The Barn 2 - Auction
(Prompt #28 for Summer of Whump)
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Warnings: restraints, captivity, dehumanisation, shock collar, asphyxiation, human auction
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It was another day and a half before Jacob started to find out why he was there. During that whole time, he stayed hogtied in the stall, only being acknowledged when one of the goons came in to pour some water down his throat. The first time that happened he made the mistake of choking on it, and the sound set the stupid bark collar off again. The goon had just laughed at him.
On day two, when he was thoroughly bruised all over and aching from the cramped position, something started happening out in the barn. More and more voices filled the airy space, male mostly, but with a feminine laugh breaking through here and there. Jacob had no idea what was happening, but his heart rate sped up, regardless.
Then faces began appearing through the bars that lined the top of his stall. New faces, not any of the goons from before. Some glanced in briefly and moved on. Some stared openly, making notes on their phones. Others peered in curiously, smiling at him, leaning their heads in towards each other and exchanging secretive words.
He felt strangely like an animal in a zoo.
Part of him wanted to cower back into the corner, try his best to hide from the stares. But his pride wouldn’t let him. So instead he bared his teeth like the animal they seemed to think he was, trying to look as menacing as a mute, tied-up, sleep- and food-deprived, skinny blond guy possibly could.
He wondered if that was part of the reason some of them laughed.
The staring didn’t last long, thankfully. The faces stopped appearing, and the voices faded, though not completely. They sounded like they were standing outside of the barn, rather than in it. Somewhere close to him, a latch grated open, and there was a shuffling sound in the hay as a semi-familiar voice - Fancy Suit Man - rose above the rest, as if addressing the crowd.
For a long time nothing else really happened. Another voice spoke for periods of time, and every once in a while footsteps would enter the barn, and another latch would open. From the sound of it, they were opening each stall, drawing closer and closer to his each time.
Were there others trapped in here, like him? More importantly, what were they doing with them now? What were they about to do to him?
Eventually it was time to find out. Footsteps approached again, and this time the same man who’d laughed at him getting shocked the day before appeared at the stall door. Jacob glared at him as if that would change his situation at all.
The door swung open, and the goon quickly got to work untying the rope that connected Jacob’s wrists to his ankles. His heart was pounding for sure now. Maybe if he kicked out at the man’s face...maybe if he could get the stupid collar off…
He didn’t actually have any sort of plan by the time the rope came off. He tried kicking anyway, regardless of the fact that his ankles were still bound and he wouldn’t have been able to run anywhere, but the goon seemed to anticipate this, ducking calmly and catching Jacob’s leg in one, beefy hand.
“I’d break your ankle for that if it wouldn’t get me in trouble for damaging the merchandise.”
Merchandise?
There was no time to figure the statement out. Fingers were sliding down the back of his neck, in between the collar and his skin, and it was too much, too tight, the metal prongs dug holes into his throat while the black box they were attached to pressed up against his Adam's apple. He tried to gasp, but nothing came through. Instinctively he brought his bound hands up to the collar, groping at it, trying to pry it forward and give himself some air, but it was no use. There was no more give.
Through the fog of panic, he distantly registered that he was being dragged. Backwards, out of the stall, by the collar.
Black spots started dancing in his vision.
Just when he thought he’d surely pass out, he was thrown sideways onto gravel. He immediately sucked in a lungful of both air and dust, and began hacking until he thought a lung might spill out onto the ground any second.
He was still gasping and choking when a pair of hands grabbed onto the rope tying his wrists and yanked them up over his head, hooking something to it that pulled at the rope, scraping it across his already chafed skin. A second later, and he was jerked backwards.
And up. And up.
When the dizzying motion stopped and he was breathing somewhat normally again, he found himself looking out on the entirety of the crowd that had come by his stall earlier. They were all gathered around, watching, staring at him once again. And it was no wonder, because he was on full display now. It seemed they had hooked him up to the pulley on the front of the barn, the one normally used for hauling hay bales up to the loft. Now it was being used to keep him upright, toes just barely brushing the ground.
“Alright, folks, this is our last lot. Last chance to own one of these fine specimens for yourself, because I’m sad to say that after today I must move on to greener pastures.” Fancy Suit Man was standing somewhere to Jacob’s left, though he couldn’t crane his neck quite far enough to see.
“Now, I know a lot of you like to come to these events to find you a good laborer, but this particular lot I’d have to recommend for any of you who might be looking for...other purposes.” He finally appeared in Jacob’s periphery, gesturing to his body. “That’s not to say that he couldn’t be a good worker, eventually. He’s just gonna need a little...training. The shock collar you see him modeling might give you a good idea of what I mean.” He chuckled. “That’s not included, by the way. You’ll need to find your own creative method of shutting him up.”
Labor...other purposes…training? He didn’t know what any of it meant, and he didn’t want to. He just wanted to go home. He wanted his apartment, his bed, his leftover pizza, his cat Molly. He wanted to call his mom and tell her what had happened to him and let her lecture him one more time about the dangers of living alone.
He didn’t want to be here anymore.
“Alright, let’s start the bidding at $2,000.” The second voice he had heard before started up, quickly dropping into a drone of words and numbers that Jacob couldn’t keep up with. A white sign was raised, and the number changed. For a moment he couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t let himself wrap his brain around what was happening.
But there was no denying it, not really. He was being auctioned off.
A man in a trucker hat - not the goon, but another of several audience members wearing the style - was bidding rather fervently, egged on by the short, frumpy woman who hugged his arm. A few others joined in here and there, but after a while it came down to just that couple and one other man. He wore a hat, also, a Stetson that was pulled down far enough it left his eyes in shadow. There was never a twitch or flicker of emotion on his face, just a steady raising and lowering of the number twenty-eight sign in his hand.
Eventually, the man in the trucker hat gave up, much to his wife’s disappointment.
“And...sold! to Number Twenty-eight.”
Fancy Suit Man started blabbing on about his appreciation for the turnout, but Jacob was too busy being dropped to the ground and wrested off the hook to pay attention. The man in the Stetson approached, looming in the background while a couple of goons held him down. One started attempting to pull his wrists and ankles back together, despite the fight Jacob was putting up, while the other unhooked the blasted collar.
As soon as it was gone he shouted as loudly as he could, which wasn’t nearly as loud as he’d have liked, seeing as how his throat was practically mutilated. “Get off me! Get your stupid, filthy hands off me! I don’t belong to anybody, you can’t just sell me! I’m a human being, and you are all just sick, demented -”
The one who had taken off the collar joined the second and they were able to get him hogtied once more. They stepped back then, leaving him writhing in the dirt while Stetson looked on.
“Well, the boss did warn you. He’s a feisty one.”
Stetson’s stoic facade still didn’t crack. “I’ll take it from here.”
The goons stepped back. In one, fluid motion, Stetson reached down, grabbed hold of the shorter piece of rope, lifted Jacob off the ground, and slung him around his shoulder so that he hung against the man’s back like a sack of potatoes. He cried out in surprise and at the smarting pain in his wrists, glad he could do so now without getting the tar shocked out of him.
He continued to fight as he was carried away from the barn, bouncing, hoping he could make the man drop him despite knowing the fall would hurt. Nothing seemed to faze Stetson, though. They stopped after a minute, and the jangle of keys and creak of a tailgate being opened was heard. Then he was being tossed down onto a grooved truck bed and shoved deeper inside. Before he could get his bearings and try to scoot anywhere, the tailgate slammed shut, and a cover came down over the bed.
He was left in complete darkness, wondering where on earth he was being taken next.
