*** 6 Collaring ***
They had named the prisoners "One" and "Two". The totally nude wannabe raiders still had their hands tied and were loaded with all five trash punks' backpacks.
The march to the neighboring settlement took half a night, but eventually the iron fence of Eastturn came into view.
Fucker walked through the checkpoint and handed over the mayor's notice to let the villagers take over. Savage said goodbye to raider Two by fucking him outside the gate. Meanwhile One was lucky enough to get to fuck Pisspig in the ass, right after unloading his bladder in the slave's mouth. Hardass' orders.
The traveling punks (and maybe future mercenaries) took their luggage back and dropped it off in the community hall to rest. They watched as the prisoners were put to work. Eastturn was expanding its production facilities and every additional hand was useful.
The punk gang had no intention to offer help in that line of work. Instead Pyro took a look at their bulletin board. As expected this far north, there wasn't much need for punk jobs since actual law enforcement existed on some level.
But Pyro found an old notice of interest.
"There were slavers here not long ago. Every single one was already caught but their leader escaped. Here's an image and a description."
"Okay," Hardass said. "But we can't spend days roaming the area to find a single guy. Who says he's even still around?"
Fucker said, "We could ask his underlings. Obviously, some of the workers at the forge are the captured slavers."
As the leader, he had to do the dirty work to show his boys how it was done. He took Savage with him.
The two visibly freaky boys waited at the construction site until one of the prisoners they didn't know was alone. They approached him from two sides to make sure he'd feel trapped.
"Yo," Fucker started. "You a slaver?"
The guy couldn't be over 20. He had a short red-ish mohawk and wore only sandals and a loincloth. A number was tattooed on his forehead. "I... I was, but I swear I was forced to-"
"Don't fucking care for your sob story. Just tell us where we might find your leader."
The prisoner chuckled darkly. "You think nobody's asked me before?"
Fucker strained his powers to the limit to move an entire person. It didn't quite lift the guy but it pulled his feet out from under him.
The prisoner crashed hard.
Apparently nobody had bothered to use less gentle interrogation techniques because the young man suddenly became talkative.
Fucker didn't like leaving their stuff at the Eastturn community center. They pretty much never parted from their belongings. But climbing would have been impossible otherwise.
A jagged sandstone formation cut through the desert. Somewhere in there, the former slaver gang's boss was hiding out. Probably.
They had to wait for sunrise, otherwise ascending the narrow paths full of trap-like obstacles would have been suicidal. All five boys were sweating profusely. They had gone through their water faster than expected. If the hideout was too well hidden or the prisoner's information had been inexact they would have to-
"There," Hardass said.
An empty can of Hydro-Cola, crushed. A standard protein bar number 5 wrapper. Someone lived close by.
As it turned out, the hiding spot was a simple recess in the rock. A reflective plane was held above it by hooks in the stone, to protect from the midday sun. There were medkits, containers full of water and a shattered lamp.
Much more interesting was the figure laying on the ground and relaxing. The man with an orange hip scarf and an overgrown, black mohawk was jerking off, but froze when he noticed he had visitors.
"Yap," Pyro said. "He looks exactly like the guy in the picture. Pisspig, the ropes."
Before the slaver boss could even protest, Savage had dislocated his jaw with a precise smacking. The incoherent shouting stopped once the brute planted a hard hit into the man's groin.
While Pisspig and his master maneuvered the newly captured prisoner onto the rock path, Fucker noticed something. He filled an empty container with seven items. Those might come in handy.
Once the final criminal had been added to his underlings at the Eastturn forge, Fucker called his punks into a private spot behind the community building. The container he had taken was hidden between their other stuff.
"Yo boys, I have an idea. I'm not saying we should, but hear me out."
Savage scrunched up his face. "What are you fucking talking about?"
The leader opened the container to show a scanner with inserted keycard and six collars.
"Woah," Hardass made and flinched at his own volume. He continued with a whisper. "You're not thinking of using those, are you?"
Fucker grinned. "It's only illegal if you get caught."
"Yeah but... this isn't like the guys who were already collared when we got to them. The slaves will tell everyone they didn't sign a contract willingly."
Fucker huffed. "Every slave claims that sooner or later. Has that ever gotten anyone freed?"
Pyro chimed in. "We'd have to be extremely careful. By the way, you know we're on the other side of the coast now, right? No auction house."
"Actually," Fucker said, "our pirate friend gave me multiple options. I simply picked the one closest to the ferry port. He named a house all the way on this side of the coast."
"Nice," Hardass said. "But we have to be really fucking careful. Man, this is too fucking illegal. We just arrested a guy for doing exactly this."
Fucker laughed. "Makes it feel even more fun, no?"
They marched eastward to a village (whose name was, strangely, Westturn) to stay during the midday heat. It was only a day's distance to the auction house.
"Yo," Savage said. "Look at this."
The village had a buggy. While the punks rested, they got to see it in action. It was actually functional. If they were fast, their chances of getting caught were much lower.
"Unfortunately, we can't drive."
"I can," Pisspig said.
After the initial surprise, Fucker formulated a plan that hinged on the slave's ability to pilot the sand vehicle.
Savage didn't have to do anything but fuck some boys, to make them curious. This was almost as easily said as done.
Once a bunch of kids and teens of Westturn had heard there were multiple freaks in the gang, they came with requests to suck their dicks. Fucker took them up on it, of course, but also said, "I'll give you a little demonstration of my powers. You shouldn't be offering suckjobs to everyone with black eyes. Those could be lenses, after all. You should make sure."
The boys were all highly interested in a demonstration, but Fucker explained he couldn't do it in the village. Too dangerous.
Three boys came with them to outside the fence. They chatted and blabbered. They were all different ages but had similar features. Probably family. Two even had the same hair color, their mohawks being spring green.
Fucker had no trouble leading them farther and farther away without the idiots suspecting a thing. They would never have made good trash punks. Way too easy to trick.
His friends had been trailing behind but now they were catching up.
"Yo, time to get started. I'd like a demo from you bunch first, though."
Fucker pulled down his thong and Savage got rid of his pouch. Two boys fell to their knees eagerly and began sucking. The third one went down, too, but looked back and forth between them. He was the youngest and quite insecure it seemed.
Pyro, Hardass and Pisspig ran up to the kneeling kids from behind at the same time and slapped the collars on.
The metal rings were of excellent quality and brand new. In each one was a sachet of neurotoxin that seeped into the skin upon first contact. The three boys grew sleepy. Not enough to sink into slumber but enough to lose the ability to fight back.
Fucker laid his new slave down and kept humping the boy's face. Savage did the same. Pyro used the final boy's mouth.
The fire freak was willing to share and let Hardass fuck the insecure kid's hole.
Meanwhile Pisspig's task was to take all clothing and other possessions off the boys, then hurry back to Westturn. Every adult had gone off to look at a failure in the water delivery system.
That failure had been caused by the punks as a distraction. Sabotaging the water supply was just as big a crime as illegal enslavement, but if they were caught it was all over anyway, so they might as well not hold back.
As Fucker cummed into the unresponsive mouth below him, he vowed to be good from now on. Thinking about becoming a prisoner was stressing him out too much.
Then Pisspig returned with the stolen buggy. He had some trouble handling the vehicle, clearly out of practice. It didn't matter.
The punks loaded their victims onto the backseat and held onto the outside of the car (they didn't fit otherwise) as Pisspig tried to relearn the controls to drive a bit more smoothly.
There were a few farms on the way but Fucker didn't let his driver stop until they spotted a group of exactly three men. They were a father and his son, plus a random farm hand. All worked in a hydroponic greenhouse.
Fucker got off and knocked. He was greeted by the son.
"Yo, wassup?" asked the boy.
Fucker smiled brightly. "I just wanted to ask if you need seeds. We have a few more than we care to carry to arcology 4, so the prices are low."
The boy turned around. "Dad?"
Both father and son joined Fucker outside to go to "their" buggy.
Hardass wasn't well hidden in the evening sun, but if he crouched and held still, he was still transparent enough to be hard to spot. Fucker saw the shadow walker slip into the greenhouse with the collar for the third farmer.
Once the first two arrived at the buggy, Pyro and Savage collared them in a split second.
With all slaves collected, Fucker took the time to look through the second trio's home, but came up mostly empty. The supplies gave every punk a good meal, but that was it.
Then the drive continued.
The auction house was a lot less shady looking than the one at the south coast had been, so Fucker couldn't just drop his slaves and tell the auctioneer to get him any price as long as it was quick. He had to act in a way that didn't create suspicion.
The staff actually asked the slaves if they had signed a contract and had given themselves up willingly. To the punk gang's luck, the three kids were scared into submission by Savage right behind them and nodded quickly. The farmers were too dazed to know what was happening.
That could have gone terribly wrong. Fucker did not want to try something like this again. What would have happened if the boys had told the truth?
Observation hour let the trash punks enjoy the cattle others had brought in. They found a man with a fantastically firm ass and took turns on him for the next 60 minutes.
The auction was as confusing as the last one, but they came away with so much money, it was hard to stick to the plan of abandoning their criminal lives that had only just begun.
But of course, Fucker really didn't want to get a number tattooed on his forehead or even get taken out by NewLaw agents.
It had been a fun adventure, though.
Tune in next time for an old connection to become relevant again. (Is anyone still reading this story?)