Sold...
Sold! The deal had been made. Jackson and a few of the other earthling males from the latest slave raid of the Grey One pirate fleet which had defeated humanity and conquered Earth. There he was, in all his all-American jock glory; hero of the running track in highschool days, champion of the American resistance since his early adulthood, now 25, the image of human pride. And yet, a slave. Naked as nature, bound in alien coffle to his former comrades, a sinister alien probe up his fine white American ass, and his glorious man-jewels bound with an electronic cock-ring (just in case the defeated human had any lingering thoughts of objecting to his enslaved state).
`Fuck' thought Jackson, "thus sucked".
They had been bought by one of the reptilian Gharodite people: an ally race of the Grey Ones interstellar empire. These creatures had a very ancient and sophisticated civilization, but were not themselves an imperial race. They sometimes looked askance at the militarism of the Grey Ones, but were more than happy to profit from the fruits of Grey One plunder. Including slaves, including humans. Now, including Jackson.
A peculiarly conservative species, the Gharodites maintained traditional farming practices on their homeworlds. It was to an estate on one of these that the human slaves were bound. The Gharodites were not sympathetic masters either. If Jackson's experience of the grey one slave-tubes was less than pleasant (although, it did have it's moments!) it was to be nothing like that on the Gharodite ship.
Jackson and his mates were dragged into the cargo hold and chained by their dick-rings to the grubby metallic floor. Stuffed, packed in tight. There wasn't a whiff of fresh air to be had the whole voyage. Men bound ass to ass, groin to groin, sweated and farted and defecated where they stood. The stink was abominable. But that's where they were now; slaves, an inferior and defeated race, chattel and livestock for their superior alien masters. Jackson grimaced as he thought of how they were to live now. Like those unfortunates in his own country's history who had been abducted and enslaved from their native Africa. Now history had revisited some of that horror on Jackson. Most of his fellow slaves here in the revolting Gharodite slave-hold were white like him. But regardless. They were all treated equally now.
Squeezed right up close to Jackson's face here was Shay, the cute blonde twinkish lad he had had the pleasure of fucking in the (much more sanitary) grey one slave-tube (under the influence of the weird alien technology that changed the humans sexual preferences at the whim of their masters).
They ached from their cock rings. Although they hadn't gotten an electric jolt from them since they left the Grey One's craft, the fact that they bound them to a ring on the floor meant that every movement was some strain on them as they dangled helplessly exposed. They were later to learn that there was another purpose for the rings. Human bucks were often valued by the size and health of their manhood. A ring binding it served to thrust it out front to display it for potential buyers. Jackson's schlong was a handsome, meaty piece of equipment. But Shay's package was modest and pretty. Neither could help themselves hardening occasionally as their sweaty groins slapped against each other. That made it even more uncomfortable. But fuck. What could they do about it?
Shay was a pretty lad of 20. He learned to look up to Jackson. In fact, he learned to love him. All former certainties and divisions were gone now. They were just two enslaved buddies with only each other to look to for some solace and release. Dallas, Jackson's old pal had not been sold with their batch. Jackson learned to look into Shay's eyes, and now and then on that long, sweaty, stinking journey to further hardship and misery as field slaves on the Gharodite plantation, their lips met, and they managed to find release between each others legs. Fuck. It was all they imagined they could hope for.