The Training of a Slave Ch. 01

(Author's Note: I began writing this story after a role play I began with a friend of mine. After it fell apart, I started to write it out on my own. For those who have been asking, Enslaved to the Mob will be finished *eventually*. For the time being, I'm just not interested and uninspired by it. Thank you all for sticking with me and reading my stories. As with all of my stories, all characters depicted or mentioned are eighteen years of age or older, and all characters and story is the sole property of this writer.)

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Roland Norton was a man that had almost everything. He was obnoxiously rich, coming from a long and distinguished background of European royalty. The house he owned certainly didn't feel like a house. It was large and spacious like a famed chateau of France. His garage was reminiscent of a parking garage that held everything from sports cars, antique cars, and limousines. He was a man that seemingly had everything.

But Roland Norton didn't have everything. Some things could not be bought with money and favors. Time was something he didn't have. The octogenarian was becoming weaker with each passing day, the obscure disease slowly eating away at his muscles and strength. Pills and treatments only prolonged the short time he had. Eventually, he would die. That was something he could not escape.

Patience and tolerance was another thing Roland Norton did not have.

It was in those last few months he had left according to doctors, which he decided to have more of the finer things in life. With no wife and certainly no bastard children running around for money, the rich old man decided to dabble in the illegal sex trafficking auctions. A great deal of money was spent upon her, his newest toy and possession. She was a beauty to say the least. Eighteen years old. Blonde. Blue eyes. The typical, idealized American girl with a slight Southern accent to her voice. She was exactly what Roland wanted: a slave to take to go to the grave with.

Roland was mistaken when he assumed the young girl would be too frightened to fight him off. She was a fighter, a rebellious little cunt that fought and kicked and used every ounce of her spirit to fight him off. It was only with his paid body guards in the room, forcing her legs apart with their bare hands, that he finally broke her hymen.

She was a fighter, there was no doubt about that, and on one fateful night, she had gone too far.

"That fucking bitch!" The old man wheezed as he stormed into his private library. His red silk robe was wide open as it billowed in his wake, his naked and old form displayed. In his hand, he clutched a cloth to his member, holding it painfully close as he moved across the room and sat himself down in behind his desk.

It was with pain and grimace that he slowly removed the cloth to stare down at his flaccid and bleeding cock. The teeth marks were obvious, the dark blood evident where she bad bitten down upon him.

"We've locked her up in her cage, Sir." A man, dressed sharply in a suit said as he closed the door to the study behind him. "It wasn't easy, but she'll be fine there after we forced the sedatives into her mouth."

"If I didn't spend three quarters of a million on her, I would say kill the bitch." Roland growled out, patting his pained cock with the clean fabric. Although a rich man, Roland Norton wasn't a man that was going to just forget about that kind of sum.

Quietly the right hand man stepped closer to the desk. The dim lighting from the desk lamp brought his features into view with his smooth face and salt-and-peppered hair. "She's not worth it, Sir. I'd say give her to the men and dogs for scraps. Such a little whore like that doesn't deserve to live."

The old man scoffed at the suggestion. "No. I'm not going to let that much money go to waste just to let some lowly bodyguards fuck her and give her body to the dogs for scraps." He said as he turned a knob on an oxygen tank before holding the breathing mask to his face. "I may be a generous man to charities, but I'm not that generous, Holmes."

Holmes kept his posture straight and firm, showing no signs of disappointment in his suggestion and advice being shot down. "Then perhaps selling her off to someone? I'm sure the Russian Mikhail would take her." He again suggested.

Again Roland rejected the idea with a wave of his hand. "And still lose out on money?" The greedy old man asked. He sat back in his chair, breathing in the rich oxygen from the tank as his eyes seemed lost in concentration.

What was there to do about this troublesome little bitch? Selling her to someone else would only result in a loss of money. Giving her away to his men would give him nothing at all, not even the satisfaction in knowing that his men enjoyed the tight cunt. Killing her would do nothing for him, even though he had to admit the thought crossed his mind. If he was younger, he would undoubtedly be up to the task of training and breaking in the stupid little bitch. Gone were the days where he would love nothing more than to beat a girl senseless, to show her just who had the power and say in whether she feasted of suffered famine, whether she lived or died.

It pained him to do so, but Roland Norton was stuck with the girl. The only way he could be happy was to spend more money on the bitch, and as a result, on his happiness.

Looking over the top of his oxygen mask, Roland's cold grey eyes locked onto Holmes's. "Get Francois on the phone." He wheezed out. "Tell him I would like to arrange a meeting with his man."

~~~~~

Miles away, Zach Price didn't have a care in the world.

The loud, thudding music from the bar and club on the other side of the wall seemed a life time away. His cigarette smoke filled the room around him, mingling with the cheap perfume of the Latina stripper sucking on his testicles. With the slurping sound her throat around his saliva-coated cock, the young man in his early thirties felt completely and utterly relaxed.

He was in no rush to end this moment. It was moments like that which made him feel almost godly. A young, hot twenty year old was down on her knees hungrily feasting upon his balls as if she were worshiping them; a cigarette and alcohol toyed with his senses. It couldn't get much better than this.

Zachary felt relaxed for the first time in a long time as his companion for the hour sucked and teased his balls whilst her hand slowly and fluidly stroked his thick, full shaft.

The former Marine Black-Ops soldier felt,at ease with everything. There was no shouting for bombs. There was no bullets whizzing my his head and body. There was no fucking heat, except for the heat in this little Latina's mouth. It was perfect, and the tongue stud piercing in her mouth as it moved against his flesh only made it all the better.

There were only a few things that could have ruined the perfect moment of bliss for him, and unfortunately for Zachary, one of those things happened.

A sigh came from his lips as he pulled out his ringing cell phone. "Keep sucking." He said idly to his Latina friend who slowly began to pull up at the sound of the phone ringing. His voice dull and bored as if he were some professor talking to a student as he read over term papers. One look at the number who was calling him, however, caused all of the casual idleness to leave.

"On second thought, get the fuck out of here. I'll call for you when I'm done." He said, and almost instantly the somber-looking stripper slowly moved her lips and tongue from his then glistening ball sack and aching member. His eyes watched her ample behind, watching the way it swayed with each movement in that skimpy little g-string.

"You could not have picked a worse time to call, my friend." Zachary said once he answered the phone. "I assume you have a job for me."

A laugh came from the phone. "Do you ever remember me calling just to shoot the breeze?" An amused man's voice said with a hint of a foreign accent. "I do have a job for you. An 'emergency' as the Client said."

"When are they not emergencies?" Zachary asked. "What's the details?"

There was a sound of rustling papers on the other end of the phone as the foreign man rummaged through notes. "Blonde. Biter. Freshly opened package, with a return date of two weeks."

Zachary laughed at the last detail with a short, yet polite laugh as he ran his hand through his short, buzz cut hair. "Two weeks requires a miracle worker."

"That's why I called you over the others." The voice said, calm and casual with the hint of a smile upon his face on the other end. "One hundred and fifty grand for you. One hundred grand for me."

There was no denying that Zachary was a miracle worker in the limited field of Slave Trainers. His Black-Ops background certainly helped give him the tools necessary to break and torture the unfortunate slaves that came into his way. Back in Iraq, he was an interrogator, the kind of interrogator that was kept off of the books and records. When he returned home, he had no idea what he was going to do in order to adjust to civilian life. One recommendation and tip from a friend, however, changed that forever.

He sighed as he finally came to his decision after a few long moments of debate. "E-Mail me the details. I'll finish up what I'm doing now and get on my way."He said, feeling up to the task and challenge of training a feisty young lady.

"I already did." The man said with a soft chuckle, and with that, the phone line went dead.

Zachary closed his phone and deposited back into his pocket before sitting back further against the soft cushioning of the booth. Two weeks. Most of the slave trainings took at least a month, and that was when the girls were half way cooperative. It was going to be a challenge to say the least, especially if the girl was as feisty and resilient as he had been made to believe, but it was a challenge he was up for.

He took a sip of his whiskey before setting the glass back down onto the small table beside him and getting back to his feet. Without his pants, he walked with purpose towards the door of the private room and peeked his head out of the door to the awaiting girl.

"Come on Sweetheart..." He said, as he stepped aside and opened the door for her. "I don't have time to dick around and wait for you."