Holding Pens: Kaegan
He’d been prodded and cooed at by several Masters but no one seemed to take an interest in him beyond a moment of morbid fascination. Every time a Master carded their fingers through Kaegan's hair or stroked against his cheek, whispering praises like handsome and good boy, Kaegan had to bite back a whine when they turned away in search of something better, and his shoulders slouched further in disappointment.
Swallowing thickly, Kaegan longed for the pressure of a collar fastened around his neck. He could still feel the phantom band against his throat, chest aching with the realization that he no longer belonged to anyone; he no longer served any purpose. Head bowed in defeat rather than submission, Kaegan peered up through his lashes to observe potential buyers that navigated through the holding pens, searching for something promising that wasn't him. His face flushed with embarrassment at the thought of someone he knew finding him in the holding pens so soon after being purchased. Kaegan didn't want anyone to recognize him; his stomach churned at the possibility. They’d surely ridicule him for being a disobedient slave, for being worthless. And they’d be right, Kaegan thought as he closed his eyes, why else would I be here?