Bought

Fed, watered and otherwise taken care of Blair was drowsy by the time he was led up the stairs and to the large bed that dominated the upper loft bedroom. But the presence of the bed shocked him awake as fear washed through his veins. Here it was, again. He wanted to cry out and beg to be left alone. He hung his head and shuffled forward where he was led.



Rafe was downstairs, checking all of the locks and windows on the usual night rounds. If Blair hadn't been new to the two of them, he might have noticed how restless the younger Sentinel seemed as he went on his prowling rounds, sniffing and growling under his breath. But Blair was new and so he didn't notice anything more than the nearness of the larger of the Sentinels, the man looming over him in a manner both protective and possessive, one quality appealing to the desperate Guide, the other unnerving.



Jim had an arm around Blair and was half carrying him up the steps. Blair turned his face into the big man's shoulder, pressing his cheek into the thick muscle there as his need for protection won out over his desire to flee. He remembered the lesson punctuated by kicks and blows covering him with sparkling pain. A Guide who fled was free game. A Guide who fled was unprotected. A Guide who fled was punished. He inhaled, a ragged sound. Jim clucked to him, his tongue making the sounds soft, offering quiet comfort that almost melted the block of ice sitting in Blair's chest.



Blair didn't even hear the knock that came on the downstairs door. Or Rafe's murmured greeting, the visitor was expected by the Sentinels, not a surprise even at the late hour. The Guide did notice the quiet tread on the stairs leading up to the loft. He shook afraid of what was coming next. Blair moved nearer to the big one, Ellison. Moved in behind him, and gripped the tight tshirt with hands shielded by his own robes.



He tried to see through the veils he was wearing. He didn't have his glasses and the cloth was difficult to see through even in good light, heavily draped at night he was all but blind. The fact Jim didn't turn on the lights in the bedroom as the visitor approached let Blair know the visitor was also a Sentinel, and could see him. Only Blair was left without clear vision, his eyes all but useless, he lay very, very still, listening as hard as he was able. The whispers, though, were Sentinel quiet, he heard only the sibilance of speech, not the words coming from the silhouetted men at the railing of the loft.



The shorter of the two standing men approached slowly, head cocked to one side as if he was listening to Blair's thundering heartbeat. Blair tried to become part of the bed itself, willing himself not to be here, not to be in this position. The man sat on the edge of the bed and gently lay a hand on Blair's shoulder. Blair froze, even his breathing hitched to a stop, petrified as he was. Another man, another hand, touching him. Touching him. His lungs screamed at him to breathe, he gasped, shuddered, whimpered. The man patted him soothingly, absently.



"I am Dr. Graves." He said, voice kindly, non-threatening, as if he was talking a jumper down from the edge of a great precipice. "I am your new physician."



Blair's eyes flew to the breast of the man's jacket, squinting hard, desperately trying to see, making out the emblem affixed to the man's pocket, he almost snorted his disappointment. A Vet. Not a doctor of human medicine. He'd had that reality drummed into him. He was a Guide, not a Sentinel, not a human. The same men and women you'd call to see to your cats, dogs, your lizards and your rodents as they raced on their spinning wheel, was the man or woman who would see to Blair's own medical care. Of course those who specialized in Guide care tended to be too busy to see furred pets.



At first Blair had protested loudly his treatment, his categorization as an animal, challenging any and all of them to test him, to prove he wasn't just as smart as capable as any of them...but they laughed and patted his head. He was a Guide and Guides were not humans. He tried the very rational argument that a Guide had to be human if a Guide could interbreed with humans, by scientific definition it had to be true. More laughter was the result, and more head patting. And hands stroking under his clothing, voices murmuring their admiration of his spirit, his fire, as he lay in stiff outrage, or struggled to force the hands away.



He was a Guide, they said again, with utmost patience. Over and over. Until he stopped protesting. Until he realized they'd never listen to him. He'd fumed and waited for another chance. He thought he'd been rescued when the raid on the warehouse took place. Masked men, faces hidden so he could see nothing but adrenaline bright eyes in their hooded faces. Running, yelling, shooting. He'd crouched, head down, arms wrapped tightly around himself and the two other Guides near to himself, both younger than himself, both terrified, trembling.



He'd certainly heard of the groups who believed Guides were mistreated and abused. Groups who rescued men and women who had been taken by the authorities and stripped of their rights simply because they possessed one gene out of millions. A gene that expressed itself in sexual hermaphroditism. Blair looked male, but he had both sets of genitals. He was a male dominant hermaphrodite, more male in appearance than most of the others he saw in the warehouse.



But it wasn't a liberation front group that raided the warehouse. It was pirates, traffickers. Men who sold Guides on the black market. Blair was sent from the frying pan into the fire. Quite literally. The two young female dominant Guides were torn from the false shelter of his arms, dragged away. He was thrown over a burly shoulder and carried off, a big paw gripping his buttocks through his robes, laughing at his writhing efforts to get free.



While he'd attended classes at the House to teach him Guide behavior and expectations, he had only gotten to the theoretical parts of his expected service. That was bad enough. Now it was beyond the time for gentle teaching. The pirates wasted no time in introducing him to his duties. He was raped the first night he was taken, and nearly every night since. He'd screamed the first time, and the second. By the end of the week he only cried out his fear, loathing, covering his head, his face so they couldn't put their tongues into his mouth, couldn't look into his eyes. He didn't scream when they fucked him. When he screamed, they strapped him. Otherwise, if he kept quiet they slapped him on the rump like a mule. He was fed and watered, used, and otherwise ignored in the back of his cage.



They'd also taught him the folly of opening his mouth and speaking. They didn't want to hear one word out of him. They didn't seem to mind his whimpers or when he begged them not to hurt him. But if he tried to converse, to ask questions, he was beaten until he saw the error of his ways. He was smart, he learned quickly. He was reduced to listening. Gathering information. Making no noise.



He was being held while more Guides were taken, until the raiders had enough to make a trip to the markets worthwhile. They had half the number they needed to make the risk profitable. Blair waited, guiltily prayed the time for his sale would come soon, even if that meant others were caught, abused as he was abused. But it was not fast. His captivity stretched on, weeks became a month, two...then four.



Then he discovered something both horrible and wonderful. He wasn't the only one to find it out. He was horrified and he was elated. Within a week he was on the road to be sold, all the way to Cascade he discovered from keeping an ear out for conversation as people passed by the filthy cage he was kept in. Far from the House he was stolen from in an attempt to minimize the possibility of detection.



The guard who prowled around with his whip kept Blair from calling out to the other travelers, but the guard couldn't keep him from listening harder than before for any news at all.



Blair kept his head down, careful not to give offense. But he listened with a sense of urgency he'd never experienced before. Maybe, just maybe he could find a way to escape now. Maybe he could learn something to help himself. He had hopes. Futile hopes.



He wasn't on display for more than half a day before a man came by and asked to sample his wares. The pirates conferred and saw no harm in it. Not for a fee, anyways. Blair made himself into the smallest lump of miserable flesh he could, fighting to keep his grip on the bars of the cage when they tried to drag him out. He had no prayer of winning the battle, he knew it, but he tried with every fiber of his being. Two of them tore him free of the cage, dragging him as he gave in for the first time in months and pleaded with them. They'd taken him inside and stripped him bare. The buyer had him first. He'd pleaded with them to stop.



Then other men had come in through the door, crashing into the space radiating menace. Tall men, strong and straight, and clean, teeth bared and jaws set like stone. Sentinels. He knew instantly, feeling his psyche strain towards them even as he tried to find something to hide his nudity.



The largest, unsmiling Sentinel had taken a step into the room and lifted Grady off of Blair, up from between Blair's spread legs, snapping his neck with negligent ease. Blair turned onto his side, curling into a fetal position, sobbing.



Another of the men, one only slightly smaller, had pulled down the ratty curtains and wrapped Blair in them so tightly he feared he'd smother. But it was good to be covered. He heard but didn't see the slaughter begin around him. He closed his mind to the sounds and didn't fight as he was carried away. He was a prize again. Claimed by a new man, not free, not saved.



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Now he was here, in an apartment with the two men he remembered from his rescue. Sentinels. One had bathed him in the dark, sparing him the humiliation of nakedness. Sensitive fingers finding all the new and most of the old hurts that dotted his skin. He was given robes, clean ones, like he hadn't had in the entire time of his capture. He was covered head to foot. He took refuge in it. Clung to the big Sentinel's belt as he was taken out of the bathroom around the loft. He kept his hand covered with the insulating folds of his robe. Blair knew better than to presume to touch anyone with his bare skin. Whether accidentally or on purpose.



And here was a third one come to examine him. Blair lay stiff and apprehensive as the man patted him. He didn't care how kind the man was, he didn't want anyone touching him. No one. But he knew better than to protest. He had bruises that had taught him to be still, to obey, not to question aloud what was done to him. he had been trained to be docile. He didn't move as his robes were parted. He closed his tighter and concentrated on his breath, in and out. In and out. He drifted away until it was done.



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The veterinarian withdrew his fingers from the Guide's body, stripped off the gloves and washed his hands and spoke to Jim. He twitched the Guide's robes into place as he spoke.



"There is no serious problem with his health. And he is breeding." The Vet said. "About three to four months along, hard to tell. With the indiscriminant intercourse he's been subject to there is no telling when he was impregnated, or by whom of course. And there is no way of knowing the pedigree of the stud either. All we can be sure of is that at some point someone with the right genetics had relations with him." The doctor turned and began replacing his instruments. 'Of course there are signs of overuse, but nothing serious. He is quite durable and healthy."



Blair lay on the bed on his side, concentrating on breathing in and out. The robe had been repositioned, so he was covered head to foot once again. But he felt completely and utterly exposed. Sticky lubricant that had fostered the insertion of fingers into his body remained, a gummy film. He hated the feel of it. Wishing he could run to the bathroom downstairs and wash. The man's hands had touched him everywhere. Even inside of his body. Without once asking if he could, or if Blair minded. He did mind, very much. But he knew better than to risk a whipping by saying that in anyone's hearing.



"I thought he was pregnant." Ellison agreed, his voice low and even. Blair saw him looking over his shoulder to where the other Sentinel stood partway up the stairs as if uncertain of his welcome, the one named Rafe. Rafe, unlike the other two men, looked angry. Blair watched him, eyes at last adjusting to the dim light. Wondering why this one felt differently, why his expressions were so readable.



"He's been strapped a few times, but there won't be any scarring, they used a soft strap on him." The Vet continued while Blair thought, astounded, that the blows had not felt like a soft anything. They had burned across his back and thighs. "Strapping is unnecessarily cruel treatment for a Guide, I always recommend a gentler hand in their handling. Training them to the hand, to sweets, or stroking, to pleasant stimulus works far better. Keeps them healthier and happier to be handled with care." His disapproval was clear, and Blair was surprised to hear it, and unwilling to trust it. He cringed when the man patted his hip, caressed it as if he was ruffling fur along a dog's flank.



"I can put the word out if you are interested in selling him. A Guide in his condition will bring top dollar." The Vet continued speaking, drying his hands on a wad of paper towels. "A Guide with proven fertility, capable of future breeding, certainly worth a few hundred thousand to the right farm. He's young enough they can have ten or more good litters out of him. Not much more than late teens or early twenties."



There was a pause, long and drawn out. Blair noticed the younger Sentinel had stopped breathing, holding his last lungful in, fists gripping the edge of the railing, waiting on the pronouncement from his Senior. the dark brown gaze was fixed, intense, burning. Blair waited, not daring to hope that he wouldn't be passed on yet again, into even greater uncertainty.



"I'll let you know." The Senior Sentinel said at last. And Rafe exhaled, a harsh, crowing bark of sound that the Vet and the Senior appeared not to notice. or chose not to acknowledge. Blair remained as he was, on his side, his body too numb to react.



He felt a touch, tentative on his foot. Warm hands, dry palmed. His eyes traveled down to see the brown head of the younger Sentinel at the foot of the bed. He felt the whispering press of lips against his toes. He closed his eyes. Waited. For the touch that would come higher up. The touch that would turn him onto his back and spread his legs, sweaty palms holding him down, fingers clawing deep into his lush buttocks, opening him.



Blair waited. And waited. He felt the brush of lashes against the sole of his foot. Breathe exhaled, curling in an eddied stream across his arch, over the ball of his foot. Still he waited, sure that it was only a matter of time before a groping hand wormed it's way up to his already lubricated recesses. That touch that made him cold would come. It would come, he was certain.



Blair waited. It always came