

THE ARKANSAS PROGRAMME - PART 10



By Pete Brown  (petebrownuk @ yahoo.com)

Read all of Pete's Stories on
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories







FAREWELL TO THE CABIN?



A week after Billy's friends went home, it came time for him to
go back to school.  The day before he was due to leave, Carl had
had to go in to Little Rock to discuss a permit he needed for a
project he was going to work on, so Billy and I were alone in
the cabin.  He hadn't wanted to accompany his father , and Carl
had decided that I should stay to keep Billy company.  "Anyway",
he said, "They're a bit funny in the capital.  Even though they
all voted for the Programme, they don't like to see naked slaves
on their streets, so I would have had to leave you in the pickup
in the parking lot all day."



Billy seemed strangely listless that day.  We went to the creek
and swam in the morning, but instead of lying and enjoying the
hot sun on our bodies afterwards, as soon as he was dry Billy
pulled his shorts back on and we returned to the cabin.  In
fact, he seemed to be in so much of a hurry that he had had me
plane most of the water off his body by running my hands over
his chest, back, ass and thighs, before I did the same thing to
myself, to try to speed up the drying - we obviously didn't take
towels or anything with us, as we swam nude and normally just
let the sun dry us.



It was only lunch time when we got back, but as soon as we were
inside the cabin's cool shade, Billy dropped his shorts and got
into the bed, gesturing with his arm for me to join him. Instead
of fucking me hard and quick, as he usually did, Billy took a
long time over it - and instead of taking me "doggy fashion",
which was his favourite position, he did it face to face for a
change. He didn't even pull out of me immediately he had cum,
either, but lay forward along my body.



He cupped my left nipple gently in one hand, and told me to
cross my legs over behind his, as he wanted to feel the warmth
of my body all around him, then he just lay there with his ear
pressed into my  shoulders.  He was sort of looking up into my
face, and after a few minutes of this companionable closeness,
he started to say,  "Steve... This is the last time I shall ever
fuck you.  You know I'm going back to school tomorrow, and I
want to spend the night alone with dad as we'll miss each other
very much until Thanksgiving.  And when I get back then, I'm
afraid you won't be here."



"He's said he'll buy me another slave for next vacation, and
we're both pretending that this is what I want.... But really I
would prefer to keep you here as I've got to know and love your
body and the way you respond almost instinctively to my needs.
Training another slave will be a pain!  But dad can't afford
your monthly rental to the Auction House - at least not now
Autumn is coming on.  There's a lot less work around, and some
days you can't work at all because of the weather when there's a
storm.  You're at a particular disadvantage, being naked,  as
you'll spend a lot of time trying to keep yourself warm, time
that you should be working." 



So although I know dad would like to keep you, and I wish he
could so that you'd be here for me at Thanksgiving, he's going
to trade you back to the Auction House as soon as I have left.
He really is short of cash with my school fees and everything,
and although your monthly rental is cheap as Jeff got you at a
bargain price, it's still more than he can afford to pay out
when you both can't work flat out, full time."



"He doesn't want to even borrow from the family Trust funds, let
alone spend any of it, and does try to do everything for me on
the money he makes in the business.  I'm really proud of him,
and even when there's not enough for the little pleasures in
life, such as you, I back him up and don't complain."



"So it's 'goodbye', I'm afraid.  I don't think dad will tell you
he can't afford you - he's too proud.  I don't think he's
planning to say anything, in fact, just to turn you in.  But I
didn't want to leave without saying goodbye."



"Of course, I guess this time at the auction you will be snapped
up by one of the sex parlours, or the pain palace - you've
avoided it until now, but with a body like yours it's inevitable
you'll pass through those places some time.   Maybe I can get
Jase to give me an evening at the sex parlour or pain palace as
a Thanksgiving gift, so I can see you again - although I'm not
sure I'll want to go up your ass after it's been used by half
the men in the State:  I expect you'll have lost that wonderful
muscle tone that grips my cock like it's in a vice.  Most of the
slaves in the sex parlours get fucked so many times that they go
all loose and flabby down there - OK for the old and fat clients
they usually get, but not so good for a stud like me!"



Although he had been tender and caressing, he suddenly closed
his thumb and forefinger on my nipple and gave it a tweak.  As
you know, I've got sensitive nipples, and I yelped
involuntarily, and arched my back with the shock.



"See", said Billy, "You won't do so good in the pain palace
either!  If that's what you do just for a little tweak at a nip,
how are you going to be if one of your clients chooses to whip
your nipples?  I don't think you'll last long, and that's
probably a good thing.  That 'friend' of yours, the marine, he
was too brave for his own good.  He was there for months, and
the best strategy is to 'break' quickly so they trade you out
after a few weeks."



I had been listening to Billy intently, and as he spoke of my
possible future my dread of being auctioned again and bought by
one of these places came back.  In spite of it not being seemly
to interrupt a master, I couldn't help myself after hearing
about Mitch, and said:



"Master, after you had broken the marine when you went to the
pain palace, do you know what happened to him?"      



"When he had finished screaming from my treatment, they took him
out.  Because he was so famous for not having broken in weeks
and weeks, they put him on display for all the clients to see. I
almost felt sorry for him - he was left in the entrance foyer
hanging by  his cuffed wrists from a ceiling chain, in the
middle of the huge area."  



"His feet were still on the floor, so everyone knew his
discomfort wasn't caused by the agony of trying to breathe
whilst you're suspended by your hands when totally in the air.
But they'd hung a placard around his neck, saying 'The broken
marine', and with his old price underneath crossed through in
red, and the word 'Sale' written across it, and his new price
underneath - and it we only a tenth of what it had been.  He
knew he had totally devalued himself by giving in to me.  He
wasn't a proud slave any more, he was just a slave now."



"After  about an hour he was taken down.  I was offered first
fuck as his conqueror of course, but it was late and I was tired
so I auctioned it off for charity - I raised over 3K for the
local dogs' home from the patrons who were queuing to use him. I
guess he was probably fucked and fucked all night, with suitable
punishments, by all those guys who wanted to know what it was
like to have a formerly big, tough buck of an ex-marine bend to
their will.  After all, they would only have to threaten to
repeat the lesson I taught him in room 4, and he'd be crying for
mercy."



"I shouldn't think he'll last long in the pain palace, though
they tire of the slaves very quickly once they break.  He'll be
sold on - probably to a sex parlour next, and then, who knows? I
might give Calvin a call before I leave, though, and suggest he
looks out for him for the Stud Farm - there are some couples,
I'd think, who'd be prepared to pay a premium price for marine
semen."



As usual Billy had spoken about Mitch just as if he were an
animal, with no views on the subject.  Even if Mitch hated it
all, though, there was nothing he could do about it, so what did
his opinions matter?  I could understand the humiliation he
would feel standing there with a "sale" sign around his neck and
the men lining up to buy time up his ass.  But I could only
imagine how he would feel if he did go to the Stud Farm and knew
that his proud marine background was being used as a sales aid
for his semen!  



Billy's mood had changed now, though.  "Once more, to wish me
luck, Steve!", he commanded, as he pulled out of me, grabbed my
balls to guide me to turn me over on to my front, slapped my ass
roughly to indicate he wanted it up in the air, and fucked me in
his usual quick, hard manner.



_______________



Carl came back from Little Rock, and we had dinner together as
usual.  Straight after dinner he and Billy went to bed, and I
was told to wrap myself in a blanket and sleep on the floor,
like in the old days.  As I lay there I could hear Carl and
Billy murmuring, laughing, becoming serious, then laughing
again, all interspersed with the constant sounds of sex - the
little kissing noises, the slap of one piece of male flesh on
another, that special noise that two sweaty bodies make as they
pull apart from each other, and the grunts, groans, and sighs of
extreme sexual arousal and fulfilment.



We ate breakfast in silence that morning, and Billy then changed
into a T-shirt and jeans, zipped up his bags, and we all went
out and got into the pickup to go into town to drop Billy at the
Bus Station.  This wasn't like the ride just those few weeks ago
when we had collected him and he was thrilling at the thought of
being on vacation and having a slave to use for his pleasure. He
was quiet and subdued, and Carl didn't say much either.



I we left alone in the pickup whilst Carl and Billy went off
into the bus station, but a couple of minutes Billy was back. He
climbed in, sat next to me and raised my arm to bury his nose
into my sweaty arm pit - even though I had showered that morning
,the sun was up and I was sweating in the heat of the cab.  I
felt his tongue flicking over the moist hairy depths of my pit,
and squirmed slightly.  Billy's hand was down at my groin, and
as he continued to breathe in my man smell, he jerked me off so
my cum flew and covered my thighs.  He came out from my pit,
rubbed his fingers in my cum, and held them under his nose.



"I just wanted to get one last scent of you, and one last feel
of your cock", he said.  "They say you always remember the first
time you fuck, and you were my first.  I really want to fix
everything about you in my memory, Steve - your scent, the shape
of your cock in my hand, the viscosity of your cum - everything.
But I've got to go - the bus was loading when I came back to say
goodbye."



And with that, he ran back in to the Bus Station.



Carl came out about five minutes later, and there was something
strange about him - it was only when I looked closely and saw
his eyes were kind of puffy that I realised he must have been
crying, and had gone into the men's room to wash his face before
he came out to me.



"OK, off we go!", he said.



I thought we would drive out to the site, but instead he crossed
town and about ten minutes later we drove into the loading bay
area at the back of the Auction House.



Getting out of the pickup, he went to the goods-inwards clerk
standing there and I heard him say "I'm turning in the contract
on this slave.  He's performed well, and there's no problem with
him.  But he's surplus to my requirements now".



Then coming over to the pickup, he opened the door for me to get
out.  He looked at me, up and down, taking in my whole body, and
said "Sorry, Steve.  I don't need you any more.", and turned to
go.



I was about to walk over to the goods-inwards clerk, as there
was nothing else I could do, when he  turned, came back to me
and said "No, that's not right.  I do need you.  I need you next
to me in bed at night, I need your body around the place to give
me something to look at.  I need you to help me work.   If
things were different, we wouldn't be here and you and I would
be looking forward to another night's passion.  But the thing
is, Steve, I just can't afford you - owning a slave just isn't
for the ordinary working guy.  You need to be rich, like Jase
and my brothers.  So it has to be goodbye."



I could see it had cost him a lot to say this, and he then
amazed me by throwing his arms around me, and hugging me tight,
before getting back into his pickup and driving off with a
squeal of tyres.





BACK AT THE AUCTION





There was nothing for it, so I turned, mounted the steps at the
end of the loading platform, and presented myself to the
goods-inwards supervisor.  He read my Programme number from the
tattoo on my arm, keyed it into a PC, read a few of my details,
then motioned me over towards the wall.



I stood there wondering what was going to happen, when he took
my left wrist and cuffed it to a chain coming out of a slot in
the wall.  Returning to his PC, he keyed something in, and the
next moment the chain started to pull me forwards.  "Since you
were here last, we've mechanised", he shouted.  "This new system
takes you through all the processing stages without us needing
to involve guards."



Held helplessly by my wrist, I had no option but to move along.
I felt just like a side of meat moving through a meat packing
plant totally automatically- and, I suppose, to those who ran
the Programme, that's just what I was - a side of man meat, to
be processed quickly and efficiently. But perhaps it was another
way of enforcing our humiliation, too: it's one thing to be
ordered around by guards - although you may not like the feeling
of servitude, at least it's one guy ordering you what to do. But
this was totally impersonal - they really had reduced the slaves
coming in to the Centre into mere pieces of meat in their
processing machine.



The chain led me on, off the loading bay, and into the building.
I started to move between two high walls, and suddenly there was
water spraying down on me from shower heads in the ceiling, and
up at me from jets in the floor.  The spray obviously contained
soap and some powerful detergent, because my skin started to
foam and itch a little.  The ingenuity of the builders of the
processing facility was at work, too, because as I moved down
along the passage, the chain went high up on the wall so my body
was stretched to its fullest to let the cleansing foam penetrate
to all parts, and then it plunged down to the floor so that in
order to keep moving along, my body had to bend double and my
ass crack was exposed to cleaning.



The soapy fluid eventually turned to clear water as I neared the
end of the passage, so that my body was rinsed clean.



There was a strange metal chair in the next room, that was
otherwise completely tiled - walls and floor - and the chain's
passage dragged me over to it, then as the chain went down into
the floor, my wrist was pulled down onto the tiles so that the
only comfortable thing to do was to sit on the chair.   In front
of me an illuminated sign said "Stage 1 : Restraint.  Slave will
put his free wrist on the chair arm and his legs against the
chair legs." 



I did nothing, and the sign started to flash, and a klaxon
sounded in time t the pulse of the sign, to give additional
emphasis to it.  I still did nothing, and the next moment a jolt
of electricity through the chain and chair caused me to scream
with pain.  The klaxon, which had stopped momentarily, started
to pulse again, and I knew that if I did not obey the sign, I'd
be shocked again.  So I did as the sign said, and at once clamps
came out of the chair to hold my remaining free wrist, and my
ankles.  I was almost completely immobile.



The klaxon stopped, and the sign changed to "Stage 2:
Penetration".



Under my backside something moved - a thing was emerging from
the seat of the chair, and trying to go up my ass.  I moved up
as best I could, as I was restrained, and there between my legs
I could just glimpse a shiny stainless steel tube, with a
rounded end, rising slowly from the seat of the chair.
Desperately I tried to force my body upwards, but it was no good
- eventually the pipe touched my ass hole, and continued on
upwards.  The tip was cold at first, but as it went slowly into
me, it warmed.  I could see there was no escape, and it was a
strain pushing out of the chair with my muscles in spasm, so I
slowly sank back into the seat letting the tube up into my ass
as I went.  After all, it was much smaller than either Seb's,
Carl's or Billy's cock, so it was very easy to accommodate.



After a couple of minutes, the sign blinked out and came on
again with "Stage 3:  Flush 1"



I felt water flowing from the tube up into my guts.  It went on
and on, and I could not of course stop it.  I could see my
stomach distending, and started to be in mild pain.  A mild pain
that soon turned to quite severe pain.  Then the tube retracted,
and the sign now read "Stage 4: Evacuate 1".



I was desperate, my guts were on fire, and I simply couldn't
hold the contents of my bowels in.  Still sitting, and
desperately afraid of what would happen if I crapped in that
position, I anyway could do nothing to prevent from the contents
of my ass being forced out under incredible pressure.  Then I
realised that here was a hole in the seat of the chair, and the
noisome mixture of water and my crap simply went down a drain
underneath it.



"Stage 5: Flush 2" was a repeat of the tube rising again, topump
more water inside me, followed of course by "Stage 6: Evacuate
2".



And so it went on, until I had been flushed out four times in
all.  This was an automatic giver of enemas!  How many slaves
did they have to process to make it worth while to invest in
this automatic machine, I wondered, rather than just do it the
conventional way with a slave pushing the tube up your ass?
Again, though, perhaps it we just designed to add to the feeling
of total helplessness and humiliation, as your body was
processed totally impersonally.



After the fourth evacuation, when I could tell from the smell
that I must be clean inside, the clamps holding me to the chair
sprang open, the chain started moving, again, and I was led into
the next room.



There actually was a man in here!  The chain went up the wall
and across the ceiling, and I was led into the centre of the
room, stretched upright by my cuffed wrist.  The man came over,
wheeling a little trolley behind him containing a number of
instruments and jars, and I saw he had a stethoscope around his
neck, which he proceeded to use to listen to my breathing.  Then
he took a blood pressure kit off the trolley and took my blood
pressure.



Holding a small bottle to my cock, he said his first word:
"Piss".



I couldn't start immediately, because, I'm ashamed to relate,
whilst I'd been in the showers I had used the opportunity of
being alone and covered in sheets of water to relieve myself- I
had almost nothing left to give.



"Look, slave", the doctor said, "I have to do a lot of you today
and I only get three minutes per body on average, and I don't
like being held up.  Either you piss right this instant, or I'll
simply catheterise you".



Faced with that, I strained as hard as I could, and I just
managed to fill his little bottle.  This was a new level of
degradation for me - the last time I was in the Auction House I
had had to give a urine sample but at least I had been able to
hold the bottle myself - having a doctor hold your cock whilst
you piss really takes away every shred of humanity from you.  



"The sooner they get the new devices, the sooner I'll like it",
the doctor muttered under his breath. "Once they have perfected
the automatic catheteriser, I can do the rest of the stuff
whilst the machine takes the piss out of them!".



Without saying a word, without even asking, the doctor had now
thumbed my foreskin back and was inspecting my cock head and the
flange minutely.  



"Good.  No signs of problems here."



He went over to a PC, and came back, saying "And according to
your processing instructions, I don't have to circumcise you at
least not at this stage."



He continued to examine the shaft of my cock, and finally
grunted "I see your master was lenient and you did not have to
wear the cock bar - the piercing through your cock has
completely sealed up.  We're both lucky - up until two weeks ago
I would have had to waste time drilling another hole through
you, but they've just changed the rules:  slaves no longer get
fitted with cock bars automatically, only if their buyers order
it as part of post-sales delivery options.  And most of them
these days seem to be following the fashion for a big chunky PA,
rather than a cock bar."



He then started to run his hand up and down my cock, and I
realised he was jerking me off.  It was completely impersonal,
and he simply carried on until I had shot a load into another of
his small bottles.



He wiped my cock head - rather roughly - with a surgical wipe,
then rolled each of my nipples between his fingers, looking at
them closely, and examined my ear lobes in detail.  He went back
to his PC, looked at something on the screen, and said "You're
just as you should be - no nipple piercing or ear rings.  The
records are up to date."



He keyed something in, and the chain again started into motion
and led me out of the room - this surely was automating medical
exams to the highest degree:  I guessed he could do all of that
in three minutes if he had to, providing the slave didn't have a
problem, and took a long time to cum!.



On we went, down corridors in the Auction House, until I was led
in through another door with another chair in the middle of the
room.  I sat on this, as I was led over to it by my wrist, but
there was no flashing sign here - instead, a  naked slave came
in and proceeded to give me a proper slave haircut - very short,
with hard edged around my neck and ears.  He said "Arms up,
mate", and clipped my armpit hair down to the regulation half
inch (Carl had allowed it to grow, as he thought it was sexier
to have proper hair in your pits as it holds the male scent
better).



Then "Bend over, mate, and grip your ankles - you know what I
need to do now", and I soon felt the cold edges of a clipper and
a razor trim the stubble from around my ass (Carl did of course
require me to shave my ass normally, as he didn't like fucking
trough a forest of hair).



The slave then dispassionately hefted my balls, and rolled them
around in his hand as he made sure they were completely smooth
and devoid of hair.  A final quick trip with the clippers
restored my pubic hair, which again Carl had allowed me to grow,
back to a small, neatly clipped triangle just above my cock.



"That's you done, mate", the slave said. "Another slave back
into show room condition, trimmed properly to conform to the
house rules!"



It was just as if I was a poodle or some other pet dog, being
prepared for a show by its handler. Neatly trimmed and clipped,
to "the regulations."



He went out, and the chain started up to drag me on through the
building.  



The last room  we carpeted - I was surprised to feel it under my
toes - and the walls were padded.  After the chain had led me
in, the door swung closed and a voice from a loudspeaker said
"Automated test of the tracking device and embedded pain
controller.  Brace yourself, slave - pain test will commence in
five seconds." 



None of my masters had used the pain device on me, and I had
almost forgotten about the thing embedded in my gut.  But the
next moment I was writhing on the floor, shrieking with pain, as
it hit me.



The loudspeaker said "Test concluded satisfactorily."

 

My journey ended outside the large circular "viewing cage" that
I remembered, about 10 metres in diameter, made of floor to
ceiling bars. It was quite full of naked slaves already, and the
guard at the door read my Programme number, entered it into his
PC, then  unlocked my manacle, opened the door, and pushed me in.



IN THE CAGE 



The last time I had been auctioned there had only been about 20
slaves for sale, and most of these were "renewals" for slaves
whose monthly hire was up being sold on to new contracts.   Only
a few had been "novices", newly brought here from the prison
system.  But this time it was different - looking around and
counting the heavily tanned bodies like my own, I could only see
about eight of us "renewals", and there must have been at least
30 "novices".



One of the other renewals must have recognised me as a fellow
old-timer, as he came up and said "This new crop get it cushy,
don't they?"



Starting to look more closely at the naked bodies of the
"novices", I could see what he meant.  They had all been branded
on their asses with the US Prison Department seal, of course,
and all their arms were tattooed with their Programme serial
number.  But unlike us, their backs, their pecs, and their
bellies did not carry the enormous tattoos proclaiming
"Arkansas" and this year's date, or their name after the word
"slave".  I'd already heard that cock bars were now no longer
fitted (thank goodness!), but I now also saw that only us
old-timers had the  big nose rings - the novices all had septums
that were not even pierced.



The other slave continued "This is all in response to the
popularity of the Programme.  When you and I were put on it, it
was for something serious - mine's armed robbery.  But now
they're sentencing men to short terms on the Programme for quite
ordinary things - drunk and disorderly, possession of drugs,
non-payment of parking fines, and so on:  they saw that it
worked in preventing repeat offences for us hard cases, and they
thought it would be a good idea to start to make an inroad into
less serious crimes, too".  



"Most of these guys are only here for a 'short sharp shock'
three months as a slave is common, I believe.  Although they'll
carry the brand on their ass for life, most people won't ever
see it as these guys will wear shorts and so on, even when
they're swimming, and they'll be careful when using communal
changing rooms at the gym.  And they can have their Programme
number incorporated into some sort of new tattoo on their arms
after all, those 'bands' around the biceps are getting quite
popular.  But there were a lot of complaints about the big
tattoos across the back, and the ones on the pecs and belly:
girlfriends, parents, and so on, were up in arms when their
loved ones came back scarred for life like that.  If you're a
man, after all, your mom isn't going to see a brand on your ass,
but she may notice a tattoo across your back when you sunbathe!
."



He glanced down at my belly, and said "So, Steve, what do you
think you'll have next?"



I glanced at his name, there on his flat stomach just above his
nice, proportioned cock that was carried high on his balls, an
replied "Well, Tony, I'm afraid it's a sex parlour or pain
palace for me this time - I've avoided it until now, but I don't
think I can escape one or the other again."



"Never mind, Steve.  I've just done three months in a sex
parlour.  Providing you close your eyes and don't look at the
clients' bodies, it's not too bad!  At least you get to be
fucked regularly, and to fuck quite a lot.  There's one guy I
met in here before he was auctioned last week who was part of a
pony team on some rich guy's plantation, and he was totally
denied sex:  he was never even allowed to jerk off, as the
master used to enjoy seeing his ponies hard most of the time,
and monitored how many times a month they had wet dreams!"



We carried on discussing our lives as slaves, and then there was
a sort of disturbance near the door.  Three very young guys came
in, and they were obviously all together.  They couldn't have
been more than 19, and all had reasonably athletic bodies.  They
were all quite white, and were standing their trying to cover
their cocks with their hands.  A lot of us laughed when we saw
their efforts, as we knew how futile it would be at the
pre-auction inspection!



Remembering how I had felt when I was a novice and it was all
new to me, I went over to them to try to reassure them.  But the
sight of my massive body, darkly tanned, with my nose ring
glinting in the overhead lights and my tattoos all over my
torso, made them cower even more.



"Hey, guys, what are you in for?", I asked.



Hearing a friendly tone in my voice, one said "Under age
drinking on campus, sir!  We've all got three months 

on this special Programme."



I laughed, told them not to cll me "sir", then explained what
was likely to be in store for them on "the Programme"!  



"Well, at least you won't get any alcohol", I said, "But I think
you'll get to drink a lot of stuff you have probably never
tasted before.  Do you all suck cock?"



They looked amazed.  "No, of course not!  We're not faggots!",
one said.



"Look, bud, let me put you wise to one thing.  Most of the men
that buy you here want you for one thing only - sex.  Especially
young lads like you, with firm bodies.  So whether you're
'faggots' or not doesn't come into it - you'll be drinking a lot
of cum, and getting shafted a lot up your asses.  Still, it
might show you college boys what the real world's like -  I bet
your parents voted to introduce 'the Programme' and thought it
was a jolly good idea to turn criminals into slaves!"



We chatted a bit more, and I told them some of the things that
had been done to me, and to my friends, and of the things I was
expecting to happen on my next contract.  They ultimately went
away and sat down against the bars of the cage, and their
'leader' sat in the middle and put his arms protectively around
his companions on either side.  I wondered if anyone would buy
them all together - if they were lucky, they might all get
initiated properly into sex at the same time, and would have a
bond that would last them for the rest of their lives after
their three months slavery.  Such a shared experience at 19
would tend to make them friends for life.



But we couldn't just go on talking all day - prospective buyers
were constantly prowling around outside the cage, and the guards
called for one or other of us to go up to the bars for a closer
inspection.  I was frequently "at the bar", because a lot of the
"suits" could see that I was an experienced slave, with a
magnificent body.  Accessing the PC near the gate, they soon
ascertained that I hadn't been in a sex parlour or a pain palace
yet, and so would be "fresh meat" for their clients who liked a
steady turnover of fresh bodies for their pleasures.
Consequently my cock was fondled, my balls hefted, my nipples
tweaked, and my ass hole examined as I bent down ass to the
bars, many times.  As if having these intimate examinations made
by "the suits" wasn't humiliating enough, a lot of the "novice"
slaves tended to cluster around and try to understand what was
going on. 



________________



There were so many naked bodies  crowded into the cage, that big
though it was it wasn't for a couple of hours that I saw another
"old timer" on the other side.  I went over, and saw a body
sitting with his back to the bars, his shoulders hunched up with
his head on his drawn-up knees, and a large cock and big balls
hanging down between long, muscular thighs.  Even before I got
there, I felt I recognised the cock and balls - and when I was
kneeling in front of him and saw the black, wiry hair and the
shading of hair over most of his body, I knew it was Mitch!



"Hey, Mitch, old buddy!", I exclaimed, dropping to one knew and
shaking him by the shoulder.



There we no response, so I nudged him again "Mitch - it's Steve,
from the Road Gang!"



Mitch raised his head and looked at me, but he didn't seem to
recognise me.  He just let his head sag forward again, on to his
knees.



"Mitch!  What's the matter, buddy?"



But I really couldn't get a response.  It's as if his mind was
no longer functioning properly.  



Just then a "suit" came up and shouted at Mitch to "display".
When there was absolutely no response from Mitch, he repeated
the order, saying "Experienced slaves like you should know what
'display' means!   Guard....!"



The guard came over and prodded Mitch with his cattle prod.  The
effect of the stunning current on Mitch was amazing - he leapt
to his feet, like a spring uncoiling, grabbed the bars and shook
them violently, as if trying to escape from the cage, whilst
screaming absolutely unintelligible things at he guard and the
prospective buyer.



The buyer went off, saying "Over the edge", and marking his
auction paper.



The only thing that seemed reasonable to do was to put my arms
around Mitch and hug him to me, rubbing the back of his head and
trying to calm him.  His cock was rock hard, and was ramming
into my belly as I held him - although I'm sure there was
nothing sexual in it.



He calmed down, and I felt hot tears on my naked shoulder as he
rested his head against me.



"Mitch - what's wrong, buddy?",  I asked in as quiet a voice as
I could.



"Mitch - come on.  Tell me about it.  A trouble shared is a
trouble halved."



"Mitch - what can I do to help you?"



But Mitch was silent, although he continued to cling to me, and
our two magnificent muscular bodies were pressed close as both
of us gripped the other in his arms.



We sank to the floor, and I sat with my back against the cage
wall.  Mitch half lay across my chest, his arms around my neck,
and his body pressed along mine.  After about fifteen minutes,
he said "Steve..... I can't bear it.  I can't go on."



"Yes, you can, Mitch.  You must.  Surely an ex-marine can bear
anything.  Did you ever give up when you were in the service?"



"No.  In basic training they break you, to get rid of your
civilian inhibitions and to get you to operate as a proper part
of your platoon.  But this is different.  I'm no longer a man. I
have no choice.  I've been fucked and fucked and fucked so many
times that I have lost count of the men who have been up my ass.
 I never even had one of my marine buddies, who I loved dearly
in a proper, marine, way, up my ass."  



And I can't bear pain any longer - me, who always held out when
we did the battle manoeuvres and who never gave in to the
'enemy' interrogators.   And it was a 16 year old lad who did
it.  A mere boy took away my pride, took away my manhood... took
away.... me!"



He was crying again, and I held him close.  I felt tears well up
inside me, for to see what Billy's night of fun had done to this
proud marine was truly dreadful.      



________________



We both slept - to the extent that sleep was possible in that
crowded cage, with the snorts, moans, and occasional crying
noises coming from the other slaves - holding each other close.



When we did wake, Mitch was still snuggled up close to me, and
we were lying so that our bellies were together and our cocks
touching.   Mitch had a huge erection, and as I shifted slightly
to prevent it jabbing into me painfully, I realised I was hard,
too.  He looked into my eyes.



"Steve.... ", he said hesitantly.  "Steve.... I've never had
anything other than forced sex.  In the pain palace, once I had
been broken, they raped me constantly, and I was even forced to
fuck clients who wanted fucking:  they tied me to a frame,
jerked me until I was stiff, then the guy would back his ass
onto my cock, or even sit on it if I was tied down on my back."



"Does the fact that your cock is hard mean you fancy me?", he
went on. "Are you a faggot?"



"No, Mitch.  I'm not a 'faggot'.  I'm just an ordinary guy. When
two guys who like each other, when they both admire each other's
bodies, when they know each other as you and I do following
those months on the road gang, it's perfectly natural for them
to want to have sex together.  There's absolutely nothing wrong
with two buddies wanting to experience each other fully.  Part
of the problem with modern society is probably caused by the
unnatural restraints that are placed on men bonding together, in
ways that thousands of years of evolution have fitted our bodies
to."



"I used to laugh at men who went with each other, but I have
come to realise that the physical affection that men can feel
for each other is one of the best things in life - I only wish I
had discovered the pleasure of my buddies, before I was seduced
into an early marriage in order just to satisfy my craving for
sex.  Knowing what I do now, I would have bonded with my buddies
for life, then taken a wife when I was older and more mature
just so that we could have kids."



"Surely you wanted to go with some of the guys in your platoon?
You must have had these feelings?"



"Yes, Steve, I did.  But I was a 'regular guy', and I had always
been taught that you respected your buddies, you worked with
them, you'd even lay down your life for them in battle.  But you
didn't touch them.  I can't believe that you and I are lying
here naked, having this sort of a conversation."



"You've had a really rough time, Mitch.  Those old, fat bastards
who stuffed their cocks up your ass just used you as a sexual
object.  That wasn't the sort of feelings I'm talking about.
That wasn't proper sex between men - the sort where each partner
gets from it exactly what he wants.  They may have been
satisfied, but you hated it.  You're blaming yourself for being
'broken' by a 16 year old lad in the pain palace, but that's
nothing to be ashamed of - I heard that you had been there for
longer than any of the other slaves they had ever had before,
before you broke.  And breaking was inevitable, you know - if it
wasn't that lad, it would have been someone else, sooner or
later - we all have our thresholds of intolerable pain, however
high some of them may be.  In your case, being an ex-marine,
that threshold was so high that when you did cross it especially
with the marine's ethos of 'holding out even when all hope is
lost' - you had absolutely nothing left in reserve.  And that
breaking was the start of all those degrading and humiliating
sexual experiences from the men who had only just been waiting
for you to be broken.  No wonder you're all mixed up!"



"But Steve, I can't tolerate even the slightest pain now.  I had
that cattle prod a couple of times before when we were last
here, and as you know I was whipped almost constantly on the
road gang - especially when I took the whippings for young Dave.
And basically although they hurt like hell at the time, I just
forgot them.  But now the mildest whipping, the gentlest squeeze
of my balls, a finger nail pressed into my nipple - they all
bring that terrible night flooding back; and you saw what
happened when they used the cattle prod on me - I expect to be
felled by the shock, but not to howl like an animal with the
pain and then to cry like a kid!"



"Mitch, don't do yourself down.  We all hurt when we're whipped
and beaten, and we certainly scream when the cattle prod is used
on us.   Try to think of yourself as a normal guy, not as some
superman."



I put my hand under  his chin, lifted his face slowly towards
mine, and kissed him gently on the lips. He turned his face
away, and I thought he was still trying to reconcile his
lifelong views of what was "right" between buddies and his
natural inclinations, so I didn't force it.  Instead, I nuzzled
his ear, and kissed that incredibly warm, sensitive space on the
neck just underneath the ear.  I reached down to make my own
erect cock more comfortable between our bodies, and
accidentally, without planning it, I also touched Mitch's.



He gave a little moan of pleasure, and turned his face back
towards me, so I kissed him again.  This time he didn't turn
away, so I probed at his lips with my tongue, and eventually he
parted his lips slightly so my tongue could slide in.   I probed
all around his lips, on the inside and outside, then thrust
deeper, letting my tongue slide over his and then, as  he
started to respond, I pushed deeper so his mouth opened fully
and our breaths intermingled as we had an orgy of deep tongue
play.



I could feel his cock jerking against my belly, and I knew mine
was doing the same from the exquisite sensations I was receiving
from my cock head as my foreskin had long since retracted.  I
reached down, and did something that all guys like when they're
together - I pushed our cocks side to side so that the tips were
in each others' clipped pubic hair, then circled both with my
hand and started a side-by-side, mutual jerk-off.



Mitch stated to move his body up and down, as if he was trying
to escape the rhythm of my hand as it stroked his cock, but his
mouth remained glued to mine.  I put my other arm around his
back, and moved my legs across his thighs - none of this would
restrain him if he wanted to move, of course, but it makes a guy
feel good to be held close to his lover's body when they're
having sex.  That's why being fucked on your back is so much
better than having your buddy do you "doggy fashion" - you can
grip his body and ass with your thighs and feet as he pushes in
and out:  I think the experience is heightened for both of you.



Mitch had started to make little moaning noises above the in and
out sounds of our deep breathing, and I thought he was about to
cum.  So I broke contact with his mouth and whispered gently
into his ear:



"Is this OK, Mitch?"



He didn't answer - just pushed his mouth back on to mine.  Then
suddenly my hand was covered in cum as he shot all over me, and
my crotch.  I continued to jerk us, and a couple of strokes
later his cum was intermingled with mine as I climaxed too.



We lay glued together for several minutes whilst we recovered,
then I gently pushed him away from me and rolled him over so he
was lying on his back.  I knelt beside him, and slowly and
sensuously cleaned his cock and his clipped pubic hairs of our
cum with the tip of my tongue, sucking it up into my mouth as I
went.



I moved my position so I was over his head, and kissed him
again.  As his tongue came into my mouth, he tasted the cum
still nestling there, and pulled away.  He sat up, and looked at
me.



"What's the matter, Mitch?", I asked gently.  "Surely you've
tasted cum before?  Like almost every guy I know, you've surely
lapped up your own when you didn't have access to a jerk-off
cloth, or to toilet tissue?  So what's wrong with tasting the
wonderful intermingling of our juices following that fantastic
jerk off?  When you and another guy have just jerked off
together, sharing each other's cum in a hot, wet kiss is one of
the most beautiful things you can do.  Come on - try again kiss
me."



To my astonishment, Mitch didn't kiss me immediately, but pushed
me to the floor, knelt over and licked the cum from my cock and
from my pubes.  Then he came up, and kissed me.



It seemed to me that introducing Mitch to gentle, loving sex had
"tamed the beast" in him.  It was almost like he was a new man,
so calm and confident after the empty shell he had been an hour
ago.  It's a pity that more men don't learn at an early age what
joyous, sensual sex with a man can do for you - I'm sure there
would be a lot less problems in the world.  And a lot less
criminals.  And far fewer guys on the Arkansas Programme!



We were both covered in sweat after all of this, and stank of
male pleasure, but there was nothing we could do about it as
there were no showers or any means of washing at all in the bare
cage - if only Mitch and I could have showered together, and
felt each other's hard bodies as our soapy hands glided over
them and explored all our private cracks and crevices:  that's
another  part of sex with a buddy that's often overlooked - all
too often you just get up and go home.  



As we looked around, we could tell that most of the other guys
in the cage had been watching us, mostly enviously when they saw
how much pleasure we had both had.  But I heard one of the young
college lads say to the others "Gross!".



In a flash, Mitch had leapt to his feet, took two steps across
the cage, and slapped the young guy on the side of his head so
hard that he fell over on to his back.  Mitch is a big, powerful
guy, and an open handed slap with his arm extended and all the
power of his shoulders behind it is enough to fell any man, let
alone a relatively puny college kid.  



The lad there, feebly kicking his legs.   Mitch stood over him
and was about to stomp down with his work-hardened foot into the
guy's crotch, but I had seen this and had leapt, too.  Although
too late to stop the slap, I did manage to restrain Mitch from
stomping the lad.



"Either of you two others got any comment?", Mitch snapped to
the two other college boys.



"Come on, Mitch, leave them alone!", I whispered as I tugged at
his arm to move him back. "Remember what you were like at that
age - if you'd seen two naked studs having public sex, what
would you have thought?  Take pity on these poor guys - here
they are, all naked, in a cage of other naked men, about to be
sold. They can see that they're weak and inadequate compared to
most of us guys, whereas with their clothes on, at college,
they're used to feeling superior to most of the rest of the
world. And they're scared!



We at least know what's likely to be in store for us, and they
must be imagining all sorts of disasters for themselves- they're
probably so scared they're overwrought.  Just leave it. I don't
think the lad meant anything by it.  If he was in a bar,
drinking, and in his clothes, and you and I had been made to
perform as some sort of cabaret, he would probably have cheered
and whistled encouragement.  He's probably only tying to appear
disapproving in order to try to bolster his confidence stripped
naked like that, with his balls shaved, it's probably all
disappeared."



I could feel almost stop straining as I held on to him, and I
thought he was going to calm down and the incident would pass I
thought we might even try to make amends to the guy later, and
perhaps introduce them all to man sex in a non-threatening way,
so that their subsequent rapes and forced milkings wouldn't put
them off it for life..



But the guard had seen this incident, and a few moments later
several of them burst into the area around the cage.  Shouting
commands they isolated Mitch against the bars, then pushed him
around towards the door with their cattle prods. 



"Leave him alone!  He we provoked!", I shouted, and tried to
stop him being herded along.



The next minute I was writhing on the floor as one of the guards
discharged his cattle prod into the small of my back.  Spit was
drooling from my mouth.  I had lost control of my bladder  with
the shock and the pain, and I was lying in a big puddle of my
own piss.



The guards by then had got Mitch to the gate, and had pulled his
arms behind his back and cuffed him.  They then came into the
cage, motioning all the other naked slaves back with their
cattle prods, hauled me to my feet, and cuffed my hands behind
my back, too.  "Take that one along with the very feisty one. He
looks like a trouble maker as well", the guards leader commanded.



Mitch and I were taken into another room, where there was a
smaller cage in the corner.  The guards unlocked the gate, and
pushed us both in.  The cage was only about five feet square,
and with two big muscular men in it there was absolutely no
spare room - we were almost pressed up against each other when
we were both standing up, and when the guards turned out the
lights and closed the door to the room so we were in total
darkness and it was apparent that that was where we were going
to spend the night, we had a big problem:  neither one of us
could lie down properly stretched out, and both of us certainly
couldn't!



We did manage to curl our bodies around each other at last, and
I had the delicious sensation of Mitch "spooned" warmly against
my back, with his cock lying in my ass crack.  We decided that
making two slaves crush into this tiny space was another way of
humiliating us - there was no way that we could avoid being
acutely aware of the sex organs  of the other as we were forced
into such intimate contact.  Their plan misfired in our case,
though, as we were desperate to feel each other's bodies.



I felt down for Mitch's cock with my cuffed hands, and by
wriggling around, managed to cradle it in my palm.  Mitch
"mmmddd" with pleasure as he responded to my touch.  I would
have gladly had him up my ass there and then, but in the small
confines of the cage it was just not possible.  For the rest of
the night we had to move and turn, to try to get as comfortable
as possible, with sometimes me being able to hold Mitch's cock,
and sometimes him being able to hold mine.



"It's a fucking crime, Steve", Mitch said towards morning.  
"Just as I discover what joy there is in the body of a real
buddy, they're going to tear us apart.  You'll be sold to a sex
parlour or pain palace, and I'll be out working in the fields on
some farm, or pulling a delivery cart, or something.  We may
never meet again....   They shouldn't have the right to make men
bend to their will in this way, to break up couples and spoil
perfect friendships."



"Mitch, don't worry.  I'm sure we're going to meet again one
day. Promise me you'll be calm and won't lose your temper again
- ever - whether with a master or a slave.  You know, don't you,
that on the Programme, as the ultimate sanction, they can take a
slave's balls if a judge decides that that's the only way the
slave can be calmed sufficiently to enable him to continue in
servitude?  I'd hate you to end up as a eunuch!"



"Look - even if we are separated and we never bump into each
other again at the Auction House or working for the same master,
our sentences will end one day.  Mine's 15 years, how long's
yours?"



"The Marines put me into the Programme for eight years,
following my insubordination.  When I get off  the Programme, I
still have to serve out the remainder of my time in the corps I
have another two years to go.  So I'll be totally free in 10".



"Promise me this, then, Mitch:  keep your cool, so you survive
slavery with your balls still on you.  Then just be a normal
soldier so they don't have the excuse to put you back in the
Programme, and they have to discharge you - honourably - at the
end of your time.  You've then got five years to make some money
and come and buy my contract.  Or, if you can't do that, you can
at least be waiting here for me in 15 years time!"



I think we both knew these plans were unrealistic - neither of
us expected to survive the Programme, because we would either be
worked to death, or we would lose our minds and really become
the mindless animals that slave training tried to turn you into,
simply working away without reason and totally obeying every
order given to us without question.  After all, what did the
Government imagine could possibly happen to a slave after 15
years of servitude, that normally involved both extreme physical
and sexual abuse?  Could such a slave ever return to normal
society?   My guess is that the "short termers" went back after
a few months, having well and truly learned their lesson, but us
"long termers" would never emerge from the Programme at all.
Some task would be found in a mine, or a dangerous factory, or
whatever, where the work itself, or work-related accidents,
would conveniently release us from our slavery.



We lay there, and we did sleep a bit, but we had no idea of what
time it was in the totally dark room.  But we both knew that the
day was moving on, because  Mitch needed to piss desperately - I
had already done so, involuntarily, in the big cage and I could
still smell my stale piss were it had dried on my body.  Mitch
said it must be morning, as he always needed a good long piss
first thing, and usually woke with a raging piss hard.  But no
one came - we were just left there.  After what seemed like
hours, Mitch groaned "Sorry, Steve", and I felt a warm stream
jet into the middle of my back and trickle over my ass,  as
Mitch simply had to let go.



He cut himself off in mid flow - a painful thing to do, as we
all know - to try to be considerate but I told him to carry on
and empty himself completely.  We were both lying in his piss
anyway now, and what difference would it make if there was a
whole lot more?   I think this was another "planned" degradation
for slaves:  the guards must have been watching with a concealed
I-R camera, because almost as soon as Mitch had finished they
came in and unlocked the cage.  It wasn't so bad, with Mitch and
I together in his piss, but imagine how it would have been if
two slaves had been thrown together in that cage who did not
know each other.



The guards wrinkled their noses, and said "Disgusting animals!
They not only piss on the floor, they lie in it and get it all
over themselves!".



I felt Mitch tense, and he was about to shout at them to ask
them  what they expected us to do, but I stepped backwards onto
his foot, which caused him to "start" suddenly, and look at me.
I gave a shake of my head, and he remembered that he wasn't to
be provoked.     



"It's time for the Auction, boys", the guards said with relish.  



We were led out into the auction hall, and through all the other
slaves who were chained in place waiting for the buyer's
inspection before they were taken to the block.  All were
chained in the way I remembered from last time - their hands
behind their heads, fastened with cuffs to a neck collar, and
one ankle cuffed to a short chain that was held by a concealed
bolt in the luxurious carpet.  The slaves were dotted around the
room, so that buyers could walk freely around between them,
examine them with plenty of room for manoeuvre, and discuss
their fine points and possible prices with colleagues without
fear of being overheard by other traders.  Naked slaves from the
Auction House, "dressed" as waiters with just a black bow tie
around their necks as an adornment, were circulating holding
trays of drinks and canapés. 



As we walked through, I saw the three college boys had,
unusually, been chained in a tight group.  The guards commented
that as usual, rich college kids got special treatment - they
were going to be auctioned as one lot, so they would serve out
their time together.  His friend stopped us, went over, and gave
each in turn  a humiliating inspection of their cocks, balls,
and asses.  He cupped their balls in his hands and rolled the
balls together in their sacs until the guy gasped with pain, and
then jerked their cocks until they almost climaxed, and were
left standing there with drops of pre-cum coming out of their
piss slits.  And of course he made them bend over in turn, and
fingered their asses, making each of the boys lick his fingers
clean after it had been up his companion's ass.  



The boys had started to protest when he began to feel the first
one, but a quick slap on the boy's naked ass had soon silenced
him.  After that, they had just stood there and taken it almost
as a real man would - after all, it's not so bad to have another
guy explore your body if you're reasonably well hung with at
least a moderately sized cock.  But they were all blushing
furiously by the end of his little "inspection", and I thought
that at least one of them might start crying.  



"At least they've had one good inspection", the guard said. "So
even if their families' and rich friends have got tame dealers
in here to buy them, they'll at least have had a taste of what
it's like to be a slave, and have your physique examined
properly by a real judge of man flesh." 



I thought Mitch and I would have been showered before being
taken to be tethered, and seeing all these clean slave bodies
around us made us each acutely aware of the fact that we were
streaked with dried piss, and stank. I know that good male sweat
is one of the sweetest smells in the world, and taking deep
draughts from your buddy's pits, or his crotch, when he's been
labouring hard is a real turn-on:  nature didn't put all those
pheromone-producing glands there for nothing, after all.   I
particularly like the extra powerfully strong male smell when
you first push your nose into your buddy's crotch, where the
scent glands are most concentrated, and this area often has a
piss-stink to it, too - even the most fastidious guy sometimes
leaves a few drops to leak from his cock because he doesn't
spend the time he should to shake himself fully after pissing,
and it gets trapped in his pubic hair and dries.  



However this was different - the sweat from our over night
exertions had dried on us and was becoming rank and stale, my
piss was 24  hours old, and there weren't just a few drops of
Mitch's - we had both been covered in it.  Although our smell
was intoxicating to each of us as we had generated it and
revelled in it, I knew that to others we must appear to be
foul-smelling, dirty animals.   



However we were not to be chained in the centre of the room,
like the others.  Instead, we were taken to a corner of the room
where there was a large wooden object.



It was a double pillory, with two hand holes and a neck hole for
each of two slaves.  The cross beam was fixed securely on two
large 6" x 6" posts at either end, about four feet from the
ground.  The guards raised the top part of the cross beam, then
using their cattle prods to ensure we caused no trouble,
uncuffed us each in turn and gestured for us to place our wrists
and necks on the cross bar.  They put us on opposite sides of
the beam, so that I could see Mitch's body and he could see mine
if we raised out heads from the "straight forward" position we
were held in, looking down at the floor.  



"Spread your legs", the guard commanded.  "No, Wider!" he
snapped when I only moved them about a metre apart, and slapped
at the inside of my thighs with the cattle prod (mercifully, not
powered on, but I got his meaning).  He then went down on his
knees and a wooden spacer pole was cuffed to each of my ankles.



I was completely helpless and felt more naked and humiliated
than I had ever done before during my time as a slave - at a
normal auction, even though your hands are cuffed to your
collar, you can at least move your body freely and could, for
example, shake your head if a fly landed on you.  But my head
and arms were completely immobile.  The height of the cross bar
meant my body was bent almost horizontal, and the stretcher bar
kept my legs painfully far apart.  It was actually extremely
uncomfortable to stand there like that for any length of time 
not that the guards or anyone else cared, of course, as we were
only slaves.  



I knew that my cock and balls were hanging down, completely
exposed, between my spread thighs, and that my ass hole was
conveniently placed for an easy inspection. With the spacer bar
in place I could not even close my legs and clench my ass cheeks
together if I found the attention to my asshole unwelcome. 



The guards reappeared with small signs on gold chains, and they
hung them around each of our necks so that they swung just below
the cross beam.  "It says you're dangerous, have attacked other
slaves and guards, and are not recommended for purchase by those
who require any kind of personal service", the guard explained.



My spirits began to rise - with that notice, surely no one would
buy me for a sex parlour or pain palace!  The guard continued,
however, "But here's the sting in the tail for you two buckos...
It also sets out the special offer we make to all new owners of
slaves like you:  Castration for an additional fee of only 200
dollars, and full penectomy for 100  dollars on top of that. Or,
as an , alternative, prosthetic balls following castration
fitted for 150 dollars, with the buyer's choice of size and
shape of testicle!".



"Whistle you were sleeping last night we got the local circuit
judge to sign 'dangerous slave' orders on you, so your master
can have your balls taken at any time he chooses.  You'd better
pray that you're not bought by someone who likes having eunuchs
in his service!"



  



He chortled to his friend "The last of these dangerous slaves I
saw auctioned here made a lot of money for his master.  He hired
the auction room from us, and those that wanted to stay on saw
the castration being done publicly, without anaesthetic. Tickets
were 50 bucks a time, and he easily covered his costs. And he
even got a better looking slave at the end of it - he had the
slave's quite low hanging balls replaced with prosthetics of
stainless steel, about the size of squash balls.  The slave was
a big guy like these two, and hadn't been bad looking before but
those two enormous balls swinging between his legs made him
something else - especially as the sheer weight of that much
steel stretched his sac paper thin, and made them hang down
almost to mid thigh!   You still see him around - losing his
balls did calmed him down just like it does stallions when they
become geldings, or bulls when they become bullocks, but I think
his master pays for hormone shots as his body is still tough and
muscular - it didn't go all soft and flabby like those gross fat
eunuchs you read about  in  'Arabian Nights' tales.  I suppose
it's easy to keep him totally shaved, as his beard and cock hair
doesn't grow any more".



I could see Mitch's body moving restlessly as he listened to
this fate that probably waited for us, and of course I was
desperately worried, too.  Could we really be gelded? Was it
sanctioned under the law - how could a judge agree to it?  Could
they really do this to a man?   "No" was of course the answer
they no longer castrate men anywhere in the civilised world,
even in Arkansas.  But of course we were not men - we were
slaves, and different rules applied. Arkansas farmers routinely
castrated their bulls, so why shouldn't Arkansas slave owners
castrate unruly slaves?



The doors of the Auction Hall opened, and the buyers started to
flow in.  As usual, there was a mixture of "suits", women in
expensive dresses, and a few stylishly but casually dressed
guys.  They took their time walking around the chained naked
slaves, pausing to examine any man that took their fancy - there
were the casual examinations of muscles in the chest and thighs
by the running of hands over the naked body, and the more
detailed examinations of cocks, balls, and ass holes.  It was
clear that all these buyers were experienced handlers of slaves,
as they never hesitated to touch the male flesh displayed so
enticingly in front of them:  the masters were not at all
concerned about performing these intimate manoeuvres with the
bodies of men they had never seen before.  Occasionally one of
the masters would summon over one of the slaves who belonged to
the Auction House and were roaming free around the hall, to jerk
off a slave to see how he performed when cumming - was he a real
shooter, or a man who dribbled a long, steady stream?  The
slaves were used to do this jerking off as the masters did not
want to have the possibility of getting cum on their hands, or
their clothes - it was another example of how everything was set
in the Auction House to make it easy for masters to inspect and
buy slaves without inconveniencing themselves.



Mitch and I, off in one corner, were largely ignored.  And as
the inspection proceeded, only a few potential buyers came past
us.  When they read the placard, most of these  were put off and
simply moved on - I guess 95% of the slaves were required for
"personal services" of some kind, so having two wild renegades
was a distinct turn off for them.  After all, even if you are
buying a slave as a field hand, or to work in your factory or
quarry, you may as well have one you would feel safe in fucking
if you happened to be horny and he was close at hand.  But some
masters were clearly interested in the possibility of men with
"spirit", and we had a number of examinations of our bodies.  



With my body almost horizontal and my legs stretched wide apart,
it was easy for a potential buyer to be able to inspect my ass
hole, and to see the size and shape of my cock and balls.
Several of them took the opportunity of feeling the tension in
my ass hole by inserting a finger, or two, or three, as I stood
there unable to move.  Then with my head largely immobile, it
was  easy for my potential new master to be able to inspect my
mouth, and he could have me clean his fingers of my ass juices
at the same time.



The buyers also liked seeing how I reacted to a little mild
pain, and my exposed, bent-over ass was slapped on numerous
occasions, often quite hard.  I could see that Mitch we taking
this very badly, and his body spasmed and he shuffled his legs
as best he could if the was spanked.  I knew it wasn't only the
pain that we doing this to Mitch - it was the humiliation, on
top of everything else, and the thought that there we a strong
possibility that we would both be losing our manhood.  All of
this was combining to make his situation even more intolerable
than it was usually.



One particular owner summoned one of the Auction House slaves
over and told him to fuck me - he wanted to make sure my ass was
fully experienced, before contemplating purchase.  This was
probably the lowest point to which I had ever been taken in my
life of slavery - normally when you're being fucked against your
will as s slave,  you have a small feeling deep inside you that
you could make it stop; if you dared to strike your master, he
would probably stop fucking you, even though worse punishments
would then await you.  But held in the pillory, my legs spread
wide, there was absolutely nothing I could do:  there was no way
I could break free, and all the shouting and swearing would not
stop the slave whose cock was penetrating my ass.  He in turn
knew that he had to do it, whatever I might want, if he was to
avoid punishment himself. Because the slave was around behind
me, I did not even get to see the face of the man that was
fucking me - surely that's the ultimate in being "used"?  How
degraded could we get - one slave fucking another, to avoid
punishment, to satisfy the curiosity of a master who might not
even choose to bid for the slave subsequently.  



This same master summoned another slave to carry out the same
test on Mitch, and I could see from the way that Mitch's body
responded with twitching and the motions of his restrained legs
that the experience was not going well.  There was a film of
sweat all over his back that I could see in front of my head,
and after it was over I thought I could hear Mitch making tiny
sobbing noises.  But worse was yet to come - as the potential
master began to walk away, he turned and slapped Mitch's balls
as they hung exposed between his thighs.  It was vicious, hard
slap - the sound of it was like a pistol shot, and it was
followed by a roar of sheer animal  pain from Mitch.  I also
heard that unmistakable sound of a stomach being voided, and I
guessed that Mitch must have vomited following this attack on
his balls - you know how it is if you've been accidentally
kicked in the balls during a game of football, or if a partner
in bed inadvertently traps your balls under his leg or
something: the pain is almost indescribable, and is enough to
make you spew up your guts.



Following the noise, and the mess ,there we as lot of activity
as slaves came to clean up, and I think the whole experience was
so off-putting that the buyers then stayed firmly away from our
corner - all except one couple, that it, who I realised were
re-visiting us, having carried out a thorough inspection of our
tackle earlier.



They stood there looking at us again, and one said to the other
"See, I told you.  They've both got a really good-sized sac, and
there's already permission to have them gelded as they have
attacked guards in here.  So I can carry out my plan, and not be
too much out of profit."



"Following the incident here, I doubt that they'll fetch much in
the auction, so I'll buy them, have them gelded, and then put
them straight back into the auction for next week's sale someone
will buy them, as field hands, or to drag a delivery cart, or
something - they're both big strong bucks, and the lack of their
balls won't matter for those type of jobs."



"That new blond slave boy I bought last week has such a fair
body and such pale blond hair that I want to show it off by some
sort of contrast - I had thought of having some chains fixed
around him permanently, but the idea of having him wear a tiny
G-string is even more erotic:  the thought of him peeling it
off, and the string rolling down his tight ass, is a real
turn-on.  I would have done it before, but I couldn't decide on
whether to go for translucent white silk for the pouch, or a
fine fish net, or just the conventional black leather.  They all
have their advantages and disadvantages, and some of them are a
bit hackneyed:  almost every slave boy you see who's allowed a G
has a silk or leather pouch, after all!"



"But having his pouch made out of the dressed and dyed skins of
slaves' balls sacs is so novel - every time he pulls it on and
tucks his cock and balls in, the feel of these slaves discarded
sacs against his own will remind him of his vulnerability.  He
will be constantly reminded of how easy it would be to have him
castrated and his sac used in the same way!  That would stop him
becoming uppity with me."



"I think we'll need both sacs, and they can be sewn together.
The slave's got a surprisingly big cock and balls for his
general physique, and even using these two sacs, it'll be a
tight fit to get them into a pouch.  Still, if they peep out a
bit at he sides, it's just that bit more erotic.  And I'll have
him totally shaved, so the top of the pouch can start at the top
of his cock without any unsightly pubic hair curling over the
edge."



"Who knows, we may set a new fashion!  I think that with proper
treatment, the leather from these slaves' sacs will be smoother
and finer than the finest Moroccan leather.  There should be an
interesting surface texture, too, as the folds of the sac skin
and the hair follicles will tend to show up even after tanning
and polishing."   



I listened in astonishment - this was more than I had ever
contemplated.  Not only were we going to be castrated, but this
was going to be done to fulfil an erotic whim of our new owner.
He didn't even want to own us - just trade us, having had our
balls taken along the way.   Our balls sacs were going to be
made into the tiny scrap of clothing that he allowed his boy sex
toy to wear.  I was beyond despair, I was beyond shock.  I now
knew that my body was nothing to these slave owners, it was just
something to give them value for their money, in whatever way
they chose.  I had been totally downgraded in the chain now,
from man, to slave, to sex object, to a mere provider of
superior fine grade leather to make erotic clothes for other
slaves.  



I knew I would never survive the Programme, never regain my
freedom  a system that could use a slave in this way. It was
never going to let that slave go free out into the streets again.



Mitch had been listening to this conversation too, of course,
and he started to scream and rage at the two men about how they
were never going to have his balls.  He was a marine, marines
were real men, and real men had balls.



Poor Mitch needed my support, so I started to abuse the men,
too, calling them inhuman bastards and every foul word I had
ever used in my life.  As our noise continued, two slaves came
over and simply fitted cock gags deep down into our throats,
securing them in with elastic straps around our heads.  With our
heads immobilised it was easy to get the gags in against our
will - they simply held our noses until we had to open our
mouths slightly, then inserted the end of the cock between our
teeth, and hit it hard, to ram it home. We had to let it in, to
avoid breaking our teeth.  Without the ability to move your
hands or use your body to defend yourself, it's surprising how
easy it is to do anything you want to a man's head.  All we
could do was buck and squirm, to the best of our ability, as
much as our total restraints allowed.  It showed the total
futility and helplessness of our plight.



We both did quieten eventually, of course, as it's too much of
an effort to try to keep shouting through a big cock gag, and
when you're in the stocks it's a real effort anyway just to keep
your head pointing upwards, rather than looking down at the
floor.   I felt the sweat that had been pouring off me drying in
the air conditioning, and I was chilled as my water-drenched
body was cooled by the evaporation.    



Then I sensed someone standing in front of me, and strong
fingers went under my chin and lifted my head up.  "Hhhmmm... 
Handsome face", the man said to his companion.  Let's go and
look at his body.", and they went around to the other side of
the stocks and I felt my tackle and ass being examined
thoroughly in the way to which I was well accustomed.



The two men standing there were both dressed in incredibly fine,
subtle black leather - tight leather trousers clearly showed the
outline of their cocks, and leather waistcoats totally open
revealed muscular, tanned, hairy chests.  Studded belts around
their waists, and black leather boots completed their outfits,
and made them look especially menacing.  Each of them had three
whips hanging from their belts, and so I knew they must be whip
masters or slave trainers, or some other specialised form of
slave handler.   



Whilst they were on that side, I heard them looking at Mitch's
face, too, and commenting favourably.  Then they came around to
the side I could see and examined Mitch's body, and were highly
impressed by his musculature and tone as everyone who sees him
is.  He of course was past all caring by now, and bucked and
wriggled to the best of his ability as they did the normal
cupping of balls and examination of his cock.



They ungagged Mitch to carry out an inspection of his teeth, but
he simply swore at them and tried to bite them, so they had him
re-gagged.  Coming around to my side, the first man said "Are
you going to be like that other slave?", as he undid my gag.



"You're damned right, fucker!"  I spat as soon as my mouth was
free - after all, what had I to lose now?  My balls were already
going to be taken!



So I was re-gagged, too, and the two men stated to discuss us.  



"They're obviously both spirited - highly spirited."



"Yes, that's what we need.  So many of the prey recently have
been disappointing - they haven't had the will to make good
sport."



"Shall we take the black haired one, then?  He seems to have the
most fire in his belly - look at the way he's still bucking
after you tried to heft his balls.  The blond one was verbally
abusive, too, but he seems to be generally quieter."



"You're right, I suppose.  But after all the upset his morning I
would think they'll both be really cheap - we could always take
them both."



"No - we've only got one day planned in the near future, and we
don't need the other one eating his head off without any
possibility of a payback to us."



"On the other hand, as you said, our clients have been a bit
disappointed recently:  let's try to get their interest back by
putting on something special- a sort of 'twins' event.  Although
they have different coloured hair, they're alike enough in other
ways - same general body shape, same heights, and so on.  We
could call them 'cousins'!"



___________________





When the auction finally started, it seemed to go on for ever
and the pain in my thighs, back and neck from being confined in
the unnatural position got worse and worse.  But eventually
guards came - several of them, with their cattle prods - and
released us one at a time from the stocks.



My hands were cuffed behind me, as were Mitch's, and then the
two sets of cuffs were joined together so that Mitch and I were
standing back to back.  We were then made to half walk, half
stumble, sideways into the Auction Room itself - as ever, a
solution had been found to the problem of "unruly" slaves - you
just can't try to run, or kick, or escape when you're chained to
another slave in that way.  Mitch and I got a bit of comfort
from the feel of each other's bodies as we were forced along,
and I briefly enjoyed the sensation of feeling the warmth his
strong muscular ass rubbing against mine as we stumbled and
tumbled. 



Utterly humiliated, bound and gagged, we were awkwardly thrust
up the steps on to the auction platform - at least the last time
I was here I had had some shred of dignity, and had been able to
climb those steps myself.  We stood there under the bright
lights, with the audience in their raked seats around three
sides of us, whilst the Auctioneer recited our history - our
crimes, our sentence in the Programme, and our previous
experience on the other contracts we had been on.  He then went
on to give the audience a severe warning about our temperament
he pointed out we had attacked guards, and that most of the
audience would be aware of our totally wild behaviour  in the
inspection hall.



He first of all asked if there were any bids for Mitch, and
there was no response, then for me, and again no response. "Very
well then, ladies sand gentlemen, I will now accept bids for the
pair of them,"



I had expected that the two sets of people who had examined us
so closely would be bidding, but mercifully the guy who had
wanted to make leather out of our sacs seemed to have dropped
out:  I was so thankful that I almost fainted after my anxiety
about being bought to be used in that way  was lifted.  We were
sold for a token five dollars (the pair!) to the two buyers in
black leather.



Five dollars- the price of two human lives!  This, then, was all
the value the system now put on the bodies of Mitch and me. I
had been a hard worker, a husband and father.  Mitch had served
his country well.  Five dollars for these two pieces of man
flesh - we truly were worthless now. 



_________________





We were bundled of the platform, and out he back down the long
concrete corridors leading to the loading bay.  The guards again
clustered around as we were uncuffed from each other, and
consulted a PC to determine that we were to be put into a
transport cage.   



A fork lift truck delivered a cage onto the loading bay - of the
usual stainless steel bars, and about the size of a domestic
chest freezer, the lid was raised, and Mitch was made to get in,
with a little encouragement from the guards who waved their
cattle prods near his balls.  He sat there against one end of
the cage, and his long legs had to bend at the knee so that his
feet could fit in.  The guards had to push down hard on the lid
to cause Mitch to bend his back as his body was too tall for the
height of the cage, and his head was now pressed between his
knees.  His cock, that had frequent erections as he was a normal
guy in his sexual prime, hung limply down between his thighs. He
looked a picture of abject submission and misery.



I we expecting a cage to be brought for me, too, but after some
consultation Mitch's cage was opened and I was told to get in as
well - I had to sit at the other end, between Mitch's feet, and
push my legs alongside his so my feet ended up next to his ass.
Poor Mitch had been crushed and cramped before, but now with two
of us in it, there was absolutely no spare room at all in the
cage.  When the guards forced the lid closed and I to had to
bend my back and push my head right down, I had to wriggle my
ass forward a bit, too, to make it possible at all.  Mitch had
done the same thing, so our cocks were nestling together, and
our heads were looking down at them.



I wanted to say something to Mitch, but his experiences of
having his balls slapped and then "losing it" so completely
whilst we were in the stocks seemed to have sent him back into
the same state of total resignation and withdrawal as he had
been in the previous night - he just didn't respond to me, and
said absolutely nothing.



The guards fussed around at their PC again, and a printer
whirred into life, printing a "despatch note", which they neatly
fixed to a holder on the side of our cage.  Truly the whole
process of processing and selling slaves was now a proper
"business", complete with automated mechanised handling systems,
and supporting IT operations!  I felt just like an object that
was being processed dispassionately and methodically - they had
managed to dehumanise me even more by their automatic processes. 



As if being bundled into a cage like an animal was not enough,
the final indignity was having that cage simply loaded onto a
pickup by a fork-lift truck:  when we had been sold before we
had at least been driven away like men, now we were just caged
animals, and animals could be caged and shifted around like so
many packing cases.  But in fact we were worse than animals - no
farmer would treat his stock this way, and the ASPCA would
prosecute any that caged and transported animals packed as
closely together as were Mitch and me. 



Where were we going, I wondered.  Could our humiliation as
slaves be any worse than that which we had already experienced?
I was comforted by the warmth of Mitch's body pressed into such
intimate contact with mine, and our close confinement had one
consolation:  his cock was gently rubbing mine, sending thrills
of pleasure up from my cock head. In spite of our inhuman plight
I had a massive erection.  But I was desperately worried about
Mithch's mind - it was as if the Mitch I knew had gone away, to
be replaced by a strange, wild, unknowing creature.  How would
Mitch survive even "routine" slavery if his personality could
not be restored? 





TO BE CONTINUED





         



     







                 







     



      



  



    





   

  









