Wasteland

Jack sighed deeply, not moving from where he lay next to her. His eyes darkend with the thought of memory. He seemed to consider her for sometime before he spoke. She wondered what was in his past that the town did not know or suspect that he wished to hide. The fact that he wasn't overly protective of concealing his tattoo coupled with his desire for her secrecy confused her as much as it intrigued her. She waited patiently for him to tell the tale. Allowed his fingers to stroke the curves and grooves of her flesh. At times he stopped talking as if captured in a long forgotten memory. These are the times his eyes went dim as he stared at his finger tips on her skin, or the pout her lip, or a patch of freckles. When his eyes drift up to hers she can almost see him come back from his past, bringing pieces with him to be shared with her like old treasures of a child. Or dead creatures that were crushed by the weight of pain. These he dropped at her feet to be poked with a stick, then he moved on to the next trinket. She kept her calm even as her alarm rose and fell. She offered a comforting hand when he seemed in pain. She let him take her body when he wanted an escape. Her curiosity of him only grew the more she learned of the man called Jack.

"It's t'long a tale t'start from the beginin'. Th'er's not much of a childhood t'tell, b'sides. But I can give ya the innerestin' bits. When I was jus' a bean my 'rents was young. When I was a boy they was dead. Slavers came by 'em one night. Ma and Pa fought 'em t'pertect me, but they was out gunned. 'Least, that's what the men who raised me up told me. 'Spose the truth don' matter nurn now. I wern't the only kid they'd taken, but I's one o'the few they kep fer themselves. Not fer screwin' though. They had othern's fer that."

The memory flashed through his mind of one night he remembers like a dream, or a nightmare, with fog around the edges of his vision and a eerie absence of wind or breath. It's not the first time he'd seen such a thing happen, but it's the first he remembers.

The camp fire burns with an oily light, though the wood that's used is dry. Broken pieces of a wooden bed, from the looks of it. Probably happened when a few too many tried to pile on, or maybe someone was thrown onto it hard enough to strain the weakened supports. It doesn't matter. Not to him. It's not him that it's getting done to. He's not the one that has to endure it. So he doesn't interfere. He watches in silence from the shadows, hoping not to be noticed.

His chores are done. The other children have been locked away behind the gated fence where they sleep on mounds of hay. The breeze carries the stench of their defecation from the far corner to where he lays on his mattress. He has his own hut outside the cage, but he's chained by the ankle to a pipe that runs into the ground like a thumb and forefinger of steel. This doesn't matter either, because his belly is fuller than the ones in the cage or even of the young girl who's older than he by the fire. She begs the men not to proceed, to leave her be and lock her way with the others. She shouts her protests then pleads for them to stop. He can clearly see the smear of blood on her thigh and on on the man that took her. The redness of it seems almost orange in the glow of the fire. He can hear her crying and the tears in his own eyes wash away the dirt and grim on his face as they trail over his skin to wet the mattress. He feels sorry for her, and hates himself for not being able to save her.

When he is older the girl is gone. Sold long ago for guns or food. Maybe clean water. It doesn't matter. She is gone and it wasn't him. She had deserved it. Asked for it. Disobeying the slavers or not performing her duties well enough or fast enough. It was her own fault they took her like they did. She was young and pretty. She didn't try hard enough to not be noticed. She looked them in the eye when they spoke to her or didn't when she should have. It had to be her fault, because if it wasn't then it could happen to him.

"Me they kep fer other things. I helped in the kitchen or cleaned and fixed the guns. They learned me t'do other things, like how t'shoot the guns and hit what I was aimed et. Why they didn' sell me or why they learned me I dunno. I weren't spared the beatin's if I done somet'in' wrong, but I's probly the only 'ne t'ever get a reward fer doin' good. Gave me cleaner water and betta food, even beer sometimes. Fist time they gave m' a girl fer the night they said it was 'cause I was old 'nough t'become a man."

The girl is younger than he is, even younger than the girl who is gone. 'A fresh catch', the slavers tell him as they shove her into his arms like she's an extra blanket. She looks up at him, afraid of him, but more afraid of the other men. He grins down at her. He notices her eyes are darker than any eyes he's seen before and shining with tears. He thanks the men and asks to take her to his hut. The men laugh at him for being shy and allow him the privacy of the doorless hut. They gather around the fire to watch what they can see.

He takes her to his hut and she starts to pull away, knowing what is about to happen. But she also knows her only escape will be to worse ends, so she goes willingly into the shadows with him. He pushes the mattress as far into the dark as he can. They don't chain him up anymore, but the cuff is still there wrapped around the pipe. He has the key now. They gave it to him with the girl. She was his slave now. A small part of him is still the little boy who wanted to help, but a bigger part of him is the boy who didn't care. He has lived with the slavers too long and doesn't care about other living things very much any more. He wants his birthday present and he intends to open it.

Her nails are broken and jagged, so he puts her writs together and cuffs her to the pipe. She's much weaker than he is, so though she is fighting with all her strength, he feels only the slightest resistance. This make him think she wants him. She's petite enough that both her wrists fit in one cuff. He closes the other around the chain so she can't get away, just in case she tries. Her dress buttons down the front and he makes quick work of them. She's already bruised from the capture. He can see the darkened areas on her ribs in the flickering light from the campfire. She stiffens at his touch as he grabs at one of her small breasts. Her knees are locked tight as his fingers trail down her thighs. She pleads with him not to do this, but he ignores her. He easily pushes her legs open and slips between them. Her feeble struggle is like a gentle urging. The cotton of her panty rips away easily in his fist. The pink folds that are exposed quiver with fear like the rest of her body. It excites him that she's afraid of him. He has spent so much of his life afraid of the men, to be feared makes him feel powerful.

At first he just touches the place he will go. He is curious to feel it with his fingers, to see what it feels like, what it looks like on the inside. Then he wants to taste her before her flower is plucked. He pushes her legs wider to slide his tongue in all the places of her sex. Her uncontrollable whimpering moan pushes his arousal to stiffness that cries to be released from his denims. He obliges this demand and unbuttons his fly. When the girl sees his manhood she cries out and struggles to get free, but it is too late. He pushes himself inside her, heedless of her pleasure or pain. When he feels the tightness and the pressure then sees the blood, his mind goes numb and his body takes it's pleasure.

Beneath him she moans and cries, but the cries are tears and her moans are pleads for him to stop. She tells him of the pain but he doesn't listen and silences the words that try to speak to the boy within with rough kisses and choking hands. He can hear the men goading him on by the fire and their praise means more to him than her tears or begging. When he's had his fill he sleeps next to her as if she loved him. In the morning the men who called him Boy now call him Jack because of they way he 'jack knifed' the girl. He keeps her like he was kept, only takes her whenever he feels the need. He calls her foul names, though she'd told him her name is Lucy. When she does, he beats her and rapes her. If she fights him he threatens to let the other men have at her, so she accepts him. He feels powerful.

"I'd been a man fer 'bout two months, I guess, when they taught m' how to sell. What t'look fer when I was 'shoppin'. Af'er them two months they took me on my first run fer merchandise. 'T what'n a town or anythin' go grand. Jus' some folk that escaped the last run. Scout found 'em hidin' in an old house what survived the years perddy good. Still had all the wall in tac' an' a roof wit' no holes. Mos' the adult's tried to fight. They died. The othern's surrendered. Two men an' a woman. Had a little girl wit' 'em. She looked so much like the girl the slavers gamme, they gamme her too fer a job well done on the firs' try. Made me one of 'em af'er that."

The sun rose latter that day, a little cooler than it had been. The season is turning. Jack is atop his slave, working her like a bull moose in rut. He chokes her so he can hear the wet slap of himself against her. Feet stop outside his door, kicking up dust. Scout calls in at him without peeking in. Jack and Scout have become friends of a sort. Jack let's Scout borrow Lucy from time to time for favors, benefits slavers have that slaves don't, like a full meal and not just the scraps.

Jack is still a slave, though he's being brought up to be a slaver. When he can earn his place among them he'll get a room in the main house and the full meal he barters for. Scout tells Jack he's going with them on a run. It's his first one so he's excited. His release comes earlier than usual and he fills his slave with his seed. It wasn't the first time, but the girl hadn't had her first bleed yet. He leaves her laying there, exposed and panting with tears running down her cheeks.

Buttoning up his pants as he leaves his hut. All he is thinking about is his first kill, his first capture. If he does well enough maybe he won't have to share his toy for food. He doesn't like to share her, even though he cares nothing for her. He rubs his balls through his denims because her juices are dripping down and it's uncomfortably tickling him. He decides that if his hunt goes poorly he'll beat her for the distraction of making him wet. He should do it anyway just because she was enjoying it too much. He tell Scout what he's going to do and why because Scout thinks it's funny when Jack tells him those things, but only if he really does them. Scout tells him to put his 'pud' in the other hole. That she won't like that as much and it'll teach her a lesson, but that Jack will like it plenty. Jack asks Scout if he's ever done that with her. Scout says 'no', 'cause he hasn't. He tells Jack that he's his friend and he wouldn't do that to the only friend he's ever had. This makes Jack feel something when he hasn't felt anything besides hate and bitterness for years. He's not sure he likes the way the new emotion feels.

They go inside the armory shed to get their guns. Most of the other men are already there. When they leave they do so on foot. Scout and Tracker lead the way. The day stays tolerable through the morning and into the after noon with no luck, but no trouble either. Then Scout sees a house. Tracker says the tracks are fresh. Maybe the people inside are those that escaped the run a couple months ago, the one where they picked up Jack's pet. This gets the slavers excited, but they won't tell Jack why. The house is largely in tact, so the exits are limited. Three men station themselves outside the doors and one for each window on the ground floor. There's no sound in the house and no one fired at them upon approach. Likely the people inside were sleeping and traveling at night. They send Jack in first, because if he dies they only loose a slave, not a man. That's how he thinks they see him until he makes his first capture.

Jack goes in and the living room still has furniture in it. It won't when they leave. Or they'll make it an outpost. He wonders if they'll transfer him here. Then he can have his own room. Jack checks the kitchen, but there's no food. He does find some jet. Scout is a jet user, so he takes it to barer with. Then he goes up the stairs as quietly as he can. One of the steps creaks, but no one stirs. There are two rooms up stairs, and now the slavers have come into the house because they haven't heard gun shots or screams yet. Gunner and Blade join him at the top of the stairs. He sees what they were excited about. His pet has a twin sister. He wants her immediately, like a pair of diamond earrings, he thinks it will give him status.

Then the adults wake up and they have guns. Jack sees the flash of metal before the others do and shoots them in the head at point blank with his pistol. They don't die right away, struggling to live to protect what he imagines is their daughter because the mother looks like them. The girl is scared and screaming. He slaps her, hard, and binds her hands with cord while watching the light go out from her mother's eyes. Too bad she had a gun. Too bad he had to shoot her. He smiles knowing he had been quicker on the draw than the more experienced men. He smiles because he's made his first kill and his first capture. He feels powerful.

There is one male down the hall, but he's caught off guard by the gun shots and easily captured. Jack tells the slavers he's keeping the girl. Instead of beating him for insubordination they laugh at his gall. Not only is he allowed to keep the girl, but he gets his own room in the main house. He's one of them now. Equal. A slaver, powerful.

The sisters are both happy and sad to see each other. He makes Lucy watch him take her sister, chained to the head board as she sits on the floor. He's much kinder to the girl he captured himself. Asks her what her name is. Her lips tremble when she tries to answer. She tries to say Anna Belle, but he doesn't want to say that much when he talks to her. So he calls her Anne.

He's not thinking about how Anne or Lucy feels. He's only thinking about how happy he is to no longer be a slave. He is focused on how tight and wet the virgin feels. He likes that she's not crying like her sister does. She did at first, but now she is moaning and calling him master. He dosen't like that. It reminds him of being a slave. So he tells her his name. When she climaxes she moans his name and he feels powerful. His sex is long and slow, hard and firm. He's more gentle with her, but unyielding. When he knows he is going to release he does it in Lucy's mouth and makes her swallow at point of gun. He tells her that her sister's body is too perfect to risk stretching it out with a baby and her face is too beautiful to put his dick in it, so she must do it because she's a filthy whore. He keeps them chained up, but he feeds Anne better than he feeds Lucy. Her meals come in hot, white streams down her throat up to six times a day. He likes that she they are at his mercy. He likes that they fear him. He is not a slave anymore, and he feels powerful.


"What happened to those girls?" Leona interrupted, but he didn't seem to mind.

"I reckon they're doin' alright fer themselves." He answered. A kind grin spreads over his face.

Leona wondered just where he went when his gaze internalized and what he was thinking when he came back. The story he told her made her feel empathy for him. Raised as a slave only to become one who made other's slaves. But he'd kept them, and that made him just as much a monster. He was neither slave nor slaver now. Something must have happened to cause the change. Though slaving may have been the means with which he bought the tavern. Laying there next to a man who became more complicated the more she knew of him, she couldn't help but wonder if the two girls who looked alike were still with him or if he just happened upon twins again. The man had become what he'd feared. Revealing such a terrible past, she thought it should have bothered him more. She wondered if she ought to run after he fell into sleep. Vitals or no, she was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with his tale and his prodding fingers and absent stairs.