Breaking Drake Ch 08

The two men slept badly, dreaming of screams and groans. Drake twitched on the sandy ground, imagining the scaled whip snapping and tearing through his skin once again. He woke up with a start, panicking and hyperventilating. He laid on the ground, trying to calm his breathing down. He looked over at Riley, who was twitching in the throes of his own nightmares.

The sun was just rising, and the arena was quiet, besides the occasional snort from one of the large pens. Drake watched as a female trainer and a handful of slaves carrying large feed bags walked around the pens, dumping a bag in every pen. The men snorted awake, and scrambled to get some of the feed out of the long troughs. Drake couldn't help but think of the cattle he had seen eating out of similar feeders. Drake's own stomach growled as he watched the men eat.

Raell looked over the different pens. Perched up in the rafters, she had a pretty good view. He eyes drifted over the two slaves set apart from everyone else. It's about time he goes in with everyone else, she thought. Can't have him thinking he's special. Movement caught her eye and she watched James, Zack, and Austin strut out of their barrack. All three were grinning, and her keen sense of smell easily caught a whiff of arousal. Recalling the blonde slave last night she smiled. Looks like they were using him in full. She gazed around the arena once more, before casually stepping off her perch.

WHOMPFFF!

Drake jerked around, staring at the creature that has dropped out of nowhere. Raell was crouched, her wings spread out, the tips touching the ground. Her wings were probably thirty feet from tip to tip.

"Good lord Raell! You scared the ever loving hell out of us, coming out of nowhere like that! Did you watch Batman last night or something?!" James swore, one hand over his racing heart.

Drake laughed softly, and the men and Raell turned to look at him.

"Oh shit..." He whispered.

They walked over to his pen, Raell simply flapping once to leap over the rail while the men slammed the door open. Riley woke up with a snort, then let out a terrified yelp as he realized who all were in his pen.

"That funny, slave?!"

"Seeing Raell should have you trembling and crawling in the sand, not laughing at those above you!"

The three men circled Drake, who stared at them trembling, not sure how to act. Zack swing a fist into his stomach, and Drake crumpled to the ground.

"Slaves KNEEL before their betters! Slaves BOW before their mistress!"

Raell stepped forward, and the men backed up to give her space.

"I think it's about time you joined the rest of your species, don't you think?" She crooned softly, before grabbing a handful of his hair and jerking his head up. "Can't have you thinking you are something special."

Drake trembled, keeping his eyes on the ground.

"Are you special, slave?"

"No, Mistress!"

"What are you, exactly?"

Drake choked. His eyes were tearing up from the pain in his stomach and from the hairs Raell was pulling out.

"I said, what are you, exactly?"

"I'm, I'm a s-slave, Mis-Mistress."

"That's what I thought." She shoved his head back to the ground. Looking over at the three trainers, she gestured at Drake. "When you herd the others out take this one with you. He needs basic training." As she walked out, she muttered to the men "And if you touch his ass with those logs you keep between your legs you'll end up in one of those pens yourself."

The three exchanged looks. Raell had never threatened them before. What was so special about this slave? He was really good looking, though he could use a bit more muscling. Had Raell taken a slave as her lover?

Raell heard the thought as it ran through the trainers' minds. She growled angrily, and almost turned around to correct them. She decided to let it go- they'd find out the slave's true purpose eventually.

The trainers glanced at the slave once more, before headed out. They had to shepherd a few pens of slaves into the main training arena. Austin grabbed Drake's collar and pulled him along, the same he would have a misbehaving dog.

Drake struggled along, the grip on the back of the collar keeping from being able to stand up.

Instead he scrambled along on his hands, choking when he slipped. The men collected shock spears, and set about opening each pen, and directing the slaves within. A few female trainers helped, but it was clear that the men had control over the slaves. Drake was dragged along as they cleared every pen, aware of the curious and fearful eyes on him. He knew the images from last night's show were fresh on their minds and that they probably thought they were going to watch him be the next victim. He prayed that he wasn't going to be.

Finally, the last pen was guided into the main area. Drake stared at the perfectly aligned rows of slaves, each in the same position. They were kneeling, with their heads bowed to the ground, and their arms placed behind their backs. The female trainers were walking around, correcting any mistakes with a smack of their crops and a quick order.

Drake was tossed in the front, filling up an empty space. He looked at his neighbor, then tried to copy his stance.

Smack! "Head down lower."

Drake flinched at the smack, but lowered his head. This was awful. He was glad he didn't have on the harness the others did, thinking how the strap that ran up the butt would be giving everyone a painful wedgie.

Drake's afternoon consisted of learning different positions. He learned how to bow whenever Raell walked into the room, how to stand at attention, and the different command positions. They would do flash tests where they would call out orders in a quick succession, and the trainers would walk around inspecting. Other times they would call out specific orders and then say "lock." Drake quickly learned that "lock" meant that he could not move from the set position for any reason, until he was given a new order or told to relax.

Finally, after what had to have ben hours, the training session seemed to be wrapping up. The slaves were all told to get a drink and two of the feed troughs were filled up with lunch. The trainers left, locking the gates behind them.

Drake watched as the slaves gathered round the different troughs, pushing and shoving to be able to get some of the food. He gulped down a few mouthfuls of water, before dunking his head in the water. His stomach rumbled, and he glanced over at the feed troughs. The fighting had calmed, and there was more room now that most of the men had eaten their fill of the feed.

"Yum." Drake muttered to himself before dipping his head in the trough. It had a beefy flavor this time. Ground up roast maybe? Regardless, it filled him up and stopped the grumbling stomach.

Finished, Drake observed everyone around him. The majority of the men were young, probably in their early twenties. There were men of every race, though whites outnumbered every else. The few older men were probably in their late twenties to early thirties. Everyone was collared, cuffed, and harnessed. Drake noticed the only difference to the outfits were some of the men had a leather pouch that contained their junk, while other didn't. The slaves seemed too miserable to care that they were either nearly nude or actually nude. Drake realized that even he had gotten used to his nudity.

Drake approached one of the covered men, hoping to find out why some men were "clothed" while others were not.

"Um, hey man. Can I ask you a question?"

The man he had picked out was a bit older, with short brown hair.

"What's up?"

"Why are you, um, dressed differently than most everyone else?"

"I could ask you the same question. I'm wearing the holster, the leather cover up, because it's been determined that I'm 'broken." That is, it's been decided that I do not pose an escape or rebellion risk. I do what they say, I bow and kneel as called for, I have realized th-that it's just eas-easier to do wh-what they want me to..."

Drake watched as the man crumpled in on himself. God, I never want to be like him, he thought.

The guy looked up at Drake. "So, ahem, wh-why aren't you wearing a h-harness?"

"In all honesty, I have no idea, man. I can't tell if Rae-"

The slave flinched hard. "Mistress Raell! If they hear you calling her by her name only, they'll beat you!"

"Jez. Sorry! I can't tell if Mistress Raell has plans for me or if she just enjoys treating me differently than you all." A thought hit him. "How does she capture you guys? Is there any pattern to who she kidnaps?"

"She gets us from different places. She doesn't actually capture us, she has teams of women that do the kidnapping. As for who she selects, the women usually pick them out too. The teams call Mistress Raell when they have a 'potential slave,' and if she accepts they team will kidnap their victim. The way they kidnap depends on the situation. In bars they simply coax the selected man to go home with them, on the streets they usually inject him with a sedative and shove him into a waiting car, and at work they set up a meeting and drug the man then carry him out. I'm sure they have dozens of ways to handle different situations, those are just the ones I've heard."

"So R- Mistress Raell never actually goes out and picks out a slave herself?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

Drake turned away, wondering why Mistress Raell had captured him herself. Had the accident with his Jeep and her Lambo been unintentional, and bad luck had put him in this pen? Or had she been waiting for him to mess up so that she could swoop in and turn him into her slave?

He looked up as the gates once again slammed open, and the trainers walked back in. Drake felt his heart sink. They were going to do a round two?

The slaves lined up again. Drake listened to the smacks and yelps of the slaves who did not assume the correct position. One of the trainers- Drake didn't know who- stopped in front of him. Drake waited for the corrective order and the painful stripe of the crop.

"All right boys. Plank position!"

Drake looked around as the men got into the plank position. He followed suit, and remembered Riley telling him about body conditioning. No doubt that's what they were doing now.

Pushups. Planks. Various stretches. They ran laps, they did crunches, they worked out until Drake was trembling and couldn't do anymore. He collapsed in the sand. Almost instantly...

CRACK!

"Get up you worthless piece of shit! You aren't a man, you're just a waste of space. Get the hell up!"

CRACK!

Drake rose up on trembling arms, trying to fend off the painful blows. He stumbled on, trying to keep up the jog as the trainers ordered. The trainer, a stocky blonde woman, kept up her own jog next to him. She peeled off after a minute, but watched him half jog, half stumble his way around the pen. He could feel his legs failing, as the muscles were trembling and burning. He was crying softly, and the sobs only made his forced jog worse. He couldn't get enough air, his throat was closing up, if he stopped they were going to beat him.

He stumbled.

His right leg gave out, and Drake hit the ground. He immediately tried to get up, waiting for the blows. The slaves ran around him, kicking sand in his face. A hand reached out of the sea of legs, grabbing his collar and dragging him free. Drake could only pant and tremble. He knew they were going to beat him and whip him and post him.

However, Drake was simply dragged to a separate space in the pen and dumped on the ground.

He couldn't move, as every muscle in his body was completely exhausted. Someone dropped a cold rag on his face, and Drake slurped at the drips of water that ran down his face. Someone hauled him to his feet by his collar, and Drake hung from their grip.

"Not so special after all, huh slave?"

Drake trembled at that voice. To any other free human being it would be a voice of bells, but to him and his fellow slaves, it was a voice of pain.

"No, Mistress."

Raell laughed, then released her grip. Drake crumpled to the ground and forced his exhausted body to bow before her. His butt sat on his heels, which touched, and his knees were spread. His forehead touched the ground, and his hands were placed next to it, with his elbows set against his knees. The slaves called it the diamond position, as his head, knees, and butt created a human diamond shape. The trainers called it the Dragon bow.

"Very good, slave. I see you're taking to your training well. Such a shame you can't do the physical training with the same passion."

Drake swallowed, sure she was going to thrash him.

"Well, you obviously aren't anything special. And I had such hopes."

She grabbed his collar and hauled him back to his feet.

"Stand."

Drake locked his knees and remained upright, arms behind back and looking down.

"Let me ask you again, slave. And answer me truthfully. Do you think you are special?"

Drake thought about it. He'd been kidnapped differently, had been introduced to the slave life differently, and had gotten Raell's personal attention enough that he did think that he was special. However, he was sure that a yes would be the wrong answer.

"No, Mistress." He repeated.

"Bullshit. I know you think you are special. You've been kept apart from everyone, you aren't wearing a harness, and I kidnapped you, not my teams. Why wouldn't you think you were special?"

Drake didn't know how to answer, so kept quiet. He kept thinking about how the slave he had talked to earlier had looked, so broken and worn down. He felt a flash of anger. He wouldn't break, he wouldn't give up. He'd do what they said, but he wouldn't do so willingly.

Raell laughed to herself, looking at the slave before her. He was shaking and was wavering side to side, his eyes on the ground. She could feel the anger curling through him, but she could also feel the fear that had taken hold. She grinned and turned on her heel, leaving him standing.