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A Prince Among Slaves	By : sefiru Category: Dragon Ball Z > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 10286 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ and I make no money ... only lemonade.

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A Prince Among Slaves

A DBZ Fanfiction

By Sefiru

Pairings: Goku/Vegeta/Raditz/Bardock

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: M/M, BDSM, slavery, incest, mpreg. This fic contains consensual adult incest. You have been warned.

Summary: Vegetasei fic. This is quite possibly my most tasteless piece of work yet! Bardock, Kakarott and Raditz are all living together (and banging each other); Bardock decides to get a slave to spice up their sex lives. Hijinks ensue. One of the reviewers on my previous story suggested the title “Vegeta Unbound” for this, but that’s more or less the opposite of what happens. ^^

Posting will be every second Sunday. I’ve written a lot of Sub!Vegeta, but now I’m going to write him as an actual slave; should be interesting. I’m finally going to try my hand at mpreg, but there will not be any assbabies; I have something even more awkward in mind.

***

Chapter the First

***

     Bardock had overslept; the sun was just peeking over the rooftops of Vegetasei City as he climbed out of bed. Being on leave was no excuse to lie around, and besides, he had plans for today. The groans and creaking furniture from downstairs told him that his sons were already up and had started their day without him. He grinned into the bathroom mirror as he splashed water onto his face and chest. With three adult Saiyan warriors under one roof, at least one of them was bound to be horny at any given time, and that was three times the case first thing in the morning.

      When he walked into the kitchen, he saw that Raditz had Goku bent over the table and was ramming him from behind. “Morning – ooh – morning, Dad,” his younger son panted. He had both hands braced against the table against the force of his brother’s thrusts, his tail bristling with pleasure. Bardock’s own morning wood twitched at the sight. With a leer he stepped behind his sons and slid into Raditz. Grabbing two fistfuls of his son’s hair for leverage, he worked him deeply. It wasn’t long before Raditz, in the center, bellowed out his climax; Bardock was next, with Raditz’s inner muscles clenching around him, and Goku joined them a few strokes later. Panting, they disentangled and flopped onto the kitchen stools.

       “You know how to start the morning, Dad,” said Raditz. He retrieved the lower part of his armor and buckled it on.

       “I’m glad you liked it,” Bardock replied. Meanwhile, Goku wiped his seed off the table and set out bowls of stew from the slow pot. “Boys,” Bardock announced, “Since I’ve got a few days of leave, I’m getting you both a surprise. Now, it kind of gets old always having threesomes or having an odd man out, and besides, we’re all mostly tops. So I’m going to get us a slave.”

       “Hot damn!” Raditz said. “Make sure you get a spicy one.”

       “Who’re we going to bond him to?” asked Goku.

       “You, Goku, since you’re not going to get sent off on missions.” Bardock and Raditz were both soldiers, but Goku was, horror of horrors, a reservist who actually worked a trade. Bardock continued, “I’m going to go see the broker today, and we’ll have the deflowering tomorrow. Anything in particular you want?”

      “Not really. You already know what I like. I guess … try to find someone interesting.”

***

      Bardock parked his truck outside the slave brokerage and tucked the keys in his pocket as he walked to the door. The broker was waiting in the lobby inside. “Bardock, son of Gohan, yes? Welcome to our establishment. Based on our interview over the phone, I can offer you quite a wide selection to choose from.”

      He led Bardock up a flight of stairs to the entrance to the showroom; they passed through a door onto a balcony that overlooked a large hall divided into a number of tiers of low pedestals, most of them occupied by available slaves. Some of them were chatting quietly with their neighbors, but they all turned to the balcony when the two warrior Saiyans came in; they looked eager or coy, fearful or sullen, according to their natures. “They look well cared for,” Bardock said as he studied them.

      “I deal with the Third Class as well as trainers,” the broker replied. “Their families would have my tail for a necklace if I didn’t treat them right. And my own Apuru would never let me hear the end of it.”

      “You have a slave of your own?” Bardock leaned his forearms over the railing and looked across the rows below. He was getting hard already; those slim, lithe bodies were irresistible to a Saiyan warrior. How could he choose just one?

      “His father brought him in one day to be placed, and I just had to have him for myself,” the broker said, echoing his thoughts. Bardock turned his full attention to the slaves.

      He didn’t want any of the sullen ones; those were more trouble than they were worth. The fearful ones had been trained wrong, and they’d need a lot of work to bring them around; same with the shy ones. Eagerness was good in a slave, but at the same time not much of a challenge. Bardock rubbed his chin and looked over them again. His eye fell on one who showed none of the typical reactions; instead, the slave was completely calm. His pose on the pedestal was relaxed, even regal. Like all the slaves he was naked except for a cage around his equipment, and his body was all corded, wiry muscle; his upswept hair seemed somehow familiar. As Bardock’s gaze lingered on him, he suddenly looked up; his eyes were sharp, challenging.

       Are you Saiyan enough to take me? Bardock was instantly hard. He’d never seen a slave dare a warrior to take him; it made both sides of his nature run hot. He noted the number painted on the plinth, then nodded to the broker, who took him into his office.

       “So, did you see one you like?”

       “Yeah, number 143.”

       “That’s an unusual one.” The broker waved Bardock to a chair. “He was in an experimental training regimen – not only is he a virgin, but he has never experienced pleasure.”

      “At his age? That can’t be healthy. How did they keep his balls drained?”

      “Put him under and used an electric probe, I gather. Just a moment.” The broker went to a bookcase full of binders and pulled out one of them, marked on the spine with only the slave’s tracking number.

      “No name?” Bardock asked. “Isn’t that more an Elite thing?”

      “The trainer was Elite; he was probably born to an Elite, too, but I won’t place him with one of them. You’d have to break him to make him a good Elite slave, and that would be a waste. Here, see for yourself.” The broker handed Bardock the slave’s dossier, open to the transcript of his placement interview. A few passages had been highlighted in green.

      Broker: Which would you consider more important, grooming yourself or observing your master?

      Slave: Without observing my master, how would I know how best to groom myself?

      Broker: Do you prefer meat or sweets?

      Slave: Meat, I suppose. I have not been allowed to eat sweets.

      Broker: would you rather have a strong master or a kind master?

      Slave: does it have to be one or the other?

      Hm, a smart one. That was good; it opened up so many possibilities. Bardock leafed though the rest of the dossier, and he quickly realized that this slave had been isolated, not only from sexual pleasure, but any pleasure. Sleeping on a hard surface, bathing only in cold water, plain food only varied enough to prevent a fear of novelty. Bardock felt a touch of sympathy for the boy – not pity, though; the slave he’d seen in the gallery was far from pitiful. And a burning wish to show him just what he was missing. Bardock read further; only basic knowledge of sexual techniques, no surprise there; extensive training in mathematics, likely as something dry to occupy his mind; some skill in martial arts, which was unusual – most slaves weren’t taught how to fight at all. The slave had had regular practice inserting plugs, but always using a numbing agent. That didn’t sound healthy either. And he played chess.

       “I think I’ll take him,” Bardock said.

       “You sure? He’ll be a bit of a project.”

       “But a fun one.” And that was that; Bardock wrote the check for the placement fee, the broker gave him some papers to sign. He also offered some basic accessories for sale, and though they already had a good collection at home, Bardock selected a collar and leash and a few restraints. He went down to put the sack of things in his truck, and when he returned to the lobby, the broker had brought the slave out of the showroom. He was dressed for public view in blue spandex shorts that left nothing to the imagination. It was going to be a long drive home.

      “You will go with this man, Bardock son of Gohan of the Third Class,” the broker told the nameless slave. “And you will serve him faithfully. You’ve been well behaved in your time here, so I’m sure you’ll do well.”

      A few minutes later Bardock was back on the road with a young, handsome slave strapped into the passenger seat. He had to concentrate on keeping his eyes on the road. “There’s three of us in the house,” he said. “Me and my two sons. You’ll be serving all of us, probably, but you’re going to bond to my younger son Goku.” The slave stiffened slightly, and Bardock smirked. “Don’t worry, he takes after me. Better looking, too.”

      They rode for a while in silence. It was useless to ask the slave about his kinks; the way he’d been raised, he’d had no chance to find out. They were going to have to do some experimenting. Instead, Bardock asked, “Do you resent your position?” The smart ones sometimes did.

      “I only resent the culture that makes us property,” the slave replied. His voice was slightly husky, deeper than his size suggested, but dispassionate in tone. “I don’t wish I was a warrior; I don’t understand this obsession with fighting you all have.”

      He was proud to be a slave. Or rather, a Minor, to use the biological term. That was unheard of, especially in Elite-trained slaves. Goku wanted an interesting one … this slave was certainly that. “What do you think of your training procedure?” Bardock asked next.

      “I am aware that it was highly unusual, and that many things were kept away from me. What this was intended to accomplish, I don’t know.”

      “Me neither.” Soon enough they were back home. A modest house, suited to a third-class family; two stories, four bedrooms, a large living room. Bardock took out his keys as he led the slave to the door, but it was unlocked; one of his sons was still at home.

      “Hey Dad.” Goku stepped out of the upstairs bathroom, still toweling his hair dry. “I got the spare futon out, since I thought – oh. Wow.” Son and slave looked each other over. The slave was frozen in place, his eyes wide as saucers; Goku’s tail fur bristled in all directions. “That’s him, huh?”

       “Yeah, and you get to give him a name.”

       “Oh, that’s easy. He’s Vegeta.”

       “Isn’t that a bit disrespectful?”

       “Maybe, but – I mean, just look at him.”

       Bardock blinked. Of course, that was where he’d seen that flame-shaped hair before: on the head of the king. “All right, Vegeta it is.”

       “Man, and I’ve got to go to work.” Goku entered his bedroom; the slave – Vegeta’s – gaze followed him until he was out of view. Bardock grinned. His son was a lot of Saiyan, and this might even be Vegeta’s first sight of a live naked warrior.

      “I’m going to have to tie you up tonight, aren’t I.”

      “That would be wise.” There was a new note in the slave’s voice now, the first hint of lust. It sounded good on him.

      “You might as well take a nap,” Bardock told him. “I need to read your documents more thoroughly before I ask you any questions.”

***

The newly named Vegeta curled up on the pallet, satisfied. Not only had he gotten himself placed in a household that was to his liking, but his intended master was … fascinating … as well. This Goku didn’t know how lucky he was; he, Vegeta, intended to become the greatest slave Vegetasei had ever seen, and nothing would stand in his way.

***

Goku won’t know what hit him. ^^

Okay, so I belong to the “drop hints and let ‘em figure things out” school of exposition, but here are some pointers for the confused: (a) the difference between warriors and slaves is physiological; they’re born that way. (b) the various classes treat slaves very differently; third class sees it like an arranged marriage/mail-order bride type thing, higher classes not so much. (c) Saiyans are very casual about sex … actually, that’s pretty obvious. More exploration of these points in future chapters.

In the next chapter: Vegeta gets deflowered.
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A Prince Among Slaves