. All the shot did was give him a raging erection so that the pleasure slave buyers could see what he had to offer in that department. If he was smart, he'd stroke himself a little, try and show off his better side in hopes he'd end up as some guy's toy. It sucked, but it was better than the organ house or the mines, where he'd certainly die. He stifled a dry laugh with a cough. Why was he still trying to keep himself alive? There was no escape from the Circle, not ever. They owned the police, the government, and the security services—hell, all of them were the Circle's biggest clients.

  His cock hardened and swelled, his heart quickening as he longed for someone—anyone—to fuck.

  "Let's get the bidding started on t
his one." The auctioneer clapped his hands. "Record says he's twenty-nine, signed into the Circle at age twenty-one. May be a little past his prime now, but I know some of you like them a little older. Used to be a CEO's son in his former life—wow, I did not see that coming. Cock's a good eight inches erect—definitely good pleasure slave material. I think he'd clean up nicely, with a little TLC. Let's start the bidding at a thousand."

  A thousand. Avery's heart lurched a little. He'd sold for ten million at his first auction to an old man who'd believed him a virgin. He'd spent his first six months living with other pleasure slaves in a huge mansion in Spain before the old man had keeled over dead from a heart attack and his disgusted wife had sold all the slaves at a bargain. It had been a boring first ownership, not so different from his life as the CEO's son, except for the amount of cock he was getting on a daily basis. That life seemed tempting now, compared to the things he'd seen and done since.

  The first time he'd killed—no. He couldn't think about that. He'd locked the image away in a compartment in his mind and shut it tight. His mind was full of boxes. Sometimes he'd run his mind over the locks and wonder what would happen if he let those thoughts roam free. Would he snap and lose his mind, descending into a fit of rage and despair so awful he'd end up unsold?

  Maybe that would be a blessing at this point. Those slaves so unwanted that they fetched no price at auction usually disappeared. Rumor had it that they were killed for sport in some Circle event, but Avery had learned to take rumors with a grain of salt.

  "No thousand? Let's start at eight-hundred. Come on, he's got to be worth it for the cock alone. He'd make a good gigolo."

  "He stinks." A female buyer towards the front turned her nose up. "His record says he only has one kidney and needs a treatment regimen for the STIs he's picked up."

  "A fixer-upper, sure, but eight-hundred is a steal."

  STIs. Avery knew he had them—cumming burned, and his ass was sore all the time—but the glimmer of wretched hope he'd clung to about finding a place in the pleasure industry withered away as he saw the buyers for the sex industry shake their heads and turn their attention to the next cage down.

  "Five-hundred. Come on, you could clean him up and sell him on, net yourself a tidy profit."

  "I'll take him for two hundred." A figure stepped out of the shadows. He wore a mask over his eyes to obscure his identity, but it looked at odds with the tattered brown coat he wore and the messy, greying stubble on his chin. Old duct-taped brown leather boots thudded on the concrete floor as he moved closer to inspect the merchandise, trying to look like he was quite willing to pass if he couldn't get the right price.

  "Two hundred is a lowball offer," the auctioneer complained.

  "The mines will give you fifty, if they even bother. They're not big on sick slaves either. Sexually transmitted diseases tend to spread like wildfire." The man spoke with confidence, stroking his chin as he stared the auctioneer down. "Take it to the seller if you must, but that's my price."

  "I'll sell." The weasly, thin man who had been Avery's Master waved his hand dismissively, and Avery wasn't sad to see him go. There was no love lost with this man and his fetishes for piss and age play.

  "I'll settle up now, if you don't mind," the stranger said. He handed over ten tattered twenty-dollar bills at the front counter, and Avery watched as he bought the key to his cage and collar, trying to get a read on the man. Was he an eccentric millionaire looking for a ride, or a front buyer for some other party?

  The man unlocked the chains holding him and took the leash to his collar, guiding him through the throngs of people in the warehouse. The young, well-cared for slave that had tried to speak to him was being bid up into the millions, and nobody watched the dilapidated man and his new slave as they left the building.

  Avery was grateful when the fresh air hit his face, a relief after the stench of so many unwashed bodies. His cock still strained for touch, and he reached down and took it in hand.

  "Please don't," the stranger said.

  Please? Who ever said please to a slave? Avery shot the man a confused glance but forced himself to let go of his dick. Maybe later, when they reached their destination, he could relieve himself with other slaves in his new Master's employ. Maybe the Master himself would want to try out his new toy. Avery could think of worse things—scruffiness aside, the stranger was a fairly good-looking older man, probably in his late forties or early fifties. Salt and pepper hair hung greasily around his ears in a mullet, while his stubble was steel grey to match his eyes. The man had an open face, laugh lines creasing his expression. He was different to the usual kind of customer who came to slave auctions. Avery wondered if he was this man's first slave. Maybe he'd simply submitted to some kind of natural curiosity.

  The stranger opened the trunk of a white car. Avery stepped forward to climb in, but the man barred his entry, instead grabbing another long coat, which he thrust at Avery. "Put this on," he ordered. "I can't take you home naked."

  "Yes, Master." Avery complied and slipped the worn garment on, though the coat was too large for him and he looked absurd in it. How long had it been since he'd been dressed? Slaves were usually kept naked, unless they were being used to present the public face of an organization. Despite all the promises the Circle had made, he'd never found himself working for the government, though he had heard of slaves who'd made it that way. Just like in the outside world, government jobs were the cushy ones, the best chance for slaves to have something resembling what they'd signed up for.

  Avery scrambled to open the car door for his new Master, almost tripping over the coat in the process. The stranger didn't laugh but regarded him with a weary stare. Just who was this man? Avery closed the door and awaited further orders. Now the man would most likely order him to lie in the trunk.

  "Get in." The stranger gestured to the passenger seat, and Avery's eyes widened. Masters never allowed their slaves to do things that might see them regarded as equals. He scrambled to obey. The stranger started the car and drove out of the lot, maintaining silence until they reached the highway.

  "I don't know what I'm doing," the man said. "I'm an ex-cop, not a fucking slave owner!" He kept one hand on the wheel while he reached into his front pocket, pulling out a packet of cigarettes. Avery moved to help him, but the stranger pressed him away. "I can light my own smokes, thanks."

  "Sorry, Master."

  "Jesus Christ," the man swore under his breath. "I only went to investigate those fucks. Thought I could help my daughter with her investigation into the Circle, so she doesn't get killed. How the fuck did that turn into buying a slave?"

  Avery sat silently. He had thoughts on the matter, but he wasn't going to speak unless he was given permission to do so. The last thing he wanted was a beating on his first day with a new Master.

  "Say something. For fuck's sake, don't call me Master. I'm not into that dom-sub shit."

  "Th-thanks," Avery managed.

  "You're thanking me for making the biggest ethical fuck-up of my life? Dear God, how did I fall down this rabbit hole?" The stranger took a drag from his cigarette and held it close to the wheel as he turned a corner.

  "I think that…you must be better than the organ house or the mines." Avery wasn't used to voicing his thoughts, and they came out stilted and fragmented. "I sense that…you don't want to kill me."

  "Organ houses?" The stranger's eyes widened. "Kill you?"

  "I was sold to an organ house a few owners ago. I only have one kidney now."

  "Jesus fucking Christ…" The man swerved, almost dropping his cigarette as he lost his concentration. "You mean to say that kind of shit actually happens?"

  "That's not even the worst place to go," Avery said, finding his voice. "Some people buy cheap slaves for snuff films. Or the diamond miners make you work in hazardous conditions eighteen hours a day until you die."

  The man actually turned pale. "Dear God. What have I done, giving those Circle fucks my money?"

&nbs
p; "You saved my life. Master." Avery looked down at his lap, hope daring to rise in his throat until he was sure he was going to vomit. "Please don't sell me. Even if this was a mistake. Please don't send me back there. I'll do whatever you want. I'll be good to you."

  The stranger was silent for the rest of the journey. Avery studied him, trying to read the meaning behind his tormented expression. Was he truly conflicted at the thought of having bought a slave, or was he only a buyer about to deliver him over to some shady Master after all?

  The car pulled into a driveway. A modest two-story single house sat on a tiny square of land. The paint around the window frames was peeling and dirt stained the grey siding a dingy brown. Weeds sprouted through the driveway, cracking the concrete underfoot.

  Avery followed him inside.

  "Please go upstairs and have a shower. I'll try to find something clean for you to wear."

  Avery nodded, fighting the tightness in his throat. The silence in the house was frightening after the constant noise of the last few years. He hadn't been alone for a moment, always rooming with other slaves, pleasing his Master, or undertaking some task under supervision. He staggered upstairs, shedding the coat and placing it in the laundry hamper at the top of the steps. He tiptoed into the bathroom, feeling as though he was doing something forbidden as he turned on the hot water and stepped into the tub. He washed himself fully, lathering himself up with soap. His erection sprang back to full attention as he cleaned the length of his shaft, the drugs still in his system. He wanted to touch himself, but he had no idea if his new Master would be joining him. He kept the water running until his skin grew wrinkly, then realized his new Master was probably not coming. Taking his cock in hand, he jerked himself off to release, relief washing over him as his desire was sated.

  He took a clean towel, burying his face in it and almost crying at the luxuriousness. His last Master would have beaten the shit out of him for using anything more than a rag after bathing in the cold, dirty water the other slaves had already used and jerked off in. He dried himself off and headed out to the landing, where his new Master stood with a folded pile of clothing.