Note: For complete heading info, please refer to Chapter 01.
Neal forced himself not to try moving in the confines of his container. It was only his third time in a transport container, the first being at the age of sixteen when his first sale was finalized. He had only been on the sales floor for one day when the purchase had occurred. There was one kid that had been there almost to the one-month limit. Neal had heard stories that after one month, high-end trained slaves like himself were written off and sold in lots with the general slaves. Stories of what happened to lot slaves were used during his training as encouragement to be the best that training could buy.
Neal prided himself on being the best. He had soaked up every bit of training he could, from the cultural studies to sexual education to punishment and physical abuse. He kept his body at the peak of fitness, because an unattractive slave was useless in the circles he wanted to stay within.
The problem was that at twenty-two he was now past his prime. At sixteen, he was the perfect eye candy for the rich man who had bought him. He had secured the man more business deals in two years with his mouth and ass than the man had done himself in five. At eighteen, he had been sold again, this time to a woman Representative. Along with keeping her satisfied, he had been under the table during several closed-door government transactions that would cause rioting in the street if the details were ever revealed.
She had been pleased with him and kept him for both of her terms. However, public opinion had changed against her and she was on her way out of office. Instead of keeping an aging slave, she was trading him in for a newer model.
This time, his wait on the sales floor had been twenty-nine days. His price on the floor had been decreased the last week to a red ticket item. One more day and he would have been transferred to the lot sales he had worked so hard to stay away from.
It was late in the afternoon when an older couple stopped in front his display. They had checked all his attributes thoroughly and studied his history chart from the base of the display. While Neal wanted to be sold before he was transferred to a lot, he wasn't sure he was interested in a couple that looked too old to really appreciate all his skills. His previous owners had both been in their early thirties. He wasn't looking forward to servicing people in their sixties.
But after they left, his sale had been finalized and his fate was sealed. He would deal with it because it was what he had been trained to do, but deep down inside, he would hate it. But then, ever since he was three and ripped from his mother's arms, he had secretly hated everything about the life he was forced to lead.
His thoughts drifted back to the present as he felt the container being lifted by the dolly. While he was pretty secure in the casing, the shifts and bumps of the dolly always shifted the dildo in his ass. As it moved, striking his prostate, he bit back a groan at his erection returning to press against the cage that held it. His sexual training had been thorough, leading to the slightest of stimulation giving him an erection. But slaves being transported always had a locked cage on their cock. Only his new owner would be able to free him and allow his orgasm when they deemed that he had earned it.
Neal sighed in relief when the container stopped moving. This was the hard part for him. The first time he had been transported in the enclosed case, he had panicked. First, his arms were placed into binders that were crossed in front of his chest with a series of straps. It kept his arms and hands completely immobile. After that, he had been placed kneeling into a foam-padded box that had stopped neck high. Then he had to impale himself on the dildo that was positioned under his ass. Once he was seated, a hollow dildo with a thin hose attached was placed into his mouth through the o-ring that was already there.
At that point, he was instructed to breathe in and hold his breath with his chest out. A liquid substance was poured into the crate and quickly hardened into a foam substance like the stuff under his knees. He was able to breathe in and out, but the movement around his chest was all he could make. Then his packing was completed with a hood over his head and something being snapped around his neck. He could hear the top of the crate being fastened over him and was thankful for the plastic hose that would allow him to breath.
The panic had set in when he felt the liquid substance flowing around his head. He quickly took a breath, wanting to block the substance from filling his only means of staying alive. But the substance stopped at his chin and he realized the thing around his neck was keeping his throat and chest free. Otherwise, he was frozen in position and would stay like that until his new owner set him free.
Luckily, travel for all three of his trips had been short. He had been trained in a facility in Washington, DC as a kid, but his first owner had been in New York City. His second sale had sent him back to DC. Now, he wasn't sure where he was. The drive had been long, so he knew he was no longer in DC. He had been unable to tell where the older couple was from based on their accents.
When the top portion of the container was lifted off the foam, he began to hear muffled voices. There was a man and woman talking, but they sounded much different from the older couple that had been inspecting him.
The man seemed irritated judging by his raising voice and that concerned Neal. Since his first sale, Neal had received limited physical punishment. His first owner wasn't into hard-core games. He liked Neal's skin to look perfect and preferred fucking and sucking over whips and chains. The congresswoman had enjoyed a flogger and cane when votes didn’t go her way, but otherwise, things had been tame for his six years as an active slave.
With his new potential owner already sounding angry, Neal figured his streak of good luck was about to run out. When the layer of foam was lifted free of his head, Neal kept himself perfectly still. He didn't want to give his new owner a reason to start punishment before he was even out of his container.
"What the hell? El, how can they do this?!"
Neal tried not to flinch at the raised voice that was now sharp in his ears. The packaging had kept things muffled for too long and now everything was extra loud to his sensitive ears.
"It's a standard packaging job, Peter. Trust me, there are non-standard packaging setups that you don't want to know about."
Neal realized he didn't succeed in hiding his flinch when he felt a hand caress his head through the leather hood.
"Don't mind Peter, Sweetie. He’s angry at the situation, not you."
Neal figured the woman was talking to him, but he wasn't sure how to take receiving a term of endearment before she had even set eyes on him. The situation as a whole was making him nervous since the couple unpacking him was obviously not the older couple that he thought had purchased him. And nervous slaves made mistakes that he couldn't afford to make.
"Can we get that hood off him? How's he breathing through that little tube?"
"We have to follow the instructions so we don't hurt him. Give me the key from the kit so I can unlock the neck plate. Then you work on the side latches to get the crate off the foam."
Neal listened to them work, allowing his body to move with the occasional tug of the material. The man, Peter, seemed calmer now that the woman was giving him directions on how to handle his container. The congresswoman hadn't followed the directions properly and his throat had ended up with a deep cut by the neck plate when she was unpacking him. At least that didn't seem likely to happen this time around.
When he felt the foam being pulled away from his lower body, he unconsciously sucked a deep breath through the tube, letting his chest extend all the way out. Then he wanted to kick himself when he heard Peter's sharp curse.
"Damn it! He was barely able to breathe in that thing. The delivery guy said he came all the way from DC. That's at least four hours if traffic was light and then however long he was in this thing before they put him on the truck. It's inhumane!"
"Calm down," the woman, El, said as Neal felt his head being petted again. Neal wasn't sure if she was saying it to him or Peter, but he hoped it worked on the other man like it did on him. Neal was beginning to think he could get use to her hand petting him.
"I'm going to take the hood off now," El said, speaking to him. "You might want to keep your eyes closed. Peter, can you turn the lights off so it's not as bright?"
Neal was grateful that this woman seemed to take his wellbeing into consideration. As a slave, he wasn't to expect treatment that was for his own good. His life was meant to be for his owner's good, not his own.
As the hood was removed around his breathing tube, Neal kept his eyes shut as El had instructed. He wanted to see what his new owners looked like, but for now, following even suggested orders was the better course of action to avoid punishment. He heard more curses from Peter as the dildo was removed from his mouth. The o-ring came next and he kept his mouth open until El told him it was okay to work out any kinks he had.
He worked his jaw a few times, and cautiously wetted his lips, hoping they wouldn't mind. Then he felt a small hand on his chin tilting his head up.
"Can you open your eyes for me now, Sweetie?"
Neal carefully opened them and was met with a dark haired woman with blue eyes not dissimilar from his own.
"Hey there," she said with warm smile. "I'm Elizabeth, although Peter over there calls me El. My parents thought you would make the perfect wedding gift for us."
Neal heard Peter's snort and his heart plummeted. The picture was now forming in his head. The older couple had been her parents and were obviously from either upper middle class or lower upper class. Giving a slave as a gift for special occasions was tradition. But from the sounds of things, her husband Peter wasn't interested. If Elizabeth took a liking to him, especially sexually, Peter was likely to take his anger out on Neal.
He hadn't realized he was trembling until Elizabeth started petting his hair again.
"Calm down," she said softly. "We weren’t expecting you, but now that you're here, we'll do our best to take care of you."
Then he felt another hand tentatively squeeze his shoulder. Shifting his eyes, he saw Peter standing strong and tall above him. His jaw was clenched, but Neal could see compassion in his eyes that belied the angry tones he had been hearing.
"What's your name? The paperwork just called you DC80-456."
"Whatever my Master wishes it to be," he said demurely. The training facility had called him 456. His first owner had called him Danny Boy as he'd had a fondness for the song. The Congresswoman called him Nick when they were having sex and boy any other time. He'd never learned who Nick really was. He could only hope his new owners picked a good name for him. Some slaves ended up with names like 'bitch' and 'fucker' and Neal had no desire to answer to anything like that.
Neal felt the hand on his chin tighten slightly before his Master spoke.
"We want to call you by your real name, not some name you've never heard before," Peter said with a sigh.
Before Neal could answer, Elizabeth cut in, her hand still his hair. "It's okay if you don't know what your real name is, Sweetie. I know some slaves don't remember. If you don't, we'll help you come up with a name you like together."
Peter's eyes had widened at Elizabeth's words. Neal was starting to think that Peter didn't have much in the way of practical experience with slaves. Refocusing on the question at hand, Neal tried to think fast. He'd only been three when he'd been delivered to the facility, but he could still remember his name, Neal. He could remember his mom telling him to be brave and that everything would be okay. She'd said she would see him soon, but she'd never come back.
Throughout his years of training, he'd held onto his name as his only secret. Slaves weren't supposed to have secrets, but his name was his. Now he had the chance to tell his secret. But if he gave his real name, then he'd lose that haven in his mind that he went to when he was doing things he didn't like. He could be Neal and nothing would take that away unless he let it happen. But being a slave for almost twenty years had worn him thin and he was tired of hiding who he really was. Just once, he wanted to be Neal again. Realizing that his owners were still awaiting his answer, Neal spoke up.
"Neal, Master," he answered softly. "My name is Neal."