by Ty Marton
But what he didn’t see coming was what Fox blurted out next:
“Guess we’ll have to start getting you used to your new name, X…”
X…
It didn’t register with Jeff for a moment. But when it did, he forgot all about the ass fucking he was in the middle of enduring. He was going to be the new X. That’s why Mason hadn’t branded him yet. He wasn’t here to service Danny Major.
He was here to replace him.
~*~
Jeff was furious at himself for not seeing it coming. It all made perfect sense: Danny was a “broken” slave, but Mason didn’t want to sell him, not without a worthy replacement. And what better way to create a worthy replacement than to trick Danny himself into unknowingly training Jeff for the position? Mason was probably well aware that the two of them were conspiring to try and escape together at some point – he knew it wouldn’t make a difference after Danny was gone. The last of Jeff’s fighting spirit would be shattered, leaving only a brand new, freshly trained “X.” Jeff wondered if Mason had used a similar technique with Danny and Eric. Maybe he’d even been doing it for years, using his old slave to help break in the new one. One final act of submission before being sold off to the highest bidder, and they wouldn’t even realize it.
He had endured the rest of his session with Sheriff Fox in stunned silence, realizing just how fucked he really was. On his own, with Danny gone, he’d likely have zero chance of ever launching an escape attempt with any reasonable chance of success. Worse yet, he was losing the only person in this world he could honestly say that he cared about. However reluctant Jeff had been to define his feelings for Danny, they were feelings that he felt certain Danny reciprocated. Their connection was real, and it meant something. It wasn’t just friendship, and it wasn’t just sex – it was keeping them both sane.
Now, Jeff couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of dread, a feeling that he was doomed to become a mindless shell of a man, as broken and empty and devoid of hope as the other nine slaves at the motel, as bad as Danny had been when Jeff had first found him. As an oblivious Fox continued fucking him, each battering thrust of his cock seemed to reinforce Jeff’s newfound despair, hammering it deep inside of him against his will. Then, after Fox had finally had his fill of sex, his cum slowly dripping out of Jeff’s ass drop by drop, he’d moved over to the very same cabinet where Jeff had hid on his first night at the motel, retrieving a long, thin bamboo cane. “Might as well get those asscheeks warmed up for the branding,” he said, bringing the cane down across Jeff’s backside again and again. In the time he’d spent living as a slave, Jeff had learned how to take a beating, but now, for the first time in weeks, each stinging blow left him whimpering, the cane landing with the weight of all of the unspeakable beatings and abuse Jeff knew his future now held. Like the cum seeping out of Jeff’s weary asshole, the last semblances of hope itself seemed to be pouring out of him, beaten out drip by drip with Fox’s fiery cane.
Finally, Gus had interrupted the savage beating, poking his head in and telling Fox that the buyer was on his way, and that Mason needed him out front. Clicking his tongue as he pulled his pants back up, the out-of-uniform cop shot Jeff one last parting wink before retrieving his gun and holster from a hook in the wall and strapping in. “Look alive, bucko,” he told Gus on his way out the door. “We’re all about to make a lot of money.”
Before long, Gus had dragged a borderline despondent Jeff back to his room, chaining his collar to a hook in the wall just above the bed before shutting the door and leaving him. For the first two weeks, Jeff had been kept in near total restraints at almost all times, usually with cuffs and thick ropes tying him down to the bed. But then, as a reward for obedience, he’d “earned” a few feet worth of freedom, just long enough to move a couple of steps away from the bed in any direction, although it really wouldn’t have even mattered if he were left totally free to move about – the room was painstakingly stripped of anything that could be broken down into a weapon, or used to aid in an escape. The window was barred and the door was heavily reinforced. There was no chance of escape, no chance of resistance. All Jeff could do was pace back and forth between the bed and the wall, his hands remaining cuffed behind his back, and a twelve-inch chain connecting his ankles.
After a few minutes of anxious pacing, with occasional glances shot towards the camera in the far corner of the room, Jeff finally brought himself to move to the window. Part of him didn’t even want to watch Danny being led away – the very thought of it was enormously painful, and Jeff didn’t want it to be any more crushing than it had to be. All the same, he knew he couldn’t just ignore what was happening, no matter how devastated he might have felt.
For a while, there was nothing to see – just the empty gravel lot behind the motel. Finally, after almost an hour of anticipation, he saw Mason in a crisp, blue Oxford shirt, along with Sheriff Fox. The two of them stood in the center of the lot, their attention focused on the driveway leading out to the highway. The entire motel was on lockdown, and there was a palpable electricity in the air. This wasn’t the first time outsiders had been brought to the motel since Jeff had been there, and while it was always tense, with the entire staff keenly aware of the heightened risk of security breaches, no client had ever felt quite like this. It was, after all, potentially a million-dollar sale going through. No wonder Fox had shown up today, Jeff realized. Mason wanted the extra security.
Mason whispered something to Fox, who nodded and then lifted a walkie-talkie to his lips. He must have been speaking with Gus, Jeff knew – Dwayne and Trixie had likely gone to meet the buyer in a neutral location, as they always did, only bringing them back when it had been deemed safe, just one of many precautions that Mason took. After all, the slaves he trained were an incredibly valuable commodity, likely worth millions to fellow human traffickers. Transactions were, by definition, high stakes affairs.
Through the glass, Jeff heard the first faint crunch of rock beneath a vehicle’s tire – someone was pulling into the motel. Fox spoke into the walkie talkie again, squinting his eyes ahead. The crunching gravel grew louder, and louder… then, Jeff saw it: Dwayne’s truck, a large formidable ride with deeply tinted windows. It rolled to a stop about thirty meters in front of Mason and Fox, like some sort of bizarre face off. The driver’s door opened. Fox readied his hand near the pistol hanging at his hip, but there was no need – it was Dwayne, who looked to Mason and gave a slight, reassuring nod. Trixie exited from shotgun, moving around to join Dwayne as he opened the back door to the cab.
Out stepped a slightly diminutive, yet clearly muscular Mexican with a bald head and a thick black moustache. He carried a silver briefcase and wore a white suit with a stark red tie, flowing down from his neck like a ribbon of blood. There was a faint smile on Mason’s face as he offered the man a friendly, respectful nod. The Mexican smirked, nodding back.
This was the buyer, Jeff knew. This was the man who was going to own Danny. The thought made his stomach turn.
The Mexican looked around, inspecting the motel, appraising it. Then, nodding to himself, he turned back to the vehicle, barking something into the cab.
A second figure stepped out – a shirtless Caucasian male, wearing a jet black leather hood over his head. He stood subserviently at the Mexican’s side, his head bowed, his wrists secured in front of him with thick leather cuffs. The Mexican casually produced a leash from his jacket pocket, clipping it to the slave’s collar.
The smile was gone from Mason’s face. His eyes narrowed. Fox looked to him nervously, whispering something.
Something wasn’t right, Jeff realized.
“You were told to come here alone,” Mason called out.
“And I thought you said no guns,” the Mexican replied, gesturing to Fox. “What’s to stop you from taking my money and leaving me to rot in the desert?”
“You know my reputation,” Mason yelled back, scowling. “It isn’t wise to open a transaction by insulting me.”<
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The Mexican bit his lip, then gave a nod. “I mean no disrespect,” he finally called out. “As for my slave, I always travel with him at my side. Besides – he is the one I will be pairing with yours.” He smiled, holding his briefcase up, the sun glinting off of it. “There is no conflict here,” he called out. “I’ve produced your payment. Now please produce what I have purchased.”
Fox looked to Mason for approval. After a brief hesitation, Mason gave a slow nod, causing Fox to speak into the radio. Within seconds, the door opened to Mason’s private apartment, located on the second floor of the small building that housed the dungeon. Gus stepped out, pushing Danny in front of him with the steel leash. Jeff cringed as he watched the two of them make their way down the steps, Danny hobbling along with an ankle chain of his own, as well as handcuffs locking his wrists behind his back. As horrible as Jeff felt, he could only imagine how Danny felt, although the dead stare in his eyes might have given some indication.
Mason nodded to Fox once more after Gus and Danny had joined the two of them. Fox stepped forward, crossing the lot and approaching the Mexican, not taking his eyes off of him for a moment.
“Arms up at the sides,” Fox said as soon he reached them. The Mexican smirked, complying and lifting his arms, allowing Fox to frisk through his suit.
“Take it easy,” Dwayne murmured. “They’re clean. No guns.”
Fox ignored him, clearly trusting no one but himself. Once satisfied, he stepped over to the Mexican’s slave. The hood covered his entire head, rendering him blind, and he wore nothing else but his collar, cuffs, and black, spandex briefs, but Fox was taking no chances. He looked the young man over suspiciously, almost as if he were expecting something out of the ordinary…
Then, as he turned the slave around and glanced down the young man’s back, he spotted it.
There was scar tissue, faint, but distinct, peeking out of the top of the slave’s jock. Confusion grew across Fox’s face. He reached down, grabbing the briefs and yanking them down, exposing the slave’s ass.
There, burned into his cheek, was the Roman numeral “IX.”
“What the hell…” Fox muttered, before grabbing the slave’s shoulder and jerking him back around. He reached up, tearing at the buckles on the slave’s hood. Once it was loose, he pulled it off and threw it to the ground, revealing a long, thick mane of blond hair, and a calm, collected face. Even for Jeff, peering out through the blinds in his room, there was no mistaking him.
It was Eric.
Before anyone could respond or even say another word, Eric clenched his wrists, unlocking a spring-loaded blade hidden within his thick cuffs. With a sudden snarl, he lunged his arms forward, plunging the knife straight into Sheriff Fox’s gut. As the sheriff let out a shocked grunt of pain, the Mexican deftly grabbed his gun out of his holster, spinning around and training it on Dwayne. Dwayne raised his hands, utter fear in his eyes. The Mexican smirked and pulled the trigger, putting a bullet in the center of his forehead. Then, he turned to Fox, already crumpled and moaning on the ground, and coolly pointed the gun at him as well. With another sharp gunshot echoing out into the empty desert, the Sheriff, too, was dead.
Jeff watched, stunned, as pandemonium broke out. Letting out a terrified cry, Gus dropped his hold on Danny, then turned and ran for it, only to receive a quick bullet in the center of his back, dropping him to the sandy earth. Trixie screamed at the sight, backing up against the motel and cowering in place just a few feet away from Jeff’s window. Mason remained still, his face betraying not fear, but furious anger as he stared at this bold man with the upper hand, as well as his former slave, long forgotten and back to where he had come from, vengeance burning in his eyes.
The Mexican kept his gun trained on Mason as Eric calmly approached Trixie. Terrified beyond belief, her legs buckled out from under her, and she slowly slid down against the motel wall, tears streaming down her face. Soon, Eric was standing over her, glaring down at her like an executioner.
Eric looked from her to Danny, who remained frozen in place, unable to take his eyes off of his former partner. “What do you say, X? Should she live?”
Danny didn’t have an answer. His mouth hung open, the very sight of Eric putting him into a state of shock.
“Please,” Trixie sobbed, “I don’t wanna die…”
A smile curled up the corner of Eric’s mouth. He shrugged, then reached down, grabbed two fistfuls of her hair, and slammed her head into the wall, dazing her, leaving her barely conscious and moaning on the pavement, blood trickling down the side of her head.
“Fucking piece of trash!” Mason snarled.
BANG!
The Mexican fired a shot, sending a bullet tearing through Mason’s thigh. Mason growled in pain, clutching at the wound and collapsing to the ground. “Don’t talk to my slave like that,” he muttered, pausing to give the wounded man a sharp kick in the ribs before leaving him and moving across the lot to Danny. He tucked the gun into his pants and reached out, grabbing the slave’s face and looking him over.
“Number nine here has been a very loyal slave,” he said, cautiously eying Danny over. “I killed a powerful rival just so I could have him. He told me you were worth killing for, too.”
“You can trust him, X,” Eric said, eagerly stepping up to join them. “He’s a worthy master…”
SMACK! The Mexican delivered a sharp slap across Eric’s face.
“Quiet, bitch,” he said. “Remember your fucking place.”
Eric quickly took a step back, bowing his head. “Yes sir, of course.”
The Mexican turned back to Danny. “My name is Orlando,” he said, sliding his thumb across the slave’s lips. “You belong to me now, like number nine. Say it.”
“I… belong to you now, sir,” Danny said.
“You are my property. You will do everything I tell you to do.”
“Yes sir…” Danny said.
The two of them locking eyes, Danny trembled as Orlando slid his thumb into the slave’s mouth, a wry smile appearing on his face as Danny closed his eyes, resigned, and slowly began to suck.
Just a few feet away, peering through the blinds of his motel room window, Jeff knelt on the floor, numb with shock, eyes wide. Everything he had come to know was changing right in front of him, and he was powerless to do anything about it.
And then, in a moment that made his mouth go dry and sent a considerable chill pulsing through the back of his neck, Jeff realized that Orlando was staring straight through the window at him, his thumb still nestled in Danny’s mouth.
“That’s a good slut,” he told Danny, keeping his stare locked on Jeff. He held the slave’s fearful stare for a few weighted seconds before turning his attention back to Eric. “We’ve got what we came here for,” he said. “But collect that little tranny bitch. We can put that slut to good use.”
Jeff felt himself deflate as Orlando moved away from the window, and realized that he hadn’t taken a breath in several seconds. Flashing a grin that rendered him almost unrecognizable in Danny’s eyes, Eric ran off to grab the hood he had worn earlier. He returned to Trixie, pulling the whimpering wreck up to her feet by her hair. She sobbed weakly as Eric spat in her face, then slid the hood down over her head, quickly securing the buckles and locking it in place.
“Let’s go,” Orlando said. “The chopper is waiting.”
“What about Mason, sir?” Eric asked. Orlando just shrugged.
“Leave him to bleed,” he said.
“And the rest of the slaves?”
Orlando paused at the question, bending over to spit in the dirt. “Forget about them,” he finally said. “Their troubles are over. Now come on. Vamonos.”
With Eric dragging Trixie beside him, Orlando grabbed Danny by the elbow, the four of them beginning to make their way toward the truck. Mason groaned, reaching out towards them in vain.
“No,” he cried out, his voice weak. “X is mine…” He tried to rise to his feet, but collapsed back down to th
e earth as soon as he put weight on his injured leg. “Come back!” he yelled, teeth bared, his face red, the last of his strength pouring directly into his mindless vitriol. “X!”
But Danny wasn’t paying Mason any attention. Instead, he was staring at room X, where the stunned, frozen face of Jeff was still barely visible through the blinds. The two of them locked eyes, a silent, solemn goodbye as Orlando continued dragging Danny away. As they walked, Eric noticed Danny’s fixed gaze, following it to the window and furrowing his brow in curiosity.
“…Sir?” he said, his voice hesitant.
Orlando turned, and Eric quietly nodded towards Danny. Orlando regarded him for a moment, then shifted his eyes back to room X. A thoughtful expression came over his face, as if he were listening to some unspoken instinct. He glanced down at the scar tissue burned across Danny’s backside.
“Get the man’s keys,” he finally said, turning back to Eric. “Let’s go see who’s staying in room X.”
~*~
“Agent Brown - we’ve got something…”
Audrey froze in the doorway as Special Agent Martin Brown jostled awake at his desk, nearly spilling a long-cold mug of half-finished coffee over a mess of paperwork.
“Jesus,” he muttered, shaking his head and rubbing at his forehead. “What time is it?”
“Just after three,” Audrey said, wrinkling her nose apologetically. “I know it’s been a long night - I didn’t mean to startle you…”
“It’s fine,” Brown said, waving his hand at her as he started collecting himself. “This shit’s giving me nightmares anyway. What have we got?”
“The decryption team made a breakthrough on that hard drive we recovered,” the mousy analyst explained as the two of them made their way down a long corridor. “You were right,” she told him, “it’s filled with video logs from the motel’s security system.”
