Chapter 1- Fresh Meat

The chamber was cold, wet, and dark. The smell of blood and sex was putrid. It was familiar, more familiar than the teenager's own home. He had been here before. Too many times to count. A single window let in a ray of white light, illuminating a single spot on the freezing tile floor. The light revealed all the dust, rust, and blood, the latter fresh and slowly drying from the previous slave's visit.

"Ah!" Akihiko grunted, his knuckles white from clutching onto the mattress sheet.

"Shut it, bitch," Jack hissed, slapping his slave's ass cheek, leaving a dark, red dash.

"Mhmmm," cried the slave, tears building up, sliding down his flushed cheeks.

"Moan for me," growled the master, pinching Usagi's nipple, slicing his nails inside the pink bud.

"Ja-c-k-k" gasped Akihiko, fighting the urge to holler from the immense pain on his sensitive bud.

"I said moan, you bitch," he whispered, before digging his nails into the young man's soft skin just below his ribcage.

"Mhm," Akihiko mustered with fake desire.

"Are you ready?" smirked the older man.

"N-no. Please! I can't-"

Jack thrusted his entire length into his toy's hole, moaning in lust.

"AHHHHH!" Akihiko sobbed, feeling his body being ripped apart from the sudden intrusion.

The slave was so sore from the lack of preparation; he was far too tight for his master's thick shaft. Loud moans filled the room; deep grumbles and hard, short breaths echoed from the hospital-green walls, peeling from age. Akihiko shut his eyes tightly, wishing for this nightmare to end. No matter how many times he was dragged here, there was no getting used this.

"You like that, bitch?" screamed Jack in pure ecstasy, gripping onto his victim's soft face.

"Y-yes master," Akihiko sobbed, as his master pounded into him.

Akihiko could feel the blood, slowly pooling on the floor from his rear. The skin felt so raw, as if it was being torn off, exposing the vulnerable muscle. Heat pooled from his ass, and the burning increased. He could smell his own sacrifice, dripping down, running over the inflamed skin, increasing the burn.

"Say it," hissed Jack, so close to release.

"Mhmm," only spit dripped from the slave's mouth, from the pain and embarrassment.

Jack gripped Akihiko's soft, grey locks, and trashed his face onto the hard floor. The poor boy could taste the blood running from his lips. His senses were leaving him, as his head was repeatedly hit the hard floor.

"Say it, slut!" roared his master.

"Come for me," Akihiko whispered in anguish, hot tears hitting the floor, mixing with his saliva and blood.

The master abruptly sat up in his plush, redwood bed. Cold sweat shimmered on his body.

"Just a nightmare, relax," Akihiko muttered to himself, running his pale hand over his glistening forehead. "The same one!" he gripped his head,

Moonlight broke through the gothic-style window, illuminating his tall bed. The black clock on the oriental-styled end table read one o clock. "Shit," Akihiko muttered as he rubbed his head and slid off his bed to fumble with the small drawers.

"Ah, there," he reached down and grabbed the small box at the bottom of all the junk in his cabinet. "Let's see," he scratched his messy hair, "the red ones are the Aspirin? Ugh, Nowaki said it was the red one. But then again, that whore's an idiot."

Shrugging, the sleepy man swallowed the pill, and minutes later, succumbed by the oncoming slumber.

"Yes, Ayame-san. He is the absolute best in the business.

Misaki eyes his parents intently. The room was huge, and the petit boy did his best to take it all in. The walls were a rich, tan color, with delicate designs coating them. The ceiling stretched up to the sky, giving Misaki the felling of suffocation, he felt as if he were about to be sucked up into the heavens. The place was huge. Small, golden coffee tables stood in the corners, complimenting the walls perfectly. Upon each of the tables was an Asian-style vase surrounded with tiny cups. The floor was covered by a rich-red carpet, which stretched through the endless living room. In the center of the room was a low, Japanese coffee table with a silk tablecloth decorated with tiny pink flowers. Upon the table was a teapot with boiling cherry tea, small cups and plates surrounding it. Ayame-san, Iwao-san, and Misaki were sitting around the table, facing Katsu Tanaka. Katsu smirked slightly at Misaki, a dark gleam in his eyes, before turning to the parents.

"We assure you, Misaki will be taken care of. Akihiko cares deeply for all his guests. Complementary rooms, service, dining, all to your heart's desire."

"Then why the fuck are we being paid for our own son to live in luxury! Ayame, I think something's not right here!" Misaki's father exploded, shaking his fists in the air. He had been on edge the whole day, and this stupid meeting was just making it worse.

"Shh. Honey, relax. This will be good for Misaki," Ayame said rather eagerly.

"I think that your son needs the experience. It will be a great opening into the world of culture and a start to his social life. Living alone will do him good, I assure you," Katsu assured the worried father, and smiling at the mother.

"Well-" the father hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Face it, dear. Misaki needs this. He has been so anti-social lately. Plus," she purred, "it will give us some time to ourselves."

"Can I-"tried to say the now-worried Misaki.

"Shut it," his father's face was cold, almost lifeless.

Misaki looked down at his black converses, clasping his shaking hands. He didn't know what this place was, or what they were thinking of doing to him there. To him, all the tales of wonderful opportunities were bullshit. He had all he needed at the Amiso University, but apparently his parents didn't think so. He could hear his mother pleading with his father. For some reason, she really wanted him out of her hair. He understood her, a little. Private time was sacred for a couple, of course. But why the hell did he have to come here? He had heard of this place for months. His mother was so enthusiastic about his trip here, but his father was skeptical.

"Misaki, baby, can I talk to your father and this gentleman alone? Thanks," his mother cooed.

Misaki blushed at the childish nickname, but walked away nonetheless. He decided that since he was probably going to end up staying here, why not go exploring. The hallways of the mansion were well lit. There were hundreds of doors, all with some sort of design. What looked like American words were written on each door. Misaki tried to recall the little English that he knew, but failed miserably.

"Baka Misaki," he muttered.

Eventually, the young student got tired of the constant fancy doors and halls decorated with old paintings Misaki should have recognized. He noticed a staircase, leading deep down into the ground.

"Ah, a basement. Well, it's bound to be better than this crap," Misaki breathed, an aura of adventure surrounding him.

Sometime later, he finally realized he had wandered into a much-dimmer corridor than the one he had been walking through earlier. The lights were no longer beautiful, expensive, lanterns, but had been replaced by cheap lights which flickered every so often. The place was filled with the contradictory scents of antiseptic and sewage. Chills ran down Misaki's spine from how creepy this place looked, and the chill breeze blowing across the floor from the vents. A bit further into the basement, Misaki noticed empty cages. The cages were each about ten feet long and quite wide, each with a metal pole in the center.. Misaki felt goose bumps spill across his arms. Against his better judgment, he continued deeper and deeper into the darkness. Water dripped from the cracked ceilings. He came face to face with a wooden, dark-brown door. Misaki pondered whether to let his curiosity overtake his senses.

Cold sweat broke through his pores and his hands shook in unease.

"Do you understand the contract," asked Katsu-san, looking over at the dark faces of the couple.

A few papers were scattered around the marble coffee table. Ayame looked at ease in contrast of her husband's tense visage.

"Ayame! Does our son mean anything to you? He's our fucking son! You raised him for a whole seventeen years! Come on! You're going to give him up just like that?" Iwao-san was raging. His face was flushed, and small tears were gathering in the corners of his eyes.

"It's a couple million dollars every month! It's not every day you get that offer!" The mother latched on defensively to her piece of paper, allowing her son to be controlled by one particular person.

"He's going to be a pro- UGH! I can't even say it! What the fuck is wrong with you," the father screamed in despair. He knew he had lost this fight. His wife was the ultimate boss of the household.

"He will be greatly valued," piped in the dealer.

"I- that's it," the worn-out man stood up in defeat, "I am filling the divorce papers in today."

This earned a quiet gasp from the stone woman, and a glance of disregard from the stranger.

"F-fine," Ayame bowed her head, thinking hard, "b-but please don't take Misaki away from me. I want to do this, a-and I'm going to do this."

"Whatever." And with that, the fuming, miserable man walked out the door, signing the last paper.

"Wait! At least," the saddened woman whispered after her husband, "see your son. He might be in here for a while."

"I hate you so much. But I love my dear Misaki. I would never trade in anything for saying goodbye to my son."

"Come then. Let's find the slave," said the man in charge nonchalantly, standing up.

Iwao gasped at the harsh name that now belonged to his beloved son, but walked after the man nonetheless.

"Misaki! There you are! Get your ass over here right now!"

"Of course," Misaki rolled his eyes and huffed. He made his way slowly to the woman towering at the top of the wooden stair.

"Come on, Misaki. Katsu-san is going to give us a tour," his father put on a fake, cheerful voice.

"Coming, dad," the frightened boy gulped, and ran towards the stairs.

Katsu led the family down the big halls. All the walls were covered with expensive paintings, decorative rugs, or elaborate designs. The floors were linoleum, golden-brown, with squirts of sparkling gold. Misaki was gaping the whole way, half listening to the man in black go on and on about some of the benefits of living in this mansion. It was gorgeous, outstanding, a great eye-opener, blah, blah, blah...

"Oh my God," Misaki groaned, exasperated. His hand flew to his mouth, and the frightened boy looked around frantically. His parents had rage and embarrassment plastered all over their faces.

"Misaki!" the glaring woman drew in a sharp breath, before slapping Misaki's soft cheek with her manicured hand.

Misaki stared at his mother. How? His own mother….

"Honey," ushered Iwao-san to his wife, eyeing Misaki with a hurt expression.

"Um, okay!" Katsu clasped his hands, "I think it's time that you bid farewell."

The family exchanged confused glances, and stared back at the man in black, a fake smiled glued to every face. Misaki's burning and flushed cheek was quickly disregarded in everyone's best interest. His father walked towards the frightened boy, embarrassing him in a hug. He tried to memorize everything about his growing boy. He was so young, fresh, so innocent…

"Misa-k-ki," breathed his father, fighting his urge to grab the boy and run.

"It's okay, dad. I'll be fine. I mean, maybe I will learn a thing or two," chuckled the boy into his father's shoulder. His father was so warm. So close. He was home. He smelt of home. Home. The place he would never see again, as far as he knew.

And with that, his parents disappeared out of his life.

"Come, slut," waved his new boss, and started walking towards those stairs.

"Wha-" Misaki's face scrunched up at the disrespect.

He walked after the man, looking over himself the whole way. Did he look like a slut? Misaki blushed just thinking that about himself. What the hell was going on?

"You will be living here," the man brought Misaki out of his thoughts.

"Wow, uh, very pretty," Misaki smiled.

The room, if small, was absolutely stunning. Its walls were of red velvet. A small, tall bed, covered with plush, soft, blankets took up most of the room.

"Ah- not really much to-um- do here except for sleep," Misaki forced a small chuckle, trying to masquerade his growing fear.

"Well, sleep…amongst other things," he winked at Misaki before leaving and shutting the door behind him.

Misaki's fear grew. His stomach turned, and his palms were sweating. What the hell was this? Where was he? He hadn't seen a single library in this place, as a matter of fact! Why was he being referred to as a slut!

"Hey! Where am I?" the realization had finally kicked in.

Misaki heard the door lock.

"HEY! WHAT THE FUCK? WHO ARE YOU?"

"Rest, Misaki-cunt," chuckled the man.

"WHAT? LET ME OUT OF HERE!" Tears were flooding Misaki's face. He banged his fists on the door, bawling. Why? Why him? What the hell was all of this? Misaki surrendered and went to lay on his plush bed, surrendering to sleep.