Chapter Text
Jesse carefully concealed the stolen purse in his pocket. He didn't think the merchant had seen.
He had to get far away just in case, and quickly. There was no telling when his father would be back. Jesse planned to be far away by then. This would buy his passage to safety.
His dad had been in and out of his life ever since Jesse could remember. But a week ago he'd come back, after about a year of absence, and his reappearance had caused a slew of uncomfortable memories to surface.
He had always been cruel to Jesse, beating him when he got too drunk or making him beg for coins. But now other memories were surfacing without warning, piece by piece, making daily life difficult. Jesse never knew when something would trigger a new memory. Even now whispers of memory swirled at the edge of his mind, times that his father invited people to their small hovel. And sometimes the people would be drunk and rough. And sometimes things happened that hurt. It was coming back piece by piece.
Jesse wasn't sure how he had blocked it all out of his mind so thoroughly, or how much more there was to remember, but he wasn't going to wait around helplessly.
Sometimes he could swear he almost felt his mind disintegrating, weakening, as he tried to hold back memories that he knew he didn't have the strength-- or the time-- to deal with right now. He must get away while he had the chance. He had to find work and some measure of safety. And then maybe he would let himself think about it. He needed to stop his mind from roving on. He had to focus.
But there was a sharp stab of fear as he remembered the feeling of his father's grip on his arm. And then someone pushed him down. And then darkness. Oh, what had happened then? He must not let his mind go to that place! He must close his eyes tight for just a moment to try to shut down these thoughts, which were too dangerous to think.
And so, eyes closed, he ran into a passing cart, hit his head hard, and knew no more.
When he woke up, he was tied to a chair in the marshall's office.
He straightened up fearfully and saw that sitting at the desk was one of the constable's men, along with the man whose purse he had stolen, and his father. They were looking over some paperwork and talking.
"So my debts will be cleared and I'll have all the ale I can drink at your tavern?" His father said to the man.
The merchant nodded, "Yes, though I imagine it won't cost me much. You'll likely drink yourself to death rather soon."
Jesse's father didn't seem to hear this, so focused was he on signing the papers. "You realize you'll have no further rights concerning the boy?" asked the man "This contract signifies that he is my property."
"Wait! What are they talking about?" Jesse cried, "Dad?" This didn't make sense. He knew sometimes parents sold their children if they couldn't afford to feed them, but he was 22-- way too old for that to be happening.
Jesse's father didn't even acknowledge him. He nodded impatiently at the other man and finished signing. The men stood up and shook hands. A few coins were dropped into the officer's open palm, the contract was tucked away, and they left the room.
Another man came in and put a thin metal collar on Jesse's neck, soldering it shut with a clip, then attaching matching cuffs to his wrist, each with a string of numbers on it. Jesse protested, but everyone simply ignored him.
The merchant returned with a rope, which he tied to Jesse's collar. "You are my legal property now, boy" he said. "I suggest you obey me or it will not go well for you." He checked to make sure that Jesse's wrists were secured, then untied him from the chair and led him away.
Jesse followed numbly. He supposed he would be sent to the fields far outside the city, or perhaps to the mines-- but he didn't really know.
They went out to the street where the merchant's carriage was waiting. "Get in," said the man. "Hurry up."
Jesse crawled in and sat fearfully on the edge of the bench. "On the floor, fool." Jesse flinched and quickly got off the bench and squeezed into a corner of the floor. The merchant climbed aboard and the carriage started to move.
Jesse had never ridden in a carriage before. He wished he could see out a window, but he didn't dare raise his head. The rough movement of the carriage as it rounded a corner threw Jesse face down onto the floor at the merchant's feet. A swift kick sent him back to the corner. He righted himself painstakingly, but as his hands were tied every jostle of the carriage threatened to send him sprawling again. The movement was making him sick. He hoped the ride would be over soon.
Finally they stopped and the merchant got out, yanking Jesse along by his lead. Disoriented and motion sick, the boy stumbled out of the carriage and quickly fell to his knees. His stomach lurched and before he could stop himself he vomited there in the street.
The merchant dropped the lead hastily and jumped back, but it was too late. "Stupid boy!"
Jesse saw what he had done to the man's boots and apologized awkwardly. "I'm sorry sir!" he sputtered. He crawled over and tried to wipe off the man's boots, but it was awkward with his wrists tied, and he was trembling, and he fell on the man's feet instead.
"Get up!" barked the merchant, sneering impatiently. He snatched up Jesse's lead and yanked him on down the street.
It was almost noon and the slave market was already in full swing. "Day laborers! Get 'yer day laborers cheap and strong right here!" Jesse saw a rough man displaying a wide shouldered slave on a crate. The slave's tanned chest did not conceal the white scars of the lash. The slave simply stared into space as the seller prodded at him and pointed out different muscles.
Jesse knew that his own slight body did not compare. He was strong enough for his size, but very small for a man. He wondered whether anyone would want to buy him and what would happen if they did not. They continued past other stalls, most with laborers, but some with less impressive slaves who had some set of skills to enhance their value. Jesse knew that he did not possess a skill either, and they passed these stalls by as well.
Eventually they came to a sort of yard which seemed to hold a large number of slaves inside fenced off sections. The merchant approached one of the attendants and produced his papers of ownership. The attendant marked a ledger and tied a metal tag around Jesse's neck, then they haggled about the price.
"Three gold," said the attendant matter of factly. Jesse had never even seen a gold piece up close.
But the merchant said, "No, no, look at him." The merchant grabbed Jesse's chin and held his face up to the attendant, who glanced at him a little more closely.
"Turn around slowly, boy," said the merchant. Jesse obeyed, wondering what they were looking for.
He knew he wasn't strong. He was too underfed. He had always been insecure about his body when he had time to think about things like that. He was small, and the way he was built didn't help. His arms and legs were long for his height, but a lifetime of running and hiding had given him a furtive bearing that always gave an impression of meekness. Besides all that, he was pale and rather too feminine in the face. His wide blue eyes, the curve of his lips, and his yellow hair didn't help. He'd tried wearing it short; it made no difference, so he just tied it back and let it be. He knew that five gold was standard for an unskilled slave, but surely the man must not expect to get much for someone like him.
The attendant seemed to be considering more carefully now. "Twenty would be more fair," said the merchant, "and you know quite well you'd still make a good profit."
Jesse did not understand how the merchant could think this. Surely he had better sell before the attendant turned them away. He did not want to go home with the merchant, who he felt certain would beat him if he had not been able to sell him. "I'll work hard!" he whimpered, "I know I'm not strong but i could sweep floors or wash dishes or..."
He was cut off by the laughter of the two men. In the end, they settled on 14 gold pieces, which even Jesse understood to be a very high number. The merchant left with his gold and the attendant led Jesse back into the compound.
Jesse could now see that this must be some sort of processing yard through which all types of slaves passed. He saw the traditional muscled laborers, but also men and women of many different shapes and sizes tied together in rows, dirty and sweating and with downcast eyes.
Past the rows they went, to a sort of work area where several more attendants were leaning against a counter. "Got one for ya," said the first attendant, tossing the end of Jesse's leash to one of the others. "Have fun," he said, then went back up to the front of the compound.
The two new slave handlers walked around Jesse slowly. One whistled. "You a virgin, boy?" he asked. He was short, but broad and tanned with a thick, shaved head.
The question shocked Jesse. Why would they ask him that? The handler chuckled as realization came over the boy's face.
"Well?" asked the man again, "are you? Did ya have a boyfriend out there?"
Jesse had never been in a relationship. He'd been to busy trying to survive. He shook his head.
"Virgin," nodded the attendant.
Jesse opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He wanted to explain that he wasn't a virgin, but he couldn't find the words to say what exactly had happened to him. He'd been blocking it out of his mind for so long that it was hard to talk about.
The other attendant, a compact, fox-faced man, was watching him closely. "Listen, boy," he said, stepping near, "You're a virgin. Say it."
Jesse opened his mouth, but a weird little cry came out instead of words.
The attendant brought his sharp brown eyes level with Jesse's and wiped the tears away. "Don't do that," he said impatiently. His voice sounded rough, but there was a note of tenderness too. His hooded brown eyes studied Jesse expertly, "It turns out better if you're a virgin, usually. You'll cost more, and your owner's not gonna want to beat you up if you cost that much. And no one's gonna know the difference. So just say it, baby. Say, 'I'm a virgin,' like a good boy."
Jesse stared into the man's eyes, shrewd under long lashes and stuttered. "I'm a virgin," he whispered.
The attendant put his face in his hand for a moment, and cussed softly, running his other hand through his own long, wind- blown hair. "Oh, hell. If you weren't so damn expensive," he muttered-- but he stopped abruptly and turned to his partner. "See? He's a virgin! Worth 20 or 30 more, usually!"
The other man shook his head in exaggerated admiration. "You're amazing, Marty," he said, grabbing a pair of shears, "a damn savant is what you are."
Marty laughed and brushed sweat away from his tanned brow, "I am a savant-- I'm a bona fide virgin whisperer!" he laughed, "now come here, you pretty little virgin, you!"
Jesse walked to the work station with two men. They cut the ropes off his wrists and they cut his old clothes off his small body. More comments and whistling, then a bucket of soapy water was produced and then they scrubbed at him with brushes, leaving no inch unattended to. They washed his long, stringy hair. The grime came out of it and it shone pale gold. They trimmed it to just past his chin and tied it back. They dried him off and clipped his nails. Marty produced a cream then, which burned slightly as they rubbed it on his arms, legs, chest, back, and face to take off his body hair. "Although he hardly needs it," commented Marty, "he's so smooth already. Still, wouldn't do to have his new master come back complaining."
Then he knelt down in front of Jesse and glanced up into his eyes. "Sorry," said Marty quickly, brushing his hair out of his face. He broke eye contact before spreading the cream gently but thoroughly around Jesse's groin. He pulled out the detached hair and brushed it off onto the ground. He reached up and grasped the boy's hips.
Jesse looked down at him, scared, but Marty's eyes seemed scared too, somehow. "Sorry, baby, turn around now please. Bend over and try not to think about it." Jesse turned around and leaned his hands on the rough bench. He felt Marty's quick fingers rubbing the cream between his cheeks and all around his hole.
In his mind, Jesse was back in a sort of warehouse near where they lived just after he turned 18. He’d been shoved outside and wedged through the back gate. The crate he’d been bent over splintered his hands. Later, when he saw his father counting the money, he asked where it came from. He didn’t get a real answer. His father just told to go clean up. ‘Your face looks like shit,’ he said, indicating the tracks of tears around Jesse’s eyes. But the way his father shoved the money back into his purse and into his inside shirt pocket told Jesse exactly where the money came from. For over a week Jesse was sore and there were spots of blood in his pants.
"Ooh!" He sobbed, raggedly, and his knees wobbled.
as he found himself back in the present.
"Oh, hell!" said Marty, who leapt up and came around to face him. He grabbed Jesse's hands. "Hey! Hey! All done, baby! We're good, we're good, you're ok!" He grabbed another bucket of clean water and poured it playfully over Jesse's shoulders, watching the boy's face carefully. "See? All clean and smooth! It's nice, huh?"
He sat Jesse down on the bench and put a towel over him. "Let's just take a little break. When's the last time you ate? Hey Freddy, go get the kid some food, huh?"
Freddy left, and Marty grabbed a bottle of oil. "We gotta put this on you, kid, but we'll just do it real gentle, nothing to worry about." He helped Jesse dry off, then sat on a stool in front of him and unscrewed the oil. It smelled like spices, but not like ones whose names Jesse knew. Marty took one of Jesse's legs into his lap and worked the oil all the way up that leg. It felt smooth and hot. He did the other leg, all the way up, then stopped.
Jesse felt something like fear, but he wasn't exactly afraid of the man. Marty moved behind Jesse and oiled his back, saying, "Now stand up just one quick second, and don't freak," and he put oil on Jesse's buttocks as hastily as possible, saying, "Yeah, see, I'm not going to hurt you. Just gonna make you look nice." Then he came and straddled the bench next to the boy and had him turn to face him.
Jesse looked at the man's quick brown eyes traveling over his body as he applied the oil. He was frowning and his eyes looked hard and shiny. He seemed to be looking through Jesse somehow, as if he weren't really seeing him. He went to do Jesse's face, then, and Jesse thought surely Marty would look at him now, but the man seemed to look always slightly to one side, purposefully, as he caressed the boy's face and neck. He sighed deeply when he finished and closed his eyes. "I need to get between your legs now. Is that ok?"
Jesse nodded. Then, seeing the man's eyes were still closed, he said, "Yes. Don't worry, it's not your fault Martin."
Marty shuddered and met his eyes finally. They were very bright. "Oh, hell," he half whispered. With one hand he spread oil all around Jesse's groin. With the other he reached for the boy's face, leaned in, and kissed him gently. He began working oil up and down Jesse's shaft, roughly and desperately, kissing him deeper and deeper.
Jesse felt his insides lurch against him, urging him closer. He'd been trying not to think at all, not to think about anything, but now everything flooded open. He was a slave now, but this man's hands on him made him feel like there might still be something to live for. This was like what happened to him before, but different. This time, he wanted it to happen, and he wanted this man doing it to him. If he could just hang on, if he could just get closer, if he could just chase this long enough to see where this feeling led.
Jesse reached up and grabbed a handful of the man's shaggy brown hair, turning fully toward him and twisting his body in to kiss back. The man tasted a little sour, but his breath felt good in Jesse's mouth.
Then with a sort of choking sound Marty broke away. He stood up, keeping his back toward Jesse. "Freddy's gonna come back with food and get you all fixed up," he said, in a hollow sort of voice. "Be a good boy, and just do what you're told. Some nice lady will probably take you home, and everything will be just fine. Tell Freddy I went to go piss, will ya?" He walked away.
Freddy came back with some rough bread and beans. It was the best meal Jesse had tasted in weeks. Freddy gave him a sort of white loin cloth to put on and fixed a set of shackles on him. He grabbed Jesse's chin and put dark kohl around his eyes and a sort of shimmery paste on his lips. Then he led him out across the compound.
Jesse looked for Marty, but he was gone and soon Freddy passed him off to another man who led him out the gate and down the street. It was early afternoon.
They came to what looked like a big manor, but people were coming and going freely through the gates. They wore very fine clothes and some of them eyed Jesse interestedly. He saw one gentleman leading away a beautiful girl wearing shackles and a skimpy red dress. She met Jesse's eyes and grinned, then licked her lips at him. He blushed and he heard her laugh softly as she was led away.
They went into the manor through a service door. Jesse heard shouts and laughter from somewhere. They came through a hallway where a line of slaves and sellers waited.
Jesse thought about what Marty said, about how whoever bought him would be nice. Maybe it would be a nice lady who would need help around the house. He would be happy to help an old lady, he thought. He wouldn't mind kissing her sometimes. Maybe she wouldn't be nice though, he thought. He tried not to panic. He would surely be well fed, he thought, which was something.
He kept thinking of Marty, but he tried not to. It hadn't meant anything, and he would never have anything like that again, so it was best not to think about it.
Soon they were at the front if the line and the seller was pushing Jesse up on the stage. A cry went up from the gathered ladies and gentlemen. "That's right!" said the seller, "a virgin, folks! A sweet, innocent, 17 year old virgin." Jesse knew he looked young, but it still surprised him to hear the man say that he was five full years younger than what he actually was.
He stood awkwardly on the stage, peering out at all the people, but he couldn’t really see because the big lights were shining in his face. The seller grabbed his shoulders and made him turn around for the audience. "Price starts at 40 gold, folks." Jesse could hardly believe the amount stated. Even harder to believe was how the bidding continued. Soon his price has risen to well over fifty. Then when the bidding seemed to slow, the seller pulled aside the front of Jesse's garment to reveal his oiled groin. He felt cold with his hair gone and the soft oil on his skin.
Jesse thought of Marty rubbing the oil on him, his golden brown eyes looking so shyly to one side. Against his will, he felt himself begin to grow stiff. He was almost thankful when the seller made him turn around. But then the man bent him over and turned up the covering to reveal his buttocks, smacking him loudly.
Jesse flinched and stumbled. Memories sprang back into his tortured mind. Strong hands bruising his hips as he was bent over by someone in a dark room. He felt his breath come in short, hard gasps as he tried to block it out. He remembered what Marty said: "Be a good boy and just do what you're told. Everything will be just fine." He closed his eyes tight and tried not to cry out or tremble too much.
Behind him the bidding was getting higher and higher. "Move your ass around, boy!" hissed the seller menacingly. Jesse put his hands on the floor and waved his behind back and forth, hoping that this would be good enough, hoping he wouldn't be asked to stand up and display his now bewilderingly hard dick. The seller grabbed him, spreading his ass and letting everyone see Jesse's hole.
The crowd sounded as if it might riot when suddenly a booming male voice called, "one hundred."
Jesse was dazed, held tight, his ass frozen in the air. Surely this was a joke.
Then a female voice cackled and said, "Damn it Sampson, you always do get the pretty ones!"
And the crowd laughed. "Sold! To Sampson for one hundred!"
There was cheering and a voice called out, "When's the party?"
Jesse straightened up. He looked for the voice, not sure if he was being spoken to, or whether he was supposed to answer.
But Sampson, his new owner, had already leapt up to the stage. "Come to the bar tomorrow night," he said to the crowd, putting his big arm around Jesse's shoulders, "You can all have a taste!"