“I already have plenty of credit and I have no need of a male who’s good with his hands. I bought you because I was assured you were good with other things,” his mistress sniffed. “I’ve a mind to see how that huge knot at the base of your shaft feels inside me. You will service me or pay the price.”
“Sorry Mistress but threats don’t exactly make my dick hard,” Slade growled. “In fact, they tend to have the opposite effect.”
“We’ll see about that.” The mistress had motioned to her personal physician, who had been standing by and watching the entire show with a completely neutral expression on his face. Maybe he saw his mistress threatening males into sleeping with her all the time, Slade had no idea. But for whatever reason, he didn’t seem the least bit fazed by the conversation.
At the nod from the mistress, the physician had darted forward and jabbed Slade in the arm with a needle.
“Hey!” Slade hadn’t expected that—he’d been keeping his eye on the angry woman who had bought him. He reached for the little physician but the male had already danced out of range and was standing safely in the mistress’s shadow. “What the fuck was that?” Slade demanded, looking down at his arm where a single ruby droplet of blood welled, just above his elbow.
“Eroto-lust enhancer.” The mistress sounded pleased with herself. “We’ll see how long your resistance lasts once the chemicals hit your system. You’ll be begging to service me then—begging to sheathe that enormous shaft inside me and give me what I bought you for.”
Then she had turned on her heel and left.
To his distress, Slade had indeed begun to feel the effects of the enhancer not long after. His shaft seemed to be always hard, his thoughts constantly preoccupied by sex.
But Slade was a stubborn son-of-a-bitch—he refused to give in.
He jerked off on a regular basis to try and keep the lust contained and used meditation to clear his head—as much as he could anyway—a fact which baffled his mistress.
“How has he been able to resist the effects of the enhancer?” she demanded of her physician after Slade refused her yet again. “It cannot be that he is controlling his lust through self-pleasure. You assured me that only sheathing his shaft in a female would ease his need!”
“Forgive me, Mistress.” The little physician had bowed and groveled. “I do not know what is the matter. I know the serum is effective—I injected it into one of your other breeding slaves and his lust could scarcely be contained.”
“Yes, I know—which is why half my female staff are now pregnant,” the Mistress snapped. “Yet this one resists—how?”
“Maybe because you’re not my fucking type,” Slave growled. He was damn tired of standing there, watching them discuss him like he wasn’t even in the room. Like he wasn’t even a real person—which as a slave, he wasn’t. Not to his mistress, anyway. He was just a way to scratch her itch but by now Slade had decided he would be damned if he’d go anywhere near her.
His mistress wasn’t one to give up easily though. She liked to get her money’s worth.
“You will service me,” she’d told Slade. “Or I will have you thrown in prison. I’ll say you raped me and since you’ve already got a murder charge from killing your previous master, that will mean an instant life sentence.” She’d leaned forward, hands on her hips, her blood-red nails tap-tap-tapping against her sharp hip bones. “Think of that, Slade—you’ll be spending the rest of your miserable existence in a place with no females at all. And you know the lust enhancer I had my physician give you won’t ease until you sink your shaft into a warm, wet cunnie. Do you really prefer years of torment over servicing me?”
“Fuck yes,” Slade had growled. “I told you, Mistress—I took an oath not to be with another female after the one I loved died. All your drugs and threats won’t change that. So leave me the fuck alone!”
The mistress had stared at him for a moment, white dents of fury on either side of her long, aristocratic nose, fingers tapping at her bony hips. Then she’d turned on her heel and strode out of the small slave-hut where Slade was kept.
The next people to walk through his door had been a heavily-armed contingent of peace keepers, arresting him for aggravated rape of one of the ruling class—a charge that did, indeed carry a life-sentence.
Slade was charged, tried, and convicted all in one day. After all, it wasn’t like a lowly slave could afford a solicitor to argue for him in court.
From there, it was a short trip to the local prison. Where Slade, unfortunately, got into several fights and had to kill to defend himself. After twisting an attacker’s head completely off during a particularly brutal battle, he had gained the charge of “mutilator” to add to his other charges of murder, rape, and arson. It was then that the powers that be decided to transfer him to BleakHall—a triple max pen owned by the man-hating mistresses of Yonnie Six.