"THE AFTERMATH"
(Or What Follows Next)
Chapter 11 Part 2: `Slave 327'

This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of eighteen years.

Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris) 
Read my stories at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories

"The characters and ideas contained in this story are the writer's and shouldn't be used without his permission. Please respect the integrity of the story and don't do rewrites, make alterations or add pictures. "

Chapter 11: Part 2:  `Slave 327'

Fearfully, the slave stands alone in the middle of the room. Placed there by one of the slave assistants, he'd been ordered to assume the display position and wait in silence. He's grateful for the food and water he'd just been given; this was the first he'd had since leaving Dave Matheson's slave pens the previous day.

With his eyes caste downwards he has very limited vision; his spatial awareness of his surroundings is more of an assumption rather than an actual recognition.

He guesses at the room's drabness and overall ugliness. His nostrils wrinkle at the faint, stale smell of charring; at first it is vaguely familiar and then suddenly he recognises it as the smell of branded flesh. Filled with terror, he realises he is in the branding room and his body shakes violently.

Around him are the furnishings necessary for the processing and branding of slaves. He stands alongside the waist-high branding table; its long, wooden length worn smooth and polished by the struggles of countless slaves; its surface darkened by the fear induced sweat of its many, hapless victims. Lying atop the table are the leather straps and chains that will soon hold him in their grim embrace.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees a wooden, reclining chair also equipped with straps and chains - he can only guess at its use - and alongside it is a small table on top of which are placed, ready for use, a chrome tray of gleaming surgical implements.

Panic-stricken, he begins to quake in fear; his trembling legs barely able to support him. Fighting for air, his chest rapidly rises and falls as his belly bellows in and out with each gasping breath. Sweating profusely, he fights hard to control his bladder and bowels.

Feeling trapped, like a cornered animal, he looks around for some means of escape even though his brain tells him there aren't any. Loud sobs convulse his body and his tears flow freely down his cheeks.

The slave is truly at the depths of his despair. Then, suddenly, he is startled out of his despondency.

"What the fuck is all the fuss about?"

Somehow, for the slave, there is an unexpected air of re-assurance in Sam Norton's question.

Again the question is asked. "What's all the fuss about, slave? Lift your head
and look at me."

"I'm sorry, Master. But I'm afraid."

"What are you afraid of?"

"O -o -o -of what is going to happen to me, Master."

"Nonsense! You're here to be fitted out as your master requires - that's all. There will be some pain but that can't be helped. But I'm not going to damage you. You're far too valuable. Now pull yourself together and let me get on with my job."

"Yes Master." The slave sniffles, not completely re-assured. For the first time he notices the assistant standing slightly behind Sam holding a small basket.

"First of all, I'm going to fit you with your collar so let's have you down on your knees."

As the slave kneels, he watches as Sam retrieves a collar form the assistant's basket.

"You're in luck, slave. Your master is giving you a shiny, brand new, platinum collar that's never been worn before and has got your new club number on it. I engraved it there myself. Now bow your head and bend your neck."

The slave shakes as the collar is fastened around his neck. Was it only yesterday that his old collar had been removed from him? At first, he'd felt naked without it but he had soon grown used to it not being there. Now, once again, he feels the physical weight of his slavery as this new collar is locked around his neck. He kneels patiently as Sam runs a finger around the inside of the collar checking that it isn't too tight.

"It's a perfect fit and it suits you, slave. Now up on your feet and what do you say?"

Scrambling to his feet, the slave simply says, "Thank you, Master."

"You'll need to remember the number `327' that your master has given you. From now on that's what you'll be called by your master and his clients. So what's your number?'

"It's `327', Master."

"Good boy. I like your pleasing manner. Now let me check your cock and balls. We need to get them ringed don't we, 327? You want them to look good for your master's clients, don`t you, slave?"

"Yes Master."

The slave, 327 stands placidly at display, looks straight ahead and wonders what to next expect. Is he to feel pain or discomfort as the rings are fitted, he wonders? Will it take long? He is now very aware of the weight of the new collar fastened around his neck. Will his cock and balls feel a corresponding weight?

He flinches nervously as Sam gently eases his genitals through the tight fitting platinum rings. Then, the inevitable happens; aroused at Sam's touch, his cock begins to harden into an erection.

"Keep it down, 327," Sam laughs, "at least until I get you ringed. When that's done you can show proud for all you're worth"

Then after a few more adjustments. "There now, we're all done. That didn`t hurt - did it slave?"

"No Master." the relieved slave answers.

As Sam steps back to survey his handiwork, the slave is very conscious of being slightly off balance - the placement of the rings has forced his genitalia forward and upward into a prominent display. Once more, fully aroused, his cock is showing wilfully hard and he aches for the release denied him earlier.

Not quite satisfied, Sam steps forward to adjust the rings on the slave. He checks to make sure that the cock-ring, encircling both the cock and balls, is flat against the plain of the lower stomach. Then, with a gentle tug, he ensured that both testicles are positioned at the bottom of the ball-sac and permanently confined below the cinch ring. Finally satisfied, he orders the slave to.

"Turn around, spread your feet, bend and grab hold of your ankles."

Ever the perfectionist in these matters, Sam scrutinises the slave from behind. And he likes what he sees. Both balls hang low and heavy below the cinch and are individually contoured through the stretched tautness of the hairless scrotum - just the way Simon likes them to be. Sam reflects Simon will be pleased at the slave's `new look' and, no doubt, it will also be appreciated by the patrons at the Patroklos Club. 

Stepping forward, Sam takes them in his cupped hand and playfully bounces them up and down, before making one final and imaginary adjustment to the cinch. Then with an almost affectionate pat on the ass, the slave is ordered to.

"Stand, face the front and display."

"Well slave that was the easy part. Now comes, what for you, will be the hard part. We need to get these ringed." Sam tells him, almost maliciously, as he pinches both nipples.

White-faced, the slave plaintively pleads. "Please Master, don't do this, please Master."

"Right then, into the chair and be quick about it. Your master will be here in a couple of hours to collect you. So let's move it along."

"Please Master! Please don't." The slave vainly continues his pleading. "Please Mast....ARGHH!"

Ignoring the pleas, Sam nods to his assistant standing behind the slave. Totally unprepared, the slave hears the gentle swish of the cane passing through the air just seconds before the loud thwack as it cuts across his buttocks.

"ARGHH! O shit." the slave cries out at the second stroke of the cane.

Furiously, Sam roared. "MOVE! Get your ass into the chair, NOW!

The chastened slave, ruefully rubbing the red criss-crossed stripes on his rump, hastens to obey.

Moving quickly, the assistant soon has him constrained within the chair; with straps fastened around his ankles, wrists, belly and neck. Fearfully, the crying slave watches Sam's every movement; he trembles as he feels Sam`s fingers fondling his nipples.

"You have beautiful tits, slave. After I've enhanced them, I'm sure they'll be very popular with your master's clients. Let's get started shall we?"

The slave gasps in surprise as the chair is inclined backwards, thus lowering his head and raising his feet, but placing his chest at the right level for Sam to work on. With his neck held fast by a high leather strap, he is unable to raise his head and has very limited sideways movement. Out of the corner of his eye, he nervously watches as Sam stands at the adjacent table examining the instruments on the tray. Suddenly he needs to urinate.

Sensing 327's distress, Sam orders his assistant to help him by holding a bucket between his legs and correctly positioning his now flaccid cock to enable him to piss. Sam isn't surprised; in his experience, most slaves react to the threat of pain by losing control of their bladders and bowels and this slave isn't any different. However, from long experience, he knows the tell-tale signs of when a slave is about to lose control and he always takes steps to minimise any mess. After all, he hates working on a slave who had fouled himself.

"Have you finished, slave?"

Humiliated, the slave answered. "Yes, Master."

"Good! Here we go then." Sam replies as he used an antiseptic swipe to sterilise both nipples and their surrounding areas.

Sam is very particular with hygiene when working on a slave. His record to date is impeccable; he's never had a slave suffer from an infection as a result of any of his procedures. He's proud of this and he isn't about to spoil it now.

With his acute business acumen, he knows this emphasis on a slave's well-being is valued by his many customers and because of it, they don't have any qualms about entrusting their slaves to his care - a fact that Sam greatly appreciates.

After all, as a businessman, he stands or falls by the quality of his workmanship. Consequently, he ensures all the instruments he used are of the finest quality and that they are sterilised immediately before and after each use. After all, slaves are valuable assets and represent a considerable investment of their owners' money; another fact that Sam - himself a slave-holder - appreciates.

Apprehensively, the slave waits as Sam works on his nipples. Unable to raise his head to see what is happening, his chest rises and falls in time with his rapid breathing and he is bathed in sweat born out of his fear.

If he were able to look, he'd see Sam use a black felt tipped pen to mark the entry and exit spots for the needle on each side of his sensitive nipples. Sam ensures these spots line up perfectly with each other and are carefully positioned where the nubs of the nipples met their surrounding areolae.

Sam takes his time in doing this. From his point of view it is essential to get the preliminaries right - he would never jeopardise his work with sloppy preparation. Satisfied that the marks are in line, he then uses a set of callipers to determine the thickness of the nipples - he needs to know what length and diameter of needle to use. He decides to use a large gauge needle; the slave's tits are large and thick enough to take this size and anyway, Simon has stipulated the slave is to be fitted with heavy gauge rings.

Sensing what is to happen; the slave arches his back and struggles in a futile attempt to free himself from the chair. Once more, he begins to plead although he knows his pleas will be ignored.

With a re-assuring.... "STEADY BOY! STEADY!" Sam strokes the slave's sweat soaked, straining chest. Then, not unkindly, he places a piece of leather strapping between the
slave's teeth and tells him to. 

"Here, bite down on this. It will help to ease the pain."

Then, disgusted at this display of sympathy for a slave, he gruffly adds. 

"It'll stop you from biting your tongue. We don't want you damaged, do we?"

Never before has Sam had shown such consideration to a slave. Why then did he just do that? But, inexplicably, there is an indefinable something about 327 that appeals to Sam. And if he needs evidence of this then he need not look any further that his massive erection tent-poling his trousers.

Looking into the slave's fear-filled eyes he feels an inexplicable attraction to the slave - certainly the slave is very appealing. He decides that the only cure for this attraction is to fuck him. 

And for that to happen, he'll need to visit the club at the earliest opportunity. Now, once more in control, he picks up a needle and approaches the slave. The slave steels himself for what is to follow.

Sam works swiftly; he never prolongs this procedure. In his experience, it is better for a slave if it is performed quickly; he does this not out of any consideration for the slave's suffering but rather to prevent him going into shock.

The slave's expectation of pain is greater than the reality. Certainly, he feels the quick, penetrating pain as the needle passes under both nipples but it isn't as severe as he'd anticipated. However, this is followed by the deep, throbbing pain of his lacerations. 

The slave bites down on the leather gag and his body spasms as Sam inserts the heavy, five centimetre rings through his perforated nipples. Finally, satisfied with his work, Sam steps back once more back to appraise the slave.

He is very pleased with the slave's transformation. This time yesterday, the slave had been a rough, field slave; his superb torso unkempt and covered with body hair. Now, his beautiful, glabrous body displays the perfection of his musculature and his new body jewellery enhances that perfection.

Sam always takes pride in his work and over the years he's transformed many slaves into objects of beauty for their owners. However, this slave is exceptional; Sam can't recall another to beat him. Many others could come close to matching him - but not quite. Sam is extremely gratified and he knows that the slave's new owner, Simon will also be satisfied with 327's transformation. 

"Well 327 that's done and I've got to say, you look even better than I thought you would. Your master will be pleased with you. And if I'm any judge, you'll be very popular with your master's clients too. "

The slave flinches as Sam moves the new rings through his painful nipples with the advice to him to" move these from time to time until you're healed. I'll also mention it to your master before you leave."

As Sam leaves, he instructs his assistant.

"Let him settle down for twenty minutes or so, then move him onto the branding table. And don't forget to heat up the branding iron ready for use when his master arrives."

                                                          >>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Now, the fearful slave lies strapped to the branding table and waits.

The only sounds to break the silence of the room are his ragged breathing and the occasional metallic `click' of the thermostat on the branding iron as it cycles through its heat settings. Like a moth's attraction to a candle, his eyes are fixed on the glowing end of the brand; he shudders violently as he anticipates its inevitable use on his body.

In his misery, he reflects that three days ago he was happily - well, as happy as a slave can be - employed as one of Andy Trevorrow's farm slaves. There, he knew the affection and companionship of his fellow slaves - especially that of the two blond cousins. Once more, tears well in his eyes as he thinks of them..

Although his life as a field slave had been hard and the labour repetitious, he had, however enjoyed a degree of certainty and a measure of stability in his life. Monotonously, each day was the same as the one before it; he would be woken before dawn, fed and watered and then driven into the fields to begin a long day of back-breaking labour under the supervision of his master's overseers. 

This supervision had been benign in that the Trevorrow's, both father and son, were conscious of the good appearance of their slaves and had always insisted that they not be punished unnecessarily. Therefore whips and canes were used only when warranted. Then, at the end of the day, once more, he'd been fed and watered and locked in the stables for the night. There, lying between the two cousins, he'd enjoyed the warmth and comfort of their hard, naked bodies pressing against his own. And of course there were the many, happy hours of sex with one another. He weeps at his loss.

Suddenly he hears approaching footsteps and voices. Turning his head, he sees his new master and Sam Norton enter the room.

"Well Simon, what do you think? Does he come up to your expectations?" Sam asks.

Simon leaves the question unanswered as his hands move over the slave's body testing it for its new smoothness. He fingers the collar around the slave's neck before moving down to his chest. The slave flinches and yelps as Simon toys with the rings piercing his now swollen nipples.

"I've instructed the slave that he must move the rings from time to time to prevent the flesh from adhering to them as he heals. I suggest you make sure he does so, Simon."

"Thanks Sam. I'll make sure he does. Or I should say, I'll make sure his `buddy' does." 

"A buddy? What's a buddy, Simon?"

"Well, I usually pair a new slave like this one with one of my more experienced slaves. It's that slave's job to serve as an example to the new slave and show him the ropes so to speak. He'll instruct the new slave in the things he needs to know to be the perfect pleasure slave. He'll teach the new slave the different positions that he'll need to adopt in front of my clients - and things like walking and displaying his body seductively - the proper manner of address and speech to my customers, how to serve as a valet, work as a waiter and as an  assistant in the club's bars, pools and bathhouse areas. You know - things like that. But most importantly, he teaches the new slave how to service a patron's cock."

"That sounds like a good system to me, Simon. Does it work?"

"You bet it does, Sam." Simon laughs." As part of the training, I adopt an inflexible policy of `if one slave offends both slaves are punished'. Take it from me, that exercises their minds and ensures they remain focused on the task in hand. It never fails to work."

"Do you have a buddy picked out for this slave, Simon?"

"Indeed I do, Sam. I've chosen my most popular slave to pair with him. This particular slave is a firm favourite with the patrons which, however, is unfortunate for him."

"How is that so, Simon?"

"Well he's so popular that supply can't keep up with demand so to speak." Simon chuckles. "I literally have to take bookings for his services and I'm hoping that this new slave will prove as popular and relieve the pressure on him. Somehow, looking at him I suspect he will. Although, he'll need to do much better than this." Simon adds, in disgust, as he fondles the slave's disinterested cock.

"I wouldn't worry on that score, Simon. You should have seen the show he put on for me earlier when I fitted him with his cock-rings. It was very impressive, believe me. I guess it`s the thought of the branding iron that's keeping it down at the moment."

"Good! I'm glad to hear it. And to answer your first question Sam. Yes, he is everything I expected of him - and more. I'm delighted with him As usual, you've excelled yourself. My congratulations and thank you for a job well done."

"As always, it was my pleasure, Simon. The slave was a delight to work with. But I guess you're anxious to be on your way back to the club with him. I see the iron's ready, so
let's get him finished."

The slave, fully aware of his imminent branding, plaintively begs his new master.

"Please Master, please?"

Straining against the straps holding him to the table, the slave hears Sam ordering him to open his mouth. Defiantly, the slave disobeys and keeps his mouth firmly closed.

"Open your mouth, fuck you." 

Sam angrily shouts as he pinches the slave's nostrils and waits for him to begin breathing through his mouth. Then, as he does so, the slave once more, tastes and feels the leather strap between his teeth. Desperately, he bites down hard in anticipation of the brand.

"Where do you want the brand, Simon? In the usual spot?" Sam asks; indicating a spot on the right side of the slave's chest.

"Yes Sam. Right about there! On his right pectoral about five centimetres above the nipple should be right."

"I'll just wipe away the sweat before I apply the brand; it takes better if the skin is dry."

The slave raises his head and watches in horrified fascination as Sam retrieves the branding iron. Desperately he begins to thrash around; struggling against the tight straps holding him to the table. Arching his back and thrusting his chest upwards in a vain attempt to break free, his musculature is highlighted by the stress of his struggling. Through the confusion of his panic he hears Sam telling him to.

"Settle down, slave. It'll soon be over." 

This serves only as an incentive for the slave to struggle even harder.

"Simon, the slave's struggling means I'm going to need your help. If you could just hold his legs steady, I'll get my slave to hold his shoulders down long enough for me to apply the brand."

Now, as the slave struggles helplessly in the hands of his Master and Sam's slave, he curses unintelligibly through his gag.

"I think the slave is abusing us, Sam. Do all slaves re-act like this?"

"Yes usually, most of them do. Their fear overcomes their normal good behaviour. But then, some slaves accept the inevitable and just lie placidly as they are branded. That type makes my job much easier. But those slaves are the exception rather than the rule. Most of them act up just like your slave here."

"Well then, Sam he's just earned himself a caning for his bad behaviour. As soon as we arrive back at the club he`ll receive ten of the best delivered by my head trainer and believe me he doesn`t hold back when applying the cane to a recalcitrant slave's ass."

"It makes good sense to punish him right at the outset. It fixes in his mind that you are the master and that you won't tolerate this type of bad behaviour from him. My guess is that his acting up is fear induced and completely out of character. Nevertheless, a caning will be good for him. I believe slaves should receive a periodic whipping or caning. All my slaves routinely receive one, whether it's warranted or not. It does wonders for their attitude. Now just hold him steady. Steady... Here we go..... NOW!"

The slave screams through his gag as the iron sears itself into his chest. 372 is lost in the intensity of his pain and his suffering borders on the unendurable. For the slave, his mind is clouded by shock and pain and time stands still. He is unaware that Sam has withdrawn the brand - it grim work done. The lingering severity of his pain convinces him it is still searing itself into his flesh. 

The slave gradually realises that the actual branding is over. With his body still aflame, he is sweating profusely and through the red haze of his pain and confusion he hears himself crying. Looking up, he sees his Master and Sam, engaged in conversation, gazing down at him.

"Well that's it, Simon. He's finished. I know the brand looks a bit angry at the moment, but it'll heal up cleanly." The slave cries out in pain as Sam, placing his fingers just above and below the brand, stretches his tortured flesh. "Great! Crisp and clearly outlined-just the way a brand should be. Just keep an eye out for infection until it heals over. "

"The slave looks distressed. Is that normal, Sam?'

"He's alright, Simon. He's just a bit sick and sorry for himself. But he'll soon get over it. Slaves are resilient and I've never lost one to branding." Sam laughs "We'll let him settle down for a few minutes and then we can have him off the table and you can be on your way with him."

"That's excellent, Sam. And he'll be even sicker and sorrier when I get him back to the club; he'll have a sore ass to think about after his caning. But once again, I thank you for a job well done. And don't forget that my thank you invitation to you to visit the club and use the slave still stands."

"Thank you, Simon. I'll certainly take you up on that. I look forward to spending time with him."

"Look Sam, I've just had a thought. Why don't you come to the club for the slave's initiation? I'm sure you'd find it interesting and entertaining."

"It does sound interesting, Simon. What happens?"

"Well, as I was explaining to Dave Matheson only yesterday - by the way, he'll be there - it's a charity fundraising night. When this slave is introduced to the club's patrons for the first time, we'll auction him off to the highest bidder. The winning bidder gets to fuck the slave before anyone else does. I guess I should qualify that a little. As the slave's owner, I get first bite of the cherry, as you'd expect. Anyway it's a fun night and all the money raised goes to a worthwhile charity. So what do you think; how about it?"

"Simon, count me in. I'd be delighted to attend. It'll give me the opportunity to see how my handiwork has turned out. When is it?'

Not until he's fully trained. I'd guess about two to three weeks from now. Naturally, I'm keen to get him started as soon as possible. I need to start getting a return on my investment in him, so his training will be speeded up.  Anyway, I'll let you know in advance so you can arrange to be there, Sam."

"Simon, I look forward to it and thank you."

"No! Thank you, Sam for your excellent work I guess all that needs to be done now is for me to settle up with you for your work on my slave. Shall we go to your office for that?"

"Certainly, Simon. By the way, are you going to tomorrow's auction? I hear there's some interesting stock being offered for sale; some captured soldiers from the north."

"Yes, Sam. As usual, I'll be there. I attend all auctions as I'm always on the lookout for suitable recruits for the club. Occasionally I find an outstanding specimen but mostly they're just run of the mill stuff. But I keep an open mind and attend as you never know what you'll find on offer. And, actually you're right about the soldiers. I took a quick stroll through Dave Matheson's pens yesterday and saw a couple of possibilities for the club. I'll check them out tomorrow and decide then if I'll bid for them. You`ll be there of course? And you'll be there with your new display boards?"

"Yes Simon I`ll be there. And yes, I`ll be introducing my displays to the general public tomorrow."

"Good. I'll make sure I look in on your booth tomorrow and see what reaction you've had to them. They should prove to be quite a novelty."

"Before we go to my office, I'll just instruct my assistant to make your slave ready for you. What do you want done with him, Simon?"

"Oh! The usual I think, Sam. Fasten his wrists behind his back, put a leash around his neck and fasten him to my waiting rickshaw if you don`t mind, Sam. He can run alongside my ponies back to the club. No doubt, the exercise will be good for him"

"Consider it done, Simon."

Once released, the slave clambers painfully off the table and stands defeated as his hands are fastened behind his back. He yelps with pain at the stress this placed on the tortured, stretched flesh of his chest. Then, leashed he is led to wait alongside his master's rickshaw.

Within the hour, he'll be at the Patroklos Club and his life as `pleasure slave 327' will begin.

To be continued.........






