I’ll admit it, I’m a slut. I’m a good-looking guy, and Grindr makes whoring my ass out just too easy. People have tried to tell me that I have a sex addiction but, really, there is a fine line between “addiction” and just doing something you like… a lot! I don’t log onto Grindr when I have something better to do, even if that’s a high bar. Anyway, when I got laid off from my job, I figured that actually whoring my ass out was a good, non-taxable way to make up the difference between my unemployment checks and my salary. It worked… or, at least, my ass worked. The thing is, I got out of high school and just sort of fell into that job. It was okay. I didn’t hate it. I pulled my weight. It was sort of one of a kind, though. When I lost it, I didn’t really know what to do next. Being a rent boy was actually fun. I mean, I was going to get fucked at least once every night anyway. Might as well get paid for it. I knew it was going to be rough going when the unemployment checks ran out, though. The problem was, I had no clue what to do next. The counselor at the Center gave me an aptitude test. It said I was “above average” in intelligence, but the part about telling you what you want to do didn’t come back with any solid suggestions. The counselor blamed me for “not having motivation.” I can be motivated. It’s just that their test didn’t list “getting fucked,” as an answer to “What are things that you love to do?” So there I was, on the street, looking for my first trick of the night, when this expensive black sedan comes around the corner, slowly cruises past and stops. I’m thinking I hit the jackpot. Of course, I was hoping he wouldn’t be too old and dried up, but he would almost certainly be clean, and rich guys tip well. The unattractive rich guys tip really well, if you make them feel special. Honestly, I try to make all of my tricks feel special. Like I said, I don’t lack motivation, I just need something worth being motivated for.Anyway, I open the door and get in. I was kind of surprised to find my client in the back seat. This guy goes cruising for trade with a driver?! Let's just say, my rates went up 30%. I asked what he was looking for. He peeled two hundreds off of a stack of bills and said, “Right now, talk. You got an hour?” Two hundred bucks to talk? I think I’ve got all night. I just said, “Sure! What’s up.” Then this dude starts giving me the straight up freakiest line I’ve ever heard.He’s a member of some exclusive mega-billionaire secret society for kinky rich dominant guys who buy and sell young guys for sex. Like, seriously? I asked him if he was part of the Illuminati? I wasn’t even really kidding. I mean, we were really going down a rabbit hole deeper than my ass. He just laughed at me. He said something about the Illuminati just being a fantasy and, anyway, if it was real, it would be junior league. That made my stomach queasy. He changed the subject before I could ask any more questions anyway.He wanted to know everything about me… everything. Like he was a ghostwriter working on my biography, or something. I guess he was what they call ‘charismatic.’ He was wearing an expensive suit. If it wasn’t custom-made it was fully tailored, and expensive cologne. I didn’t recognize it, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t get it in the Macy’s Men’s Department. He knew just how to wear it, too. Most men wear too much, especially if they pay up for it. He didn’t smell like he was wearing something. It was just faintly there, just a part of him. Like his voice is this silky baritone that sort of lulls you into a trance but with this subtle note of authority. He was absolutely polished and impeccable, and everything about him radiated a soft sophisticated aura of power. This man never had to raise his voice, but nobody in this man’s world ever said the word, “no,” in his presence.I was totally taken in. I hadn’t ever met anyone like him. The words just seemed to tumble out of me. I told him things I’ve never told a single soul. He didn’t tell me about The Collective up front. We just talked. He just dropped small casual comments. It was almost like I hadn’t even put all the puzzle pieces together until he said, “So… a young man like you would be a very desirable addition to our collection!” I felt a cold chill run down my spine. For a second, my brain screamed, “Serial killer!!” He saw my eyes go wide and my spine stiffen.He continued, “Our, let’s say… fuckboys… are treated very well. Very likely a life you’ve never even been exposed to. As long as you keep your body in good shape, are absolutely obedient and completely sexually submissive, you will have a very good life.” Suddenly, against my better judgment, I was interested in something. I mean, this whole thing was more like a Wachowski movie than real life, but it was a way out and my dick was hard as steel.The man reached over and grabbed my crotch, then he growled into my ear, “Just say “Yes, Sir.” You know you want to.” The words came out of my mouth, without my saying them. He grabbed the back of my neck, squeezed, and said, “Good boy!” I swear, I almost came in my shorts. WTF?! Moments later, the car was driving through a high automatic gate into an empty parking lot beside a brick warehouse. Things moved fast after that. Papers were signed, blood was drawn for STD tests, measurements were taken, pictures. He said not to worry, that I could still back out, and I would be dropped off in the same spot where I had climbed into his car. At least, until I was bought and paid for.Then he squeezed the back of my neck again, his lips curled into a satisfied smirk, and that damn hypnotic voice said, “But you won't do that will you, boy?” I said, “No…Sir.” That earned me another “Good boy” that made my breath catch, and my heart skip a beat. We ended up in a black room with a padded fabric covered cube. He took my clothes off, and put me on the cube, then he started teasing my ass with a glass butt plug.Now that I had decided I wanted this, I realized that I was scared to death that he might change his mind. Maybe I wasn’t good enough after all. Suddenly he yanked the toy out of my hole growling “I’ve got to have you!” He almost ripped his pants off and slammed his dick into me. He was fucking me full speed. Harder than most of my tricks dared to fuck me. I could see it in his eyes, I was Property, part of his collection, a fuckboy to use because I made his dick hard. And all I could do was whimper, and silently beg him to come inside me.