Hunters and Hunted Thrall Market By Evan Andrews 2022
This is a fan fiction.
This story is part of a larger cycle of stories, The Hunters and Hunted series, and follows chronologically after "Enthralled".
Despite similarities in names and relationships the story is set in neither the Supernatural-verse nor the True Blood-verse nor the Buffy-verse. Those faces were just the ones I had in mind as I wrote. The thrall is being played by porn star Cameron Foster. Rafe and his crew originally appeared in NPhillyDogg's "Rural Sex Slaves" series. The story depicts males in sexual situations with other males. If this offends you, if you are underage, or if reading such is illegal where you are please stop reading now. Thank you.
If you enjoy this story, or even if you hate it, please contribute to keeping Nifty going at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
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Three days after they were Enthralled, Dan and Archer were formally presented in the Club. Lots were drawn, and two lucky vampires took possession of the new studs for the evening. Hannibal spooned Archer while his undead dick probed the boy's heat, and James languished on a chaise as Dan deep-throated his shaft. The other Masters in residence were forced to make do with the regular thralls. (`Who are still handsome enough to make any man's balls churn.' Dean thought.)
"Pike," Eric, the master vampire, suddenly called his senior squire to his side.
Two of the other attending squires, brothers Sam and Dean, watched as the lanky young ex-hunter came to stand by a kneeling Chinese-American thrall.
"Master?" Pike said.
"What is Kevin here doing back in the Club? He can't be recovered from his last tour of duty yet."
"Master..." Pike was stammering.
"Out with it."
"There are just too many guests in the Manor," Pike said bluntly, and then quickly added, "That is, there are more than the usual rotations can handle. So we're having to rush thralls through the recovery period."
Eric looked at his squire, assessing him, reading the truth in his words. Meanwhile the other assembled vampires listened with interest. Some master vampires would have a tantrum at this point, as if pointing out the insufficiency of thralls was somehow an attack on their leadership. Luckily for Pike, Eric was made of better stuff.
"So," Eric said calmly, "Since it is likely we're going to be entertaining at the current level for a while, what would you suggest?"
"Master, the stable just needs more thralls," Pike said simply.
"Excellent!" Dallas said, "We can..."
"WE," Eric said, forcibly now, "Will restrain our baser instincts if we want to retain the privilege of frequenting the Club. Providing thralls for my guests is my responsibility as host."
Dallas might not be the most subtle bloodsucker on Earth, but even he realized he'd crossed a line. He bowed his head.
"Of course, Eric," he said, "I meant nothing..."
"Of course you didn't," Eric said as he stroked Kevin's hair, musing.
"Oz," he said, "Come to me later this evening. I have some wheels to set in motion."
From his place alongside Sam and Dean, Oz nodded.
"As you will, master," the redhead said.
"Until then...," Eric said, and he pulled Kevin up onto the chaise and kissed the young man deeply. "Waste not."
Sam and Dean watched, their own cocks coming to attention, as Kevin slid into the master vampire's embrace, and Dean wondered what plans the master vampire had—beyond ravaging the handsome thrall this evening.
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Sam sat in the back of the Range Rover and watched the rural squalor roll past.
His master, Eric, sat beside him, deep in the napping state that most vampires assumed during the daylight hours. Two of the Brotherhood silently occupied the front seats: Alcide driver and Ethan shotgun – not that Sam had ever seen one of the Brothers (they preferred that term to werewolf) in possession of anything as crass as a shotgun.
In just these few days, Sam and Dean had both slid into certain roles in the Manor, especially when they were taken on an outing. Sam got taken along when the vampire he was accompanying required supporting organizational and information-gathering skills. Dean got taken out when a hunk with an air of menace closely matching the Brothers' was required. What Sam was doing here and now, though, had him thoroughly confused. He couldn't imagine anything out here that would require his skills. They were deep in the country, out of cellphone range, and even the GPS could make no sense of these rural dirt roads. Thankfully, Alcide looked like he knew exactly where he was going.
A half hour to forty minutes later, the Rover nosed back an overgrown drive and stopped in the shade in front of a run-down travesty of rural vernacular architecture that was covered with a comforter of honeysuckle and Virginia creeper. A redneck that looked to be in his mid-30s sat in a dilapidated rocking chair on the perilous porch, watching them approach.
"Master," Sam said, touching Eric's shoulder, "I think we're here."
`Wherever here is,' the young man thought to himself.
The redneck stood up and walked into the sunlight as Eric put on his shades and hat and stepped out of the Rover into the shade. Sam and Ethan got out, too, while Alcide turned the Rover around.
"You're late," the hick said.
"Tell Alcide that," Eric said, pointing at the Rover, "If you dare. He was driving, and I'm sure he'd love to hear from you how he could have done better. Am I right, Ethan?"
"Alcide always enjoys that kind of discussion, boss," Ethan said, and he favored the redneck with one of THOSE smiles, full of teeth. The hick took a step back. Brothers' smiles could reassure, but they were more likely to put a heavy dose of the frighteners on a person.
"Hrmf," the redneck cleared his throat. "Well, follow me then."
He led Eric (and Sam) not to the run-down house but towards an old springhouse, buried in the side of the hill. Ethan wandered along with them, outside of the redneck's reach but close enough to act if called on to. Cool air wafted out from inside the springhouse, and a trickle that might someday aspire to be a brook ran out the door. The redneck bent his head and walked inside, followed by Eric. Sam glanced at Ethan.
"After you?"
Ethan shook his head, "No way. This is bloodsucker shit, and this Brother's not having anything to do with it—unless you need a rescue. But you better hurry up, little hunter, unless you want to get in trouble."
Eric and the redneck, who introduced himself as Rafe, were waiting by a travesty of a door, and, when Sam caught up with them, Rafe pushed the door open.
Behind it, a short corridor (in surprisingly good repair) led to a subterranean chamber, but the word chamber hardly did it justice. The place was a luxury suite like you'd find in a ritzy hotel, large enough almost to be an apartment. There was a lounge with comfortable sofa, loveseat, and chairs; a kitchenette with a fully-stocked bar and dining nook; and a rather palatial bedchamber—all open-plan. (Home Design TV would be pleased to hear that.)
"I don't see any merchandise," Eric said, pleasantly enough unless you knew enough to hear the impatience lurking beneath. Sam had been in the Manor long enough to recognize many of these subtle hints, and he knew an impatient vampire was dangerous.
"Keep your pants on," Rafe drawled, "The boys're getting it all cleaned up before they bring it along. Beer?"
Eric declined, but he gave Sam permission to indulge. Whatever merchandise Rafe had, Sam thought as he took a deep swallow, he'd better get it up here pronto.
Then a disguised door opened in one of the walls, a door to a small elevator.
Two more rednecks stood in the opening behind a completely naked young man. The rednecks (one burly with short chopped dirty blonde hair, a goatee, and mustache and the other shaggy-headed and clearly a man you didn't fuck with unless you had a couple of werewolves as backup) pushed the boy out into the room. The merchandise had arrived.
The boy was in his early 20s, blond, and had the long hair you'd expect to find on someone that hadn't gotten to a barber for a while. A beard that was a stage or two beyond the stubble that was in style lined his jaw. Handsome as a movie-star, the potential thrall was tall and muscular without straying into bodybuilder territory. He was freshly showered and groomed. Lucky for them, Eric liked long hair and beards on his thralls – and Sam finally grasped that this boy must be why they had come to this piece of pastoral squalor.
Sam had heard of operations like this, places where unsuspecting men who wouldn't be missed right away were kidnapped and "trained" to be sex slaves. It was a bad thing, and he and Dean would have gone after shit-stains like this if they hadn't been outside what the brothers always considered a hunter's traditional jurisdiction. Clearly, Eric was not above going to the underground (literally) to get bloodthralls for the Manor if that's what it took.
They all watched the boy as he took in his surroundings. Clearly, the comfortable appointments threw him for a loop, but when his eyes fell on Eric, his jaw dropped, and his cock rose. Eric had that effect on men when he wanted to.
"This is Troy," Rafe said. "I hope he meets your exacting standards.
Eric caught the boy with his piercing eyes. Though the master vampire said nothing, the slave backed up and fell onto his back on the bed without having a hand was laid on him nor an order given — at least not yet. It was like he knew exactly what Eric wanted, and perhaps he did. Vampires were reported to have abilities Sam hadn't yet run into.
Eric gestured at his squire and said, "Sam, go and fuck that boy for me. Fuck him good."
Eric's speech had acquired the strange cast it did when his fangs descended. A glance confirmed to Sam that they had and also told him what sort of fucking the master required. This was not going to be simply a "test drive" of a sex-slave's body. This was the Enthrallment Ritual, and since the blond, Troy, was going to leave here a bloodthrall, the fucking had to take him to the edge of sanity. Sam smiled. Yeah, he could do that.
Sam crossed the room, kicking away shoes and dropping clothes as he went. He could read the boy's face. The blond was absolutely riveted by Sam's body as it was slowly revealed.
For what that's worth,' Sam thought cynically. Faking lust is probably one of the first lessons these slavers pound (literally) into their products.'
When Sam finally reached the bed, the master vampire said, "Go ahead and fuck him in every position you can think of, Sam. I want to know he's worthy."
"My pleasure, Master."
Sam climbed up onto the bed and began to give Troy's body its test drive. Spreading the blond's legs wide, Sam took position and forced his 8 inch cock up the ready ass. Starting the session with a simple but rather intense missionary fuck (which Sam figured must be a walk in the park after the training Troy had likely endured), at Eric's command the squire went on to do the nasty in whatever position the vampire called for. Troy lived up to Sam's expectations. He took cock both orally and anally without hesitation or complaint, and his face betrayed the lust building in his broken-to-slavery mind.
(For his part, Troy, a kidnapped junior executive, after weeks of being bred down by men who just wanted to break him by repeated rape, fucking him hard and fast, was impressed by Sam's endurance, by his ability to hold off cumming, and by his obvious presence in the act at all times. Several of Troy's trainers had screwed him like they were machines – bored machines, bored boring machines. This guy was different. Just when Troy knew that any of the trainers would have been blowing a hot load inside him before handing him over to one of his buddies to breed, Sam was able to gather himself, assert control, and then start off on a fresh round of man-ramming. Not just that, though. Sam was fucking for Troy's pleasure as well. A true novelty for slave trainees in the Bunker.)
Finally Sam pushed Troy flat on his back on the bed and, turning round to face the room, crouched over the blond's head and forced his cock into the slave's mouth and throat. Troy rolled with the punch, or punches rather, accommodating the length of Sam's man-steel in his throat and taking his face-fucking like a trooper.
Sam pulled out some time later, leaving Troy exhausted and breathless, his face awash in saliva, precum and snot. A pair of heavy balls rubbed over the blond's slimy face, and he opened his mouth to admit them. One of the younger trainers had taught Troy how to teabag, and he now rolled one orb and then the other with his tongue as Sam bent over and began to pump Troy's slave cock.
Fuck!' Troy thought. Can this be real? Am I really going to get to cum?!'
It seemed so. Sam skillfully stroked Troy's rod, teasing, slowly pushing the blond's nuts closer and closer to giving up their bounty. Suddenly Sam felt the boy's face scrunch up, and the slave's cock put on a spectacular show, the length pulsing and jerking in Sam's hand, firing off rope after rope of pent-up sperm until his belly and chest were awash in white goo. When the boy was drained, Sam pulled his sack away from Troy's practiced tongue and jerked out his own load so that Troy's chest was crossed with two spermy splatter patterns.
Eric who had been watching the action with eagerness now stepped across to the bed and flogged his cock until his own cum joined the other two loads. Then he raked sharp nails across the flesh of Troy's belly, not doing any real damage, of course, but leaving a trail of scratches that bled more than they ordinarily would have. Troy gasped at the novel pain (the trainers had beaten him but never set out to draw blood this way), and his blood welled up from the shallow scratches to mix with the cum decorating his body.
Eric leaned over and ran his tongue across Troy's body, savoring the mixture of hot fluids and turning Troy on again with his tongue-action. Once Eric had taken his fill of the combined fluids, he called on Sam to enjoy what was left and continue to tease the slave. Sam flicked a tongue across the goo (the first time he'd been allowed to) and relished the salty taste, if not as much as Eric had, at least enough to groan with pleasure. Meanwhile, he offered up finger-loads of the pink/white slime to Troy himself who suckled on the blood- and cum-soaked fingers like they were covered in chocolate syrup.
While Sam and Troy enjoyed their treat of blood and cum, Eric crawled up between Troy's legs, spread them again, and started licking at the boy's drained balls.
"Oh, please!" the blond slave moaned, feeling his nads start to churn again. "Yes! That feels sooo goood!"
Troy had early on in his captivity figured out what the trainers were doing. He (and his ridesharing coworkers who had doubtless followed similar journeys into sexual submission) would in all probability end up in a male whorehouse somewhere since why else would they be training them like this? Troy even (when he finally broke) accepted that that bordello was where his life would end once he was no longer worth fucking. But this... He never imagined anything like this. The taste of blood and cum combined, though freaky, sent a wave of warmth through his body, and when Eric sank his fangs into Troy's femoral artery, the blond's world changed forever. As Eric sucked, Troy opened his eyes wide, he found himself staring at Sam who, smiling, proceeded to kiss him. Hard. To Troy, it was marvelous, and he never wanted it to stop. He almost came again. When Eric rose at last from between the boy's thighs, Troy could only stare at him with worship in his eyes.
Sam smiled, remembering his recent recruitment into servitude. Well, why should the thrall not look on the vampire with adoring eyes. Eric was their master after all.
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While Sam cleaned the new thrall up, toweling (not washing) away the remains of the blood and cum from the firm young body to make him presentable for transport, Eric concluded his business with Rafe. Gold, actual gold coins, changed hands as the redneck did his best to conclude the sale as quickly as he could. (Sam took note of the amount exchanged, so he could later have a benchmark if the vampires ever again bought a sex-slave to Enthrall.) The ritual of Enthrallment had clearly unnerved Rafe, and unnerved his trainers as well. (Obviously they were used to less complicated auditions for their human merchandise.) The shaggy bear of a man, Travis, made for the elevator as soon as he could, and Sam was sure the not-quite-so-shaggy blond, Bufford, only stuck around for fear of leaving his boss alone with men he clearly considered to be dangerous nut-jobs.
Clothes had been set out for the slave, but Eric turned up his nose at them.
"Those rags are unfit for one of my bloodthralls. Leave them. I have better things in the Rover," he said. "Troy, you can dress outside."
Still in wonder, the naked Troy followed Eric and Sam up the corridor and out through the springhouse into the open air where he blinked, all but blinded by the glare of a sun he hadn't seen in weeks.
"Master," the blond asked meekly, using the term for the first time as he pulled on the clothing Eric produced (chinos, a polo shirt, and boat shoes with no socks—no underwear), "What now?"
"Now, my boy," Eric said, pulling the boy's head around for a kiss, "Now we go home, and I will feast upon your delectable vitality."
"That will be nice," Troy said, though Sam could tell the boy had no real idea what Eric was talking about.
"It will," agreed Sam.
Meanwhile in the front seat, the Brothers rolled their eyes at one another.
"Carrion malarky," Ethan muttered, and Alcide nodded before putting the rover in gear and rolling back down the drive towards civilization.