We Are Broken • Geetrick

2

As soon as the door shuts, the slave falls to his knees, wrists spread the slightest as he sits hunched over, head down.

"What's your first order in command, Master?" He asks, voice weak and worn. It kind of disgusts me, so the first thing I do is sigh and just shake my head.

"The showers are upstairs. I want you to clean yourself up and I'll lay some clothes out for you. Then I'll show you to your rooms and we'll go over rules and once we're done there, you're going to clean the dirt from the rug. After that, you'll go back up to your room where you'll stay until I need you again. I'll have the maids bring up food. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Master." The slave nods, eyes tired.

"I want you up to full health by the day after tomorrow. You'll be in the best condition I can get you in. You can call on the maids if you need. They can help you wash up. So get some rest, eat. Whatever you need."

"Yes, Master."

I nod, gazing across him sternly then nodding again for good measure, "Go you worthless whore."

He immediately complies, rising to his feet and making his way upstairs where he finds the bathrooms, and I make my way to the spare room where he'll sleep,

I've already had the maids buy him clothing. Lace underwear, lingerie, skirts. Everything a slut would wear. Since it's his first day here, I decide to go a little easy on him. I grab a pair of panties and a wool cloak for warmth.

Once I've finished with clothing, I wait for a good 20 minutes, consisting of checking my phone for texts from work and sitting on the bed. When the slave boy finally gets out, I see him look around and as soon as our eyes meet, he bows his head and comes into the room, the rags he had worn on hand, covering things he's embarrassed for me to see.

I only grab the rag and throw it away in the bin beside his bed before looking him over. The leather collar tightened around his neck and his hands behind his back with his head low.

Neither of us speak a word. Neither of us need to. I'm taking him in. The fair skin on his chest is littered with bruises. I run my fingers over it, pinching his nipples and watching him gasp but hold it back as I pull my hands off of him and turn to his back.

There are long, red scratches on the back an a few scars from what I guess was a whip.

"Who was your last Master?" I ask, tugging at the collar to see his name. Patrick Stump - 630112

"Master Saporta, Sir." Patrick replies.

"Did he use you like a whore?"

"Y-Yes, Master."

I raise his chin tightly, watching his eyebrows flutter in front of pretty baby blues before his lips become mine. He doesn't move, just lets me use him.

When I pull away, there's a string of spit connecting our lips and he looks so innocent and slutty that I almost groan out at the feeling, but suppress it.

"How did you become a slave?" I ask, pulling away and handing over the clothes. Baby blue lace panties and the cloak a bright white.

"I was a poor boy, Sir. My mother could barely care for me and she was forced into slavery as well," he starts, pulling on the clothing, "I was 15 when they took me and my mother away. They housed me until I was 16 and that's when they finally taught me how to be a slave, Master."

He stays quiet, and when I realize he won't continue, I ask, "What did they do after that?"

Patrick lowers his eyes, "The master at the slave institute taught us to hate ourselves. Taught us that we were worthless. It drove lots of people to suicide, which is why they kept a close watch on us. They needed all the slaves they could get for profit. After that, they rebuilt us as machines. As slaves. I was in section 12 which meant I was a sex slave. They taught me how to address my master, how to please my master. I am nothing more than masturbatory aid, Sir."

My heart almost broke for this kid, but I know he deserved it. He shouldn't have been born into a poor mother. This was his fault and he has to pay the price.

"What did they teach you there?" I ask, pulling him over the bed while I grab a buttplug from the drawer and some lube.

"They taught me how to tolerate pain, Sir, and how I deserve punishments as they come. They taught me how to please a woman or a man. There were masters there who we had to practice pleasing. There were 4 units. The first was the basics of sex. The second was men. The third was women. And the fourth was punishments and rules. Along with the tests," he takes a deep breath and spreads his legs as I finish prepping and press in a buttplug,

"Were you allowed to feel pleasure? Can you still feel it?"

"Yes, Sir, but we were trained not to show it for that might anger our masters." Patrick replies as I put the cloak back down.

I sigh, "Okay. These next few days I want you to heal from Master Saporta. I need to figure out rules for you."

"Thank you, Master." Patrick nods.

"Are you hungry?" I ask.

"Yes, Master."

"What do you want to eat?"

"I-I..." he squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath, "I don't know, Sir."

I sigh, "I'll have the maids send up a salad and some chicken. Does that sound alright?"

"Yes, Master."

"Good." I smile. I leave the room and after stopping a maid to order the food, I head straight to the bathroom and shut and lock the door before going to the toilet and gagging.

The master of these slave institute taught us to hate ourselves. That we were worthless.

It takes a minute for my dry heaving to stop, but when it does, I stand back up and run my fingers through my hair.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?