Please, check out my first ORIGINAL NOVEL! The Breaking of Poisonwood by Paradise Avenger. (Summary: People were dead. When Skye Davis bought me at a slave auction as a birthday present for his brother, I had no idea what my new life was going to be like, but I had never expected this. It all started when Venus de Luna was killed and I was to take her place, to become the new savior… Then, bad things happened and some people died. In the heart of the earth, we discovered the ancient being that Frank Davis had found and created and used to his advantage. The Poisonwood—)

This started out as a post for Lemon Reservoir, but I started it and now I just can't get it out of my head.

Anyone who was reading The Shattered Mirror and really into it, sorry, but it'll be on hiatus until I finish this one up. Again, I'm so sorry, but I will get back to it. I hate leaving things unfinished.

Anyway, I have MOVED this story COMPLETELY to another site. You can find this STORY and all its subsequent UPDATES here: archiveofourown. o*r*g /works/959853/chapters/1880293

I have the same penname there as I do here: ParadiseAvenger


He had been a slave all his life, but not a simple slave used for physical labor or menial cooking or tending a family in a posh little plantation manor. There were so many times in the years he could remember that he wanted to die for what he was. He was one of the worst, the most tormented, the most anguished, the most used.

He was a sex slave.

…and had been since the approximate day he turned fourteen…

Before that, though, like every other male child slave not sodomized by a vicious master, he worked his body to the bone in the fields. Female children were never so lucky. He often heard them screaming in the slave shacks at night when masters came to ravage their not-yet-pubescent bodies.

He had been a sex slave for six years, not that his body was pure and untouched when he turned fourteen and was sold to a new master. After all, he was a beautiful young man, or so he had been told. He had been touched and taken many times.

His body was skeleton-thin without an extra ounce of flesh on his frame, but toned from years of hard work. His hair was unkempt and raggedly cut, but thick coffee-colored and wispy like fine chocolate curls on a rich cream cake. His eyes were even more shocking. They were beautiful honeyed-amber and deep with profound suffering and sadness.

While his body and features were attractive, the numerous scars and abuses his body had suffered had taken some of the beauty from his figure. His stomach was concave, eyes sunken deep back in his face and shadowed heavily with exhaustion and bruises, his hands were stick-thin with nails chewed to the quick, and his ribcage was crooked and craggy with numerous breaks. He had been beaten countless times and his porcelain pale skin still bore the pearl-white scars. He looked sick and dead, like a corpse made up to be gorgeous in its velvet coffin.

The worst part of being a sex slave wasn't the sex, which could hurt and make him sick to his empty stomach; it was the horrible used feeling that welled up in his heart. His body was dying all around him from the tortures he endured.

Then, on one of the days he couldn't thoroughly recall in absolute clarity because of his growling empty body, something happened that he wasn't expecting. His master took his blood to be tested for disease and fed him a heavy meal of bread and milk. Then, he was told that he was being sold.

Through all that joy, he could only dwell on the way his master took him the final night and morning he was in her possession.

And then, she sent him off to auction like the piece of used worthless property that he really was.

Dressed in a fresh pair of ragged pants and a loose threadbare shirt that once may have been white, he watched as his hands were shackled in front of him. Then, they led him out of the plush plantation manor. The lady master was getting married and was not longer allotted a sex slave, especially one as beautiful as him. He was packed away in the truck and then the vehicle trundled away from the place where he had spent years on the cold floor and in her bed.

At auction, lined up like a fish to be filleted, he waited to be sold and owned again. Finally, his turn came.

Cold fingers gripped his face and turned his eyes from the floor to the assembly of buyers. Unable to meet anyone's eyes, they rolled back in his head in resistance.

"I have a beautiful amber-eyed young man here! Sex slave, appears completely broken! Do I hear 900 dollars?"




The bidding continued and he tried not to think about what new horrors his body would be delivered to, but his twisted shattered mind just kept replaying images and terrors to him. He could be bought by a man and sodomized, taken from behind, or sucked by a sour mouth. A sadist could beat him to a bloody pulp every night or stuff his body with toys and gag him. Another woman could be almost more inventive than men.

"3,000!" The sweetness in the voice surprised him. It was gentle and feminine and kind.

Her bid was followed by a collective gasp from the assembled crowd. No one would pay so much for a used sex slave. For a virgin female, maybe, but never a violated and beaten male slave.

His chest clenched and he was suddenly afraid of the hope blossoming inside his heart.

"Do I hear 3,050? 3,050? No?"

The auctioneer waited for a moment and then released his face with a snarl.

"Sold, Number 17 for the price of 3,000 dollars!"

He got a harsh shove and stumbled from the platform into the waiting arms of the auction guard, also a slave. The beefy man handled him back into the cells to await his new master to come pay for him. Shivering with cold and fear, he huddled in the dark corner. He could hear the auction through the thick stone walls and abruptly felt nauseous. His empty stomach roiled with acid and he almost retched, but tamped down the urge as there was nothing in his stomach anyway.

Surprisingly, after only a few minutes, the beefy slave came to get him. It seemed his new master had no intention of staying throughout the entire auction.

His raw wrists were shackled again and he was led from the darkness of the cell. In a lighted room with polished linoleum floors and marble countertops, a slender young woman waited. He wouldn't dare look at her face, but her legs were long and shapely and she had a thin narrow waist with lightly flared hips. She was wearing a beautiful white dress with a long flowing skirt and some gold embroidery. Her feet were small and dainty and her toenails were painted pale lavender.

As beautiful as she was, he realized something was wrong with her when she turned. Her right leg dragged slightly on the floor behind her when she walked. It was encased in a tight metal brace that went far up her leg to disappear beneath the hem of her white skirt and traveled down below her foot and shoe.

She was crippled, it seemed. Maybe more than just her leg, but he didn't dare raise his eyes to look.

"Hello," she said in that beautiful sweet voice of hers.

He dropped to his knees and spread himself out on the white linoleum in a low graceless bow. His fingertips were scant inches from her feet and he suddenly realized how easy it would be for her to just crush his bones beneath the heel of her shoe.

"Oh," was all she said and she did not so much as move to grind his fingers beneath her foot. "Could you stand up, please?" She continued. "We need to be going soon. I can only stand on this leg for a short while before it weakens too much to stand on."

He rose to his feet and held out his wrists for her to attach a leash.

She attached a soft loop of what looked like silk to his black and bloody chains. Wincing as the cold metal rubbed roughly against his chaffed wrists, he followed her obediently out of the white room.

The sunlight kissed his pale flesh and the faint flower-scented breeze whispered on his cheeks. Unthinking, for a moment, he paused and turned his battered face into the sun. Breathing deeply of the fresh air he hadn't tasted in years. The only smells he had known were blood and sex and his own unwashed skin.

He heard the girl make a quiet sound and instantly snapped his eyes back to the ground.

"It's alright," she whispered. "You can take all the time you wish…"

He shook his head and took the few steps required to reach her side.

"Really, it's alright," she told him gently.

He wrapped his fingers into fists and tried to squash the tremor that wracked his frame.

For a moment, they stood there and he felt the young woman's eyes on him. Then, she made a soft noise and started walking again. Her leg dragged along behind her, metal brace screaming on the macadam. He wanted to offer to help her, but he couldn't speak to her without invitation.

They reached a vehicle, but he didn't raise his eyes to see what color or model. Unbidden, he took a few extra steps and opened the door for her.

"Thank you," she said kindly and he watched her legs as she eased into the driver's seat of the vehicle. She slipped her body in first, then her good leg, and finally lifted her crippled one in with both her hands wrapped around her knee. "Go ahead around and hop in the passenger seat."

As he slid into the plush seat, he took a moment to wonder why she had thanked him.

Masters never thanked slaves.

The engine turned over on the first try and then the car rolled out of the lot. "Here we go," the young woman said cheerfully. She paused to adjust the heater and then shift her crippled leg into a better position to allow her good leg to reach the pedals.

He glanced up and saw the auction house disappearing in the mirror. This part of his life was over and he dared hope it was for the best.


And I removed the original mature content that continued from that point due to the trolls. Please read this story and all its updates in its original context on Archive of Our Own.

Questions, comments, concerns?