Well well well...look at who has reproduced and spat out a new universe!!!

Hn...Warnings...slavery, abuse, rape, mpregs, LEMON, angst

Rated NC-17 for later chapters.

Dedicated to my beloved twin, with whom all Sagey things are possible...sorry bout the invasion sis, but you DID leave the door open and tempt him with Miju...don’t blame ME now that you can’t get rid of him...

And to For-chan, who gives me disturbed eyes when I bug her with bits and pieces, telling me I am way too good at torturing my chibi. I do, after all make it up to him For-chan!!! *glances sideways at Goten hiding under For-chan’s bed* Hn...pot-kettle-BLACK!!! *grins*

[For-Chan interrupts] Oi! You say that like it’s a bad thing.

With super-duper-ultra-sparkling thanks to bakayaro onna for beta’ing, and for suggesting the title I have decided to use!!! *glomps danglemate and kishes her up* Oh, don’t be surprised if some Sages show up on your doorstep...they’re not happy with me just now...

Restraints and Liberations

By Talon

Chapter 1

Found

Turles sighed as he waited to close the deal on the Foredeann gel. The trade was a dangerous one, given the unstable qualities of raw gel, however, properly rendered and treated it was extremely useful in the medical field, helping to create new muscle and skin for badly injured members of most warm-blooded races, Saiyjins being a mere one of them. Transport had to be conducted carefully, and many traders simply weren’t willing to assume the risks associated with gel transport; however Turles wasn’t concerned with the danger. He had gotten into the gel trade in addition to his other transport businesses after gel-grown skin had saved his cousin Radditz’s life.

The dealer was a slimy little Gudrian, green skinned, orange haired bipedal species. This one, Refuid, was taller than most of his kind, and heavyset, making his prosperity well known. He kept a nice house, thought Turles absently, and an abundance of slaves, he added to himself with marked distaste.

The Saiyjin race didn’t believe in slavery, finding it both unnecessary and distasteful. The Royal House had outlawed it eons ago, and merely the thought of slavery left a nasty taste in just about any Saiyjin’s mouth. Refuid knew this, of course, which was why he kept parading his keep of slaves before Turles...thinking by making the trader uncomfortable, it would give him the advantage. Turles was determined not to let it sway him, however, the trade was too close to ending, and he could soon be on his way.

“Well,” said Refuid happily, clasping his seven-fingered hands together happily. “It looks like we have nearly everything hashed out, you have proper transport papers and cargo facilities, your security systems are up to date and beyond, you have buyers on Vegeta-sei...looks like all we need to do is finalize the price.”

“Great,” said Turles, straightening. “I think you’ll find my offer is more than generous, considering the quality of the shipment…” As though on cue, his stomach grumbled.

The Gudrian smiled. “Refreshments first, I think...an empty Saiyjin cannot haggle after all...” He tugged a tasseled pull and a buzzing gong rang in the distance, discernable only to Turles’ sensitive Saiyjin hearing.

Refuid smiled, and sat back, waiting. There wasn’t a very long wait, and a small figure came into view, obscured nearly completely by the huge tray in his arms. Turles’ head snapped up as a familiar scent wafted across his nose...it was impossible...but he couldn’t be mistaken...that scent...it was…SAIYJIN!!!

Oh, there were Saiyjin slaves, he knew, not many, most prisoners of war, or the half-breed offspring of said prisoners. It was a status symbol to own a Saiyjin, even a half-breed...to hold sway over a member of one of the most powerful species in the known universe. Most Saiyjin slaves were de-tailed...rendering them off-balance and greatly reduced in strength, as well as being ki-restrained.

But as the slave set down the tray on the table, Turles noticed a few things that were unusual. For starters this slave was a child, no more than ten or eleven years old by the looks of him, and in addition to the ki restraint collar around his neck he was also shackled hand and foot. But the most remarkable difference was this slave still had his tail. It waved behind him, serving as a counterbalance as it did for all Saiyjin children until they reached their Awakening and could walk with it wound around their waist in the traditional, protective fashion.

The boy backed away, drawing even beside his master’s chair and standing, his head bowed, his shackled hands clasped in front of him, apparently awaiting his master’s next instructions. Clothed in a brief open vest and a sort of loincloth that barely covered the essentials the slave was a perfect representation of the young of his race. Turles scented the boy, of course fear was the most prominent layer in his personal aroma, but the brat was struggling to hide it. And there was the distinct, overwhelming scent of blood. Old and new. He was injured, but Turles couldn’t see any obvious wounds...his eyes widened as he caught the scent of sex on the child, and he nearly lost it right then and there. The boy was a pleasure slave then, paraded as a servant to rub in his host’s superior power to his Saiyjin guest. He fought down nausea. The boy was at least six years from his Awakening, his body was immature, unready for sex...no Saiyjin would ever consider having him before his Awakening, the very thought was repugnant. His scent was unready, unarousing...Turles’ thoughts were swimming and he barely heard his host’s questions.

“So, what do you think of my prize?” he asked smoothly, stroking the blue-black tail hanging behind the barely clad boy. “I won him in a dazareu game a few months ago. No one else in my circle owns an intact Saiyjin.” He smiled pleasantly at the Saiyjin trader, noting the fisting of his hands at his sides, the unmistakable posture of aggression and inside he felt the delicious surge of triumph. The Saiyjin was off balance, the deal would most certainly go his way.

Turles struggled to maintain his composure. While slavery was outlawed on Vegeta-sei, many other planets made use of the vile trade. Here on Trandau, slavery was not only legal, but you could be fined heavily for even speaking to another’s slave without their Master’s express permission. “He...he seems young,” was all he could manage for the moment.

The Gudrian smiled. “Actually, I don’t know how old he is. What is your age, boy?” he asked the slave. There was a nearly inaudible murmur from the slave, but Turles heard it perfectly. The boy’s voice was rough, and he noted the probability of its being damaged. “I am thirteen, if it pleases you, Master.”

Turles’ tail bushed out before he could stop it. He knew the phrase was rote, something probably taught to the boy, but it grated him and angered him, hearing the submissiveness of the child’s tone, his subservient posture...it was distinctly un-Saiyjin.

But wait...a subtle movement caught his eye...the child’s tail dipped in what was an unmistakable gesture of disdain and derision. Turles nearly laughed out loud. The child was not completely broken then, not if he still held his Master in contempt.

“Is he a house slave then?” asked Turles in what he hoped was a conversational tone.

“This one? Oh no...he was a pleasure slave long before I got my hands on him, weren’t you, pet?” he asked as he stroked the child’s backside. “Chido here, he is very gifted. I make quite a killing renting him out. He is very highly in demand. It is the tail; you see...it proves him to be a full blooded Saiyjin.”

Turles wondered why he didn’t just ki blast the gel broker into atoms, but he knew this situation would have to be handled by his not inconsiderable wit rather than his brawn. He had already decided the child was leaving with him; he just had to come up with the right incentive to convince Refuid, without endangering the flow of gel from the Gudrian’s suppliers.

“Chido,” he mused aloud. “That isn’t a Saiyjin name...is that the name he came with, Refuid?”

“Yes, the alien I won him from said it meant “brat” or “whelp” in the language of his providence.”

“So he was born a slave then?”

“I don’t know...I don’t know if he knows whether or not he was. I suspect not, he is too defiant to be a birth-slave,” said the broker, not unkindly.

“Would you mind then if I asked him his name...in our language? I am curious; you see...it is not often you see a full-blooded Saiyjin child as a slave.”

“Tell me about it,” laughed the Gudrian. “I get more offers for him, but I could never think of giving him up. I am far too fond of him,” and he punctuated the statement with a smack on the nearly bare buttock in front of him. The child never flinched, didn’t change expression, but his scent clearly told Turles the Gudrian didn’t treat him well. Oh, he was fed, at least insofar he was not starving and cared for medically, there were no obvious untended wounds, but it was all too apparent the little Saiyjin cub was being abused.

“So, do I have your permission then?”

“Of course, of course, ask away...I must say, I am curious to know if he speaks his native tongue...if he does, I may have use for him as an interpreter.”

Turles nodded, masking his disgust and turned to the slave. In Saiyjin-o, he asked, “What is your name, boy?”

The child raised onyx eyes and stared at the elder Saiyjin. In quiet, elegant Saiyjin-o, he replied, “That is no concern of yours. Leave me alone.”

Turles blinked in surprise. That was not the answer he had expected. With a half glance at Refuid, he asked, “Why won’t you tell me? Surely you know I only wish to help you...tell me your birth name...please?” There was something, niggling at Turles, but he ignored it for the moment.

“I do not need nor wish for your help. Conclude your business and leave.”

Turles leaned back in his chair, considering the cub. There was something familiar about the boy, his scent was...but...no, that was impossible. For one thing, his hair was all wrong...for another, if his suspicions were correct, wouldn’t the boy recognize him?

“Well?” asked Refuid? “What is his name? Did he tell you?”

Turles blinked. He had nearly forgotten the broker. “No,” he replied. “He does not remember his true name.” Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the surprised tail lash, before it quieted. Seeming to ignore the boy, he turned the talks back to the trade they were concluding, eating heartily of the spread before him and complimenting the Gudrian’s kitchen staff.

In a short amount of time the deal was concluded with the Gudrian coming out of it with the better end. Turles had allowed this, hiding his manipulations under the guise of being rushed, and needing the gel more than they actually did. He kept a nose on the broker, and when they had stood to sign the final agreement, he broached the subject of the Saiyjin slave.

“You know, of course, the Saiyjin no Ou has a generous reward for any Saiyjin slaves brought back to Vegeta-sei,” he began casually.

“I am not interested in selling him,” the broker stated flatly.

Turles shrugged. “Well, considering the boy was almost certainly not born a slave, and the fact he is full Saiyjin and not a half-breed says to me he is probably a kidnapping victim. That alone would raise the king’s interest, and he might be tempted to send some men to investigate it.”

The broker regarded him with steady grey eyes. “My ownership of the boy is legal,” he began.

“The legality of slavery does not concern the Saiyjin no Ou, you should know that. I was merely going to make you an offer for the boy...you see, I will be obliged to report this. My cousin is the Chosen of the Saiyjin no Ouji, and their eldest child was kidnapped on the eve of his tenth birthday...mere hours after his Naming, and the announcement proclaiming him the heir to the throne. They have a personal interest in kidnapping victims. And my cousin’s mate...well, he is well liked and respected as the Ouji...a blood-thirsty Prince. He may well come here himself, in the interest of freeing a Saiyjin child, even if it is not his own.”

Refuid blanched purple. The Bloody Prince, as he was known, was a person to be feared, not someone you wanted to be on the bad side of. He suddenly remembered there were other gel brokers, and erasing him would probably not cause even a kink in the Saiyjin’s import of the stuff.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked cautiously.

“I was going to offer you double the reward the royal House offers for the return of a Saiyjin slave, but since you are not interested...”

Refuid did some rapid calculations and came to a conclusion. If he sold the slave to Turles, he could keep his trade, and probably at least stay OFF the bad side of the royal house by cooperating with Turles now.

“Deal,” he said abruptly, pulling the cord again. A house slave appeared. “Fetch me the license and ownership papers for this slave at once.” The slave scurried off and returned moments later. The papers were signed, ownership was transferred and funds were transmitted. Through it all, the child stood, stock still, save for the apprehensive waving of his blue black tail. Turles wasn’t positive this child was his cousin’s son, but even if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t leave a cub in this place.

When the deal was finalized, Refuid clipped a lead to the boy’s collar and formally handed the end to Turles, who, hiding his distaste accepted it.

“I hope we can do business again, Turles,” said the broker hopefully.

“Of course, Refuid...I will be certain to relay your cooperation in this matter to my royal cousin. The gel will be delivered to my ship within the hour?”

“Yes, of course. There is something you need to know about the boy though.”

Turles raised a heavy black brow. “Oh?”

“The reason he is intact is because one of his earliest owners discovered a way to keep Saiyjin slaves,” here he bowed his head, “effectively restrained without mutilating them by de-tailing them. With your permission?” he asked, his hand hovering over the boy’s tail. Curious, Turles nodded. Carefully, the broker pushed back the fur at the base of the tail. Turles grimaced as the child shuddered in a mixture of pain? Fear? It shouldn’t cause pain...but he saw why. A ki restraint cuff circled the base of the child’s tail. It had been in place so long, the flesh of the tail was beginning to grow over it.

“I assume you will want to have it removed, the restraint shop in town ought to be able to handle it. Make certain to take his papers with you, Chido is well-known as my slave, and people will be unlikely to believe I sold him.” The Gudrian’s voice was tinted with the faint trace of regret as he released the boy’s tail and stood.

“May your journey home be uneventful,” he said, intoning the polite farewell of his race.

Turles nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and took his leave.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The slave most recently known as Chido was confused. And deeply worried about his current situation. He had been a slave for three years, and while he loathed his lot in life, he had no desire to return to his former life. He knew he wouldn’t be welcome. That was why he had resisted serving his former Master while he was to entertain his Saiyjin guest. If any Saiyjin after five minutes in the same room with him didn’t figure something out….

But he was a slave, ki-restrained and weakened by lack of food, regular beatings and servicing his master and his friends. And so he carried the food tray into the reception room, staggering a bit under the heavy tray. And upon setting it down, he had nearly fainted as a face so familiar to him came into view. A split second later, he knew the face didn’t belong to whom he had first thought, and hiding his confusion in the habitual motions of service, he had retreated to his master’s side, wondering whether or not he was disappointed he had been mistaken, if only briefly.

He had been beyond shocked when the Saiyjin bought his bond papers. He knew very well Saiyjins abhorred slavery, and it was against Saiyjin law. But here he stood, a pace behind the Saiyjin known as Turles, leashed and paid for. The larger Saiyjin had immediately removed the shackles from his wrists and ankles, snapping them easily, but the collar…

Turles went to unclasp the lead from the cub’s collar, when his hand was stayed by a whimper. Kneeling down and tilting the child’s head back so onyx eyes met onyx eyes, he asked quietly, “What is it?”

The slave gulped, shifting his gaze so as not to meet Turles’. A far cry from the defiant words spoken earlier, Turles mused. “It is unlawful for a slave of my status to be unleashed in public,” he whispered.

Turles frowned. “That’s ridiculous,” he declared. “You can’t run, you’re ki-restrained, and injured…”

“That’s not why.” The child’s quiet voice interrupted him.

“Why then?”

“Pleasure slaves are the most commonly stolen slaves. The leash law is in place for the protection of the master’s investment more than to potential prevent run-aways.”

Turles growled. “Can’t wait to get off this fucking rock. You understand, I don’t wish to own you. Cannot legally own you even should I wish to.”

“What are you going to do with me then? You cannot unmake my slavery, I have been branded. And he turned so Turles could see the dual marks on his hip; one declaring him a sold slave, the other denoting his “profession” as a pleasure slave.

Turles ran gentle fingers over the brands. “Hn…I think our doctors may be able to do something about that...but first things first. Let’s get that ki-restraint off your tail. The collar I can remove myself, but we’ll wait to get on the ship before I do. Come along, the shop is just this way, he said.”

Silently the little slave obeyed, wondering why his question hadn’t been answered, but still too much in the mindset of a slave to repeat it.

As it turned out, there was a bit of fuss at the restraint shop, and Turles was indeed obliged to show his papers, declaring him to be the slave’s owner. The shop’s master had examined the tail-cuff carefully, and stated he needed an hour to prepare and gather the necessary tools. “It won’t be cheap,” he warned, his grey eyes glinting in the sunlight.

Turles nodded, having already discerned that. “We will return in an hour’s time then, I expect you to be ready.” The shop-master nodded his maroon-hued head, as he showed them out the door, nimble fingers illuminating the “closed” sign as he began to prepare.

They stepped out of the shade and into the sunlight of the street. Turles breathed in, his lungs taking in the hot, humid air, his fingers curled around the flexible, fabric covered metal of the leash in his fingers. Leaving it slack, he beckoned with his fingers for the boy to come closer. Hesitantly, he obeyed, and Turles tilted the boy’s head back to get a better look at the collar he was wearing.

It was a standard ki-restraint collar, used in medical and mental health facilities on Vegeta-sei, and elsewhere to harness stronger races into slavery by weaker, (by ki strength anyway) races. He ran his fingers along the top ridge of the collar, noting its rigidity. The collar was designed to never need to be removed. It fit snugly, and expanded as the wearer grew. By a clever design, the collar ran on the wearer’s own ki, and never required batteries or re-charging. Carefully at the hollow of the boy’s throat, Turles tried to get his fingers under the collar, thinking if he got a good enough hold, he could remove it right then and there, but as soon as he put any kind of outward pressure on it, the boy’s eyes rolled back in his head and he shook violently in a kind of seizure.

“FUCK!!” yelled Turles. It had a fucking feedback loop, and was sending a rush of ki into the boy’s body, like an attack. Hurriedly he released his fingers and caught the child before he fell. It was a few minutes before the boy came around again, blinking and shaking as he regained his sense of himself.

“I am sorry, child, I didn’t realize…” he broke off in shock as the boy knelt in front of him, his head bowed. “I am sorry for displeasing you, Master, please forgive me though I don’t deserve it.”

Turles blinked in shock, and was too stunned for a moment to do anything but stare. He came back to himself with a start, realizing if this boy was who he thought he was, their positions were sorely reversed.

“Please, get up,” he said, rather more forcefully than he meant. “I wasn’t punishing you, boy, it was my error, get up.”

The boy struggled to obey, but his legs shook, and he stumbled back to his knees. Gently, so as not to frighten him, Turles reached under his arms and helped him to his feet, steadying him until he seemed a bit more stable.

“Are you all right?” he asked. The child wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Turles sighed. “I told you, it was my error. I didn’t realize the collar was equipped with a pressure trigger. Can you walk?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Don’t call me that, boy, I am not your master.”

The boy was silent and Turles sighed again. “I am not going to hurt you, brat. Are you hungry?”

No answer.

Thinking the boy hadn’t heard him, Turles repeated the question a bit louder, and watched the boy’s tail for its response. It twitched in an affirmative motion, though the boy still did not speak. He frowned. Moving closer to him, he asked quietly, “Why don’t you answer me?”

“It is not proper for me to want when I am in your presence. My only thoughts should be of serving you in whatever manner you wish.”

Turles was momentarily stunned. “Then how do your needs get attended to? If nobody asks and you’re not permitted to say…”

“The Master treats me when he wishes, as he wishes. What I think I need is not relevant.”

Turles was sickened. And it was obvious the boy was underfed, especially for a Saiyjin. “Well then,” he muttered, realizing it wasn’t wise to be debating master/slave etiquette in the middle of a busy street, “we’re going to get some food, come along.”

The boy obediently trotted after him, and it wasn’t until the leash went taut Turles realized he was walking too fast for the child. He was much taller than the cub, and now he noticed, the boy had a distinct limp. His face was impassive, as though he didn’t feel the pain, but he stumbled as he neared Turles’ side again, and automatically the older Saiyjin reached out and caught him.

“Sorry, brat, I had forgotten.” The boy’s head was bowed, and he looked away. Turles’ eyes narrowed and he scented carefully. Blood. A slow drip down the inside of the child’s thigh. He cursed violently in Saiyjin-o, and the slave cringed. “Baka, I’m not angry with you, I’m angry with myself. I knew you had been raped before we left Refuid’s residence, and I forgot. Here,” and he made to pick the boy up, but the child stiffened. “You don’t want me to?”

“I…I…” he seemed unable to speak, and Turles was tired of it. The brat ran hot and cold, one minute basically telling him to fuck off, the next minute, he couldn’t even tell him if he was hungry or not. Without saying anything else, he picked the boy up and stalked to the nearest eating establishment.

The lull between third and fourth meals meant few patrons were in the restaurant, for which Turles was grateful. He strode over to a booth in the far corner and set the boy down, sliding onto the bench and gesturing for the boy to do the same opposite him. Again the brat hesitated.

“Look, don’t you have to do what I say?”

The boy bowed his head. “Forgive me, Master, but they do not serve slaves in this establishment. I am not permitted to sit at the table.”

Turles scowled. “Where are you supposed to sit then?”

In answer, the boy sank to his knees beside the bench Turles currently sat upon, his hands clasped behind his back, his face down, his tail curled demurely around his feet.

Turles clutched his forehead in exasperation. “Oh, for KAMI’s sake,” he spat. The child did not move from his submissive position, though he did utter a surprised squeak as Turles lifted him bodily around the middle and plopped him in the seat beside him, making certain the brat was between himself and the wall, assuring any potential troublemakers who saw fit to question him about his slave had to go through him first.

“You will sit here. End of discussion.” The cub cowered slightly, but did not move from the spot Turles had sat him in. Any further dialogue was stopped by the approach of one of the waitpersons.

“Can I help you, sir?” the Gudrian asked politely. Then his eyes caught sight of the slave, and his expression hardened. “I am sorry, sir, but we do not serve slaves in this restaurant, your slave will have to take his position on the floor like all the others.”

Turles narrowed his eyes. “My slave, will remain right where he is, thank you. As my property it is MY decision where he sits when I decide to stop for a meal. I require him where he is.”

“But sir, it is our policy….”

“FUCK your policy,” said Turles mildly. “Let me speak to your superior if it really is a problem. I am quite certain he won’t want to turn a Saiyjin customer away.” He turned a feral smile on the waitperson. “We can be...rather grumpy when we’re hungry after all...”

And in the end, it turned out not to be a problem after all, which, thought Turles, was what he expected. The boy wouldn’t eat at first until Turles figured out he was waiting to be given food to eat, he couldn’t just take it. Once that was sorted out, the boy ate carefully, not like a starving wolf, but more like someone who knew eating too much just because the food was there wasn’t a good idea. His intake fell far short of what would be expected of a Saiyjin cub his age, but Turles didn’t force the food on him, only making sure he ate a good deal of whatever meat they were serving, and plenty of fluids.

As they exited the establishment, Turles hoped belatedly the boy would be able to keep the food down during the removal of the tail restraint...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was a messy, bloody, painful procedure. The boy was strapped immobile to a table, face down, unresisting as the shop master used rings set in the collar to clip him to the head of the table. Spread out on the large table, the child looked even smaller than Turles had thought. The restraints, he thought absently, they probably have stunted his growth. He wished, not for the first time, he had thought to bring a scouter with him, so he could ascertain the boy’s ki-level while it was suppressed.

After the assistant had broken a bone in the boy’s tail trying to hold it still, Turles stepped in with a low growl. The child, who had been nearly completely stoic through the beginning of the procedure had screamed, the sound ripping through Turles like a ki-blade. Speaking low to the child in soothing Saiyjin-o, back grounded by rumbling purrs, Turles held the child’s tail immobile while the shop master removed the tail cuff.

It was a mess, and Turles gagged involuntarily as the master cut away the dead flesh and cleaned the massive wound the best he could. He apologized, he wasn’t a doctor, and there really wasn’t much else he could do. Turles ignored him, and tried to ignore the raw, bare, oozing tail flesh revealed with the cuff’s removal. He paid the master and gathered the boy in his arms. For a change, the little slave did not protest, having been rendered unconscious by the pain of the operation in the end. He left the shop and headed for the space dock where the workers from Refuid should have finished loading the gel onto his ship.

He sighed as he looked at the child in his arms. Are you who I think you are, boy?

to be continued….

A couple of notes...damnit all, I didn’t want to start a new universe, but my muses refused to work on Inlaws or N&R unless I got some of this down. This was SUPPOSED to just be a play-verse, not a new freaking universe, something else for me to have in the works...oh well...it does give me a chance to play with some new species which have been floating around in my head

And I’m sure you’ve guessed who our little slave is...*grins* He is NOT happy with this, let me tell you.

Thankfully this also looks as though it is going to be a much smaller universe than the BOAP universe. That’s a relief anyway.

Enjoy!!!