Breaking Drake Ch. 06

Raell strode into the pen. She glanced at the bowl and noted that it was in fact completely clean. She then looked at the older slave. He was kneeled, trembling, on his knees. The source of all her attention was coughing up the water he had swallowed the second she had burst in. She went and sat on the kneeling slave.

Drake watched Raell sit on Riley, unsure of what she wanted. He had cleaned the bowl like she wanted.

"Come here, pet." Raell ordered.

Drake obeyed, the throbbing stripes on his skin reminding him that it was a better idea to obey. Raell ran a hand through his hair, and he found he enjoyed the relaxing feeling. Too late he realized it was in fact a trap. A clamp-collar tightened around his neck.

"Thanks, Jess." Raell spoke, nodding at the girl who had collared Drake.

Drake didn't bother struggling, he'd learned by now that he couldn't break free of the clamp. He was walked out towards the posts. Panicking, he twisted to look at Raell.

"Mistress, what did I do wrong? Please, please don't post me again! Pleaseeee!" He plead and begged, trying to think of what he had done wrong. He understand punishing him when he had disobeyed or broken a rule, but punishing him for no reason just wasn't fair.

They dragged Drake past the posts and he let out a sigh of relief. He looked around, staring at the farmland that stretched off into the distance. At different intervals he could see the teams of slaves pulling the plows. The occasional CRACK of a whip was heard, as the women watching the teams had to encourage them to keep pulling. Drake involuntarily flinched with each snap, the stripes in his flesh burning in sympathy.

The group approached another barn, this one not nearly as big as the first but still similar. Drake watched as a group of slaves kneeled, stood, and sat in different positions at the command of a group of women, who snapped orders and snapped crops against flesh if a slave was not preforming the ordered position correctly.

Drake realized that this was the training barn. The slaves he had watched thrown into the pen after being branded and such were then brought here. He was put into pen much like the one he had been in mere minutes ago. The clamp was undone and the women left.

Drake got up from where he had been tossed. Looking around he noticed multiple pens full of men. Some were fully naked, others wore the now familiar black harnesses. Drake wondered when Raell would force him to wear one too. Why was he being treated so differently than the other slaves?

Looking out Drake noticed a woman pulling a slave towards his pen. He stared in shock as he realized that the slave had a ring that went around and through his bottom jaw, which is what she was pulling him by. Drake watched as the pair walked by, trying to imagine how painful it must have been for the slave when they put the ring in. How did he eat?

A loud snarl caught his attention and he watched as two women dragged in a beefy slave. Drake stared at the two rings that pierced his cheeks, and the reins linked to them. The slave was bucking to throw the woman on his back off. A strange saddle-like contraption was buckled on him, and the girl was perched on it. Her feet dangled down by his groin, and Drake realized that she was spurred and that when he jerked against the reins in her hand she would brutally kick him.

The two women dragging the slave in each held a coil of rope which were tied around the man's thick neck. They strained against the ropes, as the slave pulled back. Hearing the crunch of boots against the gravelly floor, Drake noticed Raell striding towards the man. The group noticed too. Raell grabbed both of the rope ties, and gestured at the woman.

"Let me take him, Lynn. Let's see how he does with me on his back."

The rider- Lynn, got off, and Raell snapped at the slave.

"Down."

The slave looked at the smaller woman standing before him, and snorted. Raell smiled, and snapping her fingers the slave bellowed and grabbed his groin, falling on his knees. Drake stared, fascinated, as he realized he was seeing the shock plate at work. Seeing how much pain the bull of a man was in from just the plate in his sac, Drake felt a flash of fear for the inevitable time Raell would snap her fingers and all the rigging in his body would shock him.

The pain seemed to cease as Raell swung up onto the saddle. She tugged on the reins, but the slave did not move. Raell "summoned" a crop to her hand, and Drake noted the spines on it. Maybe all the instruments she created out of thin air were scaled? Raell snapped the crop down hard on the slave's ass, and he yelped. She jerked the reins, putting steady pressure on them, and the slave slowly stood up, groaning at the constant pain. Turning him towards the fields, she clucked and kicked lightly.

The three woman stared as Raell rode the slave in random patterns, then brought him back in. She dismounted and handed the reins to them.

"Post him. Use the reins and don't take the tack off. Let's see how long it takes 459 here to realize that he's better off listening to the rider on his back."

The slave gave Raell a terrified look, but went meekly with the women. Raell turned and looked over at Drake's pen. Drake gazed back, puzzling over her use of the numbers instead of a name. He felt a flash of fear as he saw anger appear on her face. Raell strode towards his pen, and Drake backed up.

"Let's make something clear, slave. The next time I see you looking at me, and not looking down submissively like you should, I'll be trussing you up next to 459 over there. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Mistress." Drake looked down, really not wanting to spend a day tied to a pole.

Raell felt a thrill of joy as she noted his non-hesitant use of her title. He was starting to come around, starting to submit to the genes so carefully bred into him. Oh, if only he know just how special he was. How many decades of work she had spent on him. She mentally sighed. But he couldn't know, not yet at least.

Tomorrow he'd start the brutal physical training, and start learning all the commands and positions. No doubt he'd try to rebel again, and she'd have to punish him again. If only he'd just submit and learn to enjoy servitude. She sighed. Men. They simply did not understand that it was their job to tend to women, and not the other way around.

Drake remained looking down until he heard Raell walk off. He then settled down on the ground, listening to the occasional thwacks and yelps of the slaves, and pondering the next step in his introduction to his life as a slave.

Drake woke up to the gate opening. A woman set a dog bowl into his pen, and Drake sighed as he saw that it once again help dog food. She gave him a hard look and he looked down, sure that she would report him to Raell if he acted up. He grabbed the bowl, and scooped a handful of food out.

"I wasn't aware that dogs ate with their hands."

Drake glanced up at the voice, and promptly looked back down. The silvered eyes had made him remember her warning yesterday. They still hadn't brought back- what was his number? - 459.

"If someone feeds you with a dog bowl, on the ground, you eat like a dog. Or, if that is too difficult, you don't eat. Understood?"

Her voice snapped him back. "Yes, Mistress." He muttered. But he knew he shouldn't be surprised. Every chance the women got to humiliate the men, they did. Still, he didn't have to enjoy it.

Drake wiped his hand on the bowl, and aware Raell was still watching, lowered his face into the bowl. He suddenly wondered if she didn't come in the pen while he was eating after he had spit the dog food yesterday at her. Almost in response to this thought she snarled. Drake waited for her to come in and punish him, but when she didn't he kept eating. He licked the bowl clean, than went to drink.

"I wasn't aware horses drank using their hooves."

Drake sighed.

The water in the trough froze.

"Whaa..?"

Raell stared at him with cold eyes. "I'm sorry, is it a pain, being a slave? Is it tiring? Does it take too much effort? Newsflash. I, and every other woman her, DO NOT CARE. Sighing, whining, and other annoying sounds are punishable. You are here to serve, and it is an honor to do so!"

Drake hesitated, not sure how to respond. "I'm sorry, Mistress."

She opened the gate and he kept his head down, trying to keep from trembling. What punishment had he earned now? Posting? A whipping? Something worse?

Instead she clipped a leash to his collar. She guided him out of the pen, and towards a computer set up.

"About time you got a number like everyone else, slave."

"A number, mistress?"

"Every slave here is given an ID made up for nine numbers. Typically slaves are called by the last three numbers of that ID, like number 459 yesterday."

Drake felt anger start to rumble up through his body. They had to take his name too?! Would he not be allowed even the slightest right? They weren't even being treated like humans, but like animals!

Raell tied Drake to a post by the computer, but too far away for him to see the computer

Raell keyed in her password to the computer. She then opened her "Operation Perfection" file.

Different files appeared, and she clicked "The Faravelli Line" which opened up a massive family tree. Had Drake been able to see the screen, he would have seen what every ancestor of his looked like.

Raell scrolled to the bottom, where the latest line of her project appeared. Drake's picture stared back, next to a few of his closest cousins, whom Raell had deemed not as good as him. Most slave numbers were generated by the system, but Drake's number had been given to him when he had been born.

758-777-733.

She printed the number, etched onto a curved piece of metal. Closing down her account, she brought it over to Drake.

"Number 758-777-733. Better memorize those, slave."

She then pressed it against his collar, where it clicked into place. Drake felt his temper rising once again.

Allowing the anger to take control, he sneeringly asked, "Why can't we just be called by our actual names, mistress?"

Raell turned towards him, eyes flashing.

"Because then I would have a hundred Johns, a hundred Lukes, a hundred Coles. Numbers make everyone easy to keep track of."

She turned back, and strode off, temper rising. Drake followed, not that he had a choice, more aware than ever of the cuffs and collar he wore.

Raell brought Drake back to his pen, then whistled at someone. He heard the steady steps of one person and the stumbling of another. A women came up, dragging Riley. Drake noticed the number on his collar, surprised he hadn't noticed it before. 257-395-510. Riley was thrown in, and Raell and the other woman left.

"You doing okay, kid?" Riley asked.

"Yeah. Got my number today. All I remember is it had a lot of sevens in it. Why do were need a number?"

Riley sighed. "They number us because it takes away who we are. We aren't a person, we become a slave, an object. It changes your mentality, when you start answering to a number instead of a name."

"But Raell called you and Devon by your actual names back at that small barn!"

"Raell is different. She can read minds, and therefore know everyone's actual names. I think in reality she prefers names over number, but if she really wants to demean you, she'll call you by your number. The numbers are really for the computer, which keeps track of us all."

"How?"

"Tracker. Each collar has one. The leather has a steel wire mesh in it to stop you from being able to cut through the leather, and it also has different devices-like the tracker- in it. The harness and cuffs have similar mesh systems in them. Not sure if they have anything mechanical in them."

Drake pondered this new knowledge. "So now what are they going to do? To me, that is. What happens next?"

"Well, you'd get a harness, and then they'd start training you. Positions, commands, how to do different things. You also get body conditioning. That's the brutal part. Running, lifting, pulling. The whole nine yards. It's basically hell for a bit. But once they are happy with your body size, they stop with the extreme training. Then they specialize you for whatever you are destined to be."

Training. Conditioning. Specialization. Drake suddenly feared his future.

"What sort of positions?"

Riley gestured at the pen where the occasional yelp of pain came from. "Kneeling, standing at attention, how to bow, etc. Some of the positions they will teach you are called command positions, while others are event positions. Command positions are the ones that are given through commands, while event positions are the ones used in everyday life. You'll see what I mean."

The two slaves were quiet for a while. The sun was reaching its zenith and the temperature in the pen was rising. Drake watched as slaves come and went, as women strode by, as even a few leather-clad men went by. They puzzled them until he realized that they were the male counterparts of the women. They seemed to direct a lot of the mass slave trainings, and Drake often heard their bellowed orders echo through the arena.

Around noon a woman opened the gate and tossed in two food bowls, then proceeded to fill them up with a grainy-mushy goop. Drake was relieved it wasn't dog food, but it didn't look any more appetizing. The woman hung around, no doubt making sure Drake ate the stuff without his hands. He was surprised to find that the grain feed wasn't that bad, and it tasted a lot like wet bread.

When the two were done she collected the bowls, and walked off.

"What was that?"

"Mashed grains. Nobody really knows. It's similar to wet pet food, so most of us call it wet human food, or WHF. There's rumors that it's wet because they mix certain... ingredients in it, but I think it'd be hard for them to... milk... that many slaves, if you get what I mean."

Drake immediately had to wash his mouth out. Riley stared after him, glad he hadn't mentioned that it was pretty common practice for slaves to be made to come in their feed before being allowed to eat the mash.

Drake noticed that they were bringing in the big slave from yesterday- 459. He had massive sunburns and Drake could tell that he was wobbling. There were raw pieces of skin where the saddle and its straps had cut into his skin, and he was bleeding where the rings pierced in his face were. He didn't pull back or struggle like he had before, but instead stumbled behind the woman who led him. His eyes stayed firmly on the ground, and his head bent. Drake watched him go by, promising himself that he'd never look like that.

In her office, Raell grinned.