Dirt

The Pawn

Don't worry about the boy. He volunteered for this story, so I had to write him a happy ending.

"Is that the boy?" The man, or mission commander, wasn't cruel so much as he was uncaring. He had a mission and whatever he needed to do to fulfill it, that was what he would do, without the least compunction.

"Yes, sir." The 'sir' came out grudgingly. The doctor said it with only a small hint of real concern for the boy. But that did not mean that he too would not do what needed to be done.

"Why's he strung up like that?" The man was only curious. The boy himself seemed to be is some discomfort if not outright pain. He hung from cuffs around his wrists held about two feet apart; his ankles also cuffed, were spanned by a stiff carbon fiber pole, light-weight but strong enough to keep the boy's legs spread wide. He was fitted with a muzzle which seemed to be covering a quite severe mouth gag, and a serious plug could be seen just exiting his rear butt-hole. There were muffled moans coming from the boy.

The boy appeared to be a smallish 12-year-old, but he was 14. No one was quite sure where he had come from, and no one wanted to know. The boy was merely a pawn, a tool. A quite cute one, probably of mixed heritage with a soft medium dusky skin, and facial features which seemed to have taken the very best from his parents, probably a Latino with a little something else added. The boy evidently got the best from both parents. The guys upstairs were investigating.

The doctor replied: "Prepping him as much as we can in the six hours we will have him. Your file on Cordoba said he was into torture and extreme control and bondage, according to the Internet sites he visits. Just trying to give the boy here as much protection as we can."

"By torturing him yourself?" The man deadpanned.

The doctor unnecessarily touched a spot on the virtual comp screen; he already knew what it would say. "We've injected his main joints with AUR-3. But with our limited time, we will probably only manage to perhaps double the strength of those joints. Hanging him makes the drug work faster. We only allow him to hang like that ten minutes at a time; the rotator cuff is too easily damaged."

On this note, the boy was lowered to the floor and allowed to put most of his weight on his wide spread legs. Of course, this then put most of the strain on the boy's leg and ankle joints. But he did turn his head slightly toward the men present. He tried to say something, but of course the attempt was totally futile. A few tears could be seen marring his perfect face.

"And that thing on his face?"

"Twofold function. An injection of AR-12 into his temporomandibular joint will make it more flexible and better able to withstand the severe mouth gag he had been fitted with. The pads in his mouth have been treated with a pain killer and a healing agent. They had removed all his teeth and had done corrective surgery on the boy's mouth to make up for the missing teeth, and he was only half healed." The doctor seemed more concerned with the medical interventions than the boy to whom they had been performed on. He added almost as aside: "It was good work by the way."

"Will it do any good?" the man asked. "We only have the boy (looking at his timepiece) another three hours. Then we have to get him back inside that crate and prepared for shipment without anyone being aware he was ever gone."

The doctor only seemed to be concerned about the medical aspects of the intervention. "Not as much as one would hope in the short window allowed, but we have also injected him with DMP-6a. Hopefully he will be much better able to withstand any future pain. Of course, that will only help with the more superficial pain. The deeper pain from deep trauma, we can only hope that the new HGG-1 will be as effective."

"Isn't that still experimental? We're still not sure about long range side effects, are we?"

"We have no choice as I see it. We can just hope for the best. If our prognosticating computers are correct, and based on the boy's level of maturity, or rather lack thereof, we can hope for a reduction of about 60 to 80 percent of any pain he receives from any future torture. We need to keep him alive and functioning until he's able to send back what information we need."

The man seemed actually offended: "I'm mission commander; you just attend to the boy's health and well-being. I will decide what information we need and how long the boy stays alive to deliver it. Once he fulfills his function, he will be eliminated with the others. Necessary collateral damage.

Both looked back at the boy who was again being lifted off the floor with another loud moan. They saw a boy with the genitals and body structure more like that of a 12-year-old, with a tightly circumcised penis standing straight outward its full 4 stiff inches [10 cm], atop a small heavily wrinkled scrotal sac, several shades darker than his overall skin tone. Despite still being prepubescent, the doctors had discovered a severely long-term drug implant which held the boy in heavy sexual arousal. They were afraid to interfere, not wanting those coming to collect and use the boy, to know he had been intercepted by government agents.

In another area of the lab, two men were discussing another aspect of the plan being readied for implementation. The man, or mission commander, who had just come from where the boy was being treated, sat in, but allowed the two technicians to collaborate without interference. They were experts in their own fields.

"What's the range?" The black gay asked.

The older white guy replied: "Sixty to seventy kilometers [35-45 miles] depending on terrain, but we are not depending on ground pick-up. Every 97 minutes a satellite will pick up the mico-pulse from the device we will be putting into his mouth, and relay it here to our computers, which will in turn convert it into usable data. Intelligence had better have not been mistaken about where the boy will wind up and with whom. And unless they have him in an underground bunker, which intelligence tells us not to be concerned about, we'll have no problem."

Several minutes making sure that the devices implanted in the boy's body would function as needed, the mission commander spoke up. "And you're certain that the implant will not be detected?"

The white guy turned toward the boss of the operation and replied: "Not without an MRI or similar scan. And then they must know what they're looking for. And with the metal they have already implanted in and integrated with the boy's body, no one's going to let the boy near such a device."

"And that detector you're using, it will be able to pick up any communication the boy gets close to?"

The white guy answered: "Whenever that boy gets within 20 yards of any electronic communication, we'll intercept it. And as a bonus, we've installed a miniature camera into the boy's collar, together with a good mike. Whatever the boy sees and hears, we will see and hear. The intelligence boys then just have to identify them."

The mission commander interrupted: "Leave that to us. We need to know all those dealing with this group. If we merely cut of the head, another will grow elsewhere. I want to take out as many of the world-wide rat-pack as possible."

"As I was saying," the white guy barely tolerated the person who was currently nominally his boss, "we planted our computer chip along with the state of the art communicator in that metal thing which had been attached to his upper and lower jaw."

The black guy asked his fellow scientist: "Who the fuck can do that to a boy? Actually, take out a boy's teeth and install a metallic hinge-like device in the boy's upper and lower jaws which would be in total control of the boy's mouth?"

The white guy looked at his compatriot with incredulity and replied with sarcasm: "I suppose almost as perverted as the team of people who would merely use the boy, instead of rescuing him."

A few rooms away, on the above floor, several other people had been delving into the boy's provenance, or trying to. One investigator and computer expert frowned, and peeved: "What I don't understand, is how come this fucking guy who does this kind of thing to young kids, and then sells them as slaves, hasn't been put out of business years ago."

The other investigator couldn't care less about the slave broker. Where there were people wanting boys for sex, there will be people selling them. But he was frustrated about the boy himself. "I can't find one single thing about the boy other than his DNA profile shows him to have been from mostly Latino ethnicity, with a smattering of white Caucasian along the way. And his bones, or the chip we took out of his jaw, would indicate he came from some mostly non-manufacturing area of the world. A place with limited pollution."

"Fuck! We keep an eye on this guy and just let him operate?" he was still railing about the slave broker.

"These boys he brokers lead us to all kinds of people who every once in the while give us inroads to needed intel. This boy we discovered is going to some group we've never been able to get good intel on. The boy was shipped to the mainland and we intercepted him without anyone knowing. But we have quite limited time before the boy is to be picked up."

The mission commander had been listening in. He added: "When we found out who ordered the kid, someone upstairs had an orgasm. First time anyone has gotten a possible chance for intel on this group. And they make this slave broker look like a saint in comparison."

The first investigator remarked with mild outrage: "And we're going to deliver the boy to the scumbag who made the original order? Who cares about the kid?"

Apparently, no one.

***

Two thousand miles [3,000 km] away, in a secure mansion, in the Bolivian highlands, another more intemperate conversation was going on. A man with a muscular physique which belied his intelligence, and handsome features, which belied his underlying cruelty, yelled with barely withheld rage: "You the fuck did what? Are you crazy boy?"

The boy, Miguel, had all he could do not to cringe. His uncle was not happy. And depending on his mood, could physically lash out at anyone, even blood. Miguel had recently come back from the university where he'd gotten a degree in business, to join the cartel run by his two uncles, his father having recently passed away. The cartel brokered anything from nuclear weapons to simple drugs. If there was enough money in it, they brokered it. With heavy ties to their own corrupt government, they had been nearly untouchable for quite a number of years. Every attempt to infiltrate had been a disaster.

"Uncle Herm, you have your girls. I don't see this as anything that different. You like young girls, I like young boys."

"Those girls are local. This… this thing, is being sent from where?"

"The guy I brokered with is a slave dealer in the Caribbean. Has his own private island. He's been well recommended."

"Look, why couldn't you stay local? We just go down to a village and snatch up any boy you want. Where you think I get my girls?"

"This boy's special. I picked him out of an electronic data base. Real cute. And I needed to have stuff done to him."

"Done to him?"

"This guy has a doctor who can do all kinds of things to enhance the boys the broker supplies. I had the boy's teeth all taken out and had a special mouth gag made. Also put a shunt into the boy's bladder. And made his butt need a plug to completely close. This boy will have no control over how food goes in and how it comes out. Also had a drug implant put into the boy. Makes the boy hornier than all fuck."

The boy's uncle seemed to regard the boy differently. Someone as wanton as himself. He also started calming down as the boy seemed to convince him that only the boy he ordered would be brought into their stronghold.

"Just make sure Gus does all the scan stuff. I want to make sure that nothing is brought here which could compromise us."

"Sure, Uncle Herm. He should be delivered tomorrow. Coming in on the afternoon supply plane. I made all the arrangements."

"Our supply plane? The one from Miami? Who's bringing the boy?"

"No one. He's being shipped in a crate. In some fancy wrapping stuff, along with equipment to keep him alive."

***

The next day, Miguel got in a heated argument with Gus, about some scan he tried to make.

"Fuck all, boy. How the fuck can I check this boy out with all the fucking metal in him?"

"It all comes out Gus, except for the control apparatus I had installed in his mouth. Can't you run most of him through that gizmo thing?"

"That gizmo thing is a damn fucking big magnet. We can't get him near that thing with his mouth. OK boy. I know you wouldn't have brought anything dangerous here. I guess for once we can relax our security. I can at least scan him for any operational electronics."

That's what they did. The boy, still groggy from being drugged for his shipment, was strapped onto a padded table, all limbs secured. And the items were taken from his body as much as possible and they only scanned so far. The plug from the boy's butt was dislodged with only a whimper from the boy. Then the two rings in the boy's penis. And the final one from his taint between his legs. And the thin beaded plug from the boy's urethra. Then the cuffs from his ankles and wrists along with the connecting chains. And collar about the boy's neck. The hinged control imbedded in the boy's mouth was merely scanned by other devices on hand.

As expected, the boy was clean. He was then brought into the secure stronghold.

***

Miguel had the audacity of only those whose actions had never known any boundaries, or wanton desires, any restraint. He had the money and desire, apparently, to buy the sex toy he wanted, and then did just that. He had no qualm as he brazenly paraded his boy toy about with a severe minimum of clothing, and at night, noises could be heard coming from his room which left no doubt what he was doing with and to his slave.

The slave had apparently been well trained. He obeyed every command, every whim of his owner. And modesty seemed not at all in his make-up. Nor a word of complaint had ever left his mouth. Of course, it was rarely allowed to open on its own. The slave walked about but definitely not freely. He was forever in some sort of hobble and rarely were his hands his to use as he wished.

At night, his master made good use of his slave. The boy had been quite well trained. He was well used both orally and anally, and frequently showed the marks of rather severe discipline. Sniggers and comment could frequently be heard by both visitor and staff. Though the slave's native tongue was Spanish, he knew enough English to also be commanded in that language.

***

A little over four months later, when a signal was no longer being picked up by their satellite, the mission commander had reasoned that their slave boy trojan horse was no longer functional.

"OK boys," he had made a secure call and gave the order. "The kid has obviously been disposed of by that Miguel Cordoba fellow. Have your men do their thing."

Several thousand miles away, in the depths of the jungle near the Cardoza demesne, a two-man team 'lit up' the place and guided in the missile. Several minutes later all that was left of the hilltop was a yawning crater.

***

Back in the states, in a small community in an out of the way city no one of any real note ever lived, a young college graduate was recently enrolled into a graduate program under an assumed name, having purchased a full-proof new identity. He was no longer going by the name of Miguel Cordoba. He was quite elated when he came back from his first day as a newly minted graduate assistant in botany, his main area of interest, and one of his areas of major study. He was even more elated to be greeted by a young 14-year-old boy.

"Master," the young boy greeted his master in his native Spanish, "You need anything?"

Miguel, or rather Cort as his new IDs proclaimed, looked with fondness and extreme lust, as the boy approached. The boy was currently unhindered by manacles, cuffs, or chains. And the minimal clothing he now wore left very little to the imagination, and was almost more seductive than a totally naked boy. Miguel quite admired the boy as he advanced with proffered drink and repast.

Later that very night, as master and slave were in a cuddled embrace, they engaged in conversation. The master had used his slave's body by his right of ownership, and the boy's two main sex holes as nature had intended.

"What did the doctor say, boy?"

"Oh, that my mouth would take several more weeks to fully heal, but that the implants were doing well."

"And your bladder? Since that stent has been taken out of the sphincter, can you now urinate properly?"

The slave chuckled. "No more diapers, master. Damn were they uncomfortable! But it's finally stopped leaking."

Finally, the slave ushered in a topic he'd been concerned about: "Master, you think anyone is left who can be looking for us? I was so terribly scared the whole time. If they discovered what we were doing, we would both have been horribly killed."

"Sorry boy, but it was the only way I could think of to bring them down. I so wanted to do that for years, and your volunteering made it possibly. They had killed most of your family. You had made the greatest sacrifice. And when I learned that my uncle had killed his own brother, my father, I was finally determined more than ever to rid the world of their scourge."

"Master, how did you know that the government here would do what they did?"

The young Miguel, aka Cort, chuckled. "That boy I met at the university, he was the mission commander's son. That's when I got the whole idea. And you know you're really not my slave anymore."

"But master, I like being your slave." The small boy giggled.

"OK then slave. Here's my next command."

The End