MY LIFE AS A SLAVE.

By Pete Brown. Petebrownuk @ yahoo.com


PART 1 - BEFORE

After three years in the Marines life was a real bore. Whilst I was
in the service I'd always enjoyed the life - especially the endless
training that kept me lean, toned, fit and healthy. But I've got a
bit of a rebellious nature, and the endless "Yes, sir, no sir"
finally got to me so I quit.

The downturn didn't make it easy to get a job. They say they teach
you a trade in the services, but the only one I learned in the
Marines was how to fight and kill and there's not much use for that
in civilian life.

So here I was, at 27, with no home, no job, no real close friends and
almost no money. I decided to quit my rented room in Raleigh and
make my way to the West Coast, as there ought to be more
opportunities there. My car was a bit of a heap, but it would go, so
I thought. Until it gave out on me somewhere in Texas, and I started
hitching.

I guess a lot of truckers and ordinary drivers are a bit hesitant
about picking up a big hitch hiker in case of trouble. I'm 6'6" and
220 lbs of solid muscle. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, and still
with a Marines crew cut - I guess I might look a bit more that anyone
could handle if I got nasty. So I was really glad when this guy in a
Volvo stopped for me - he told me to throw my bag in the back, and
sit up front with him.

We started to talk, and I guessed he must be a faggot from the way he
was asking me about my life - normal guys just aren't that interested
in the personal details of other men they meet on the road. Don't
get me wrong - I've got nothing against faggots, it's just that I
don't want to do it myself. I'd rather have my dick up a cunt, where
nature intended it, than up some guy's ass. And why have a blow job
from a hairy-lipped guy, when there are enough smooth-lipped gals to
do it for you?

Of course in the Marines we sometimes had a bit of fun with each
other when we were on a short leave - five or six of us would take a
single motel room to save money and rent a good porno movie, then
we'd all jack off during it. We were all used to seeing each other
naked in the showers, but usually you didn't see guys with a hard
on. Mostly you waited until you were in your bunk before letting
your erection out of your shorts and jerking yourself off. Everyone
knew that his buddy in the next bunk was jerking off, but you just
didn't mention it. So it was only when we were off the base and
seeing these porno movies after a few beers that you saw other guys
jism spurting out.

I'm well hung, in proportion to the rest of me. So I have a good 7"
before it's erect, mounted over a set of big, low hanging balls. We
sometimes had little "competitions" on those porno evenings to see
who produced most jism, and I invariably won! But looking at my
buddies jerking off like this doesn't mean I'm gay - it's just what
real buddies do when they're bored. And we never touched each others
dicks or anything just looked to see how well each other was
performing.

Anyway, this guy who gave me the lift seemed really interested in
me. He asked if I was married, where my mom and pop lived, and about
my brothers and sisters, and I told him I had no close family I was
in touch with. He went on to ask me if I was heading to California
to stay with friends, or to go to a job, and I told him I was just
travelling hopefully. Other than my old Marines buddies, I had no
close friends, and I'd mostly lost touch with them when I came out of
the Service.

We talked for at least a couple of hours, and I guess I pretty well
told him my whole story. It was good to be able to talk to someone
for a change, as it can get awfully lonely living the kind
of "drifting" life I had.

He asked me to lean over and get a map book off the back seat as he
didn't want to stop, and as I stretched backwards I felt a sharp pain
in my butt. I looked around and saw him pulling a needle out of my
ass, and then I felt a wave of tiredness start to sweep over me. I
slumped back into the front seat, and closed my eyes.

CAGED

When I came to I was lying on a bare leather-covered bunk in what
looked like a prison cell. There was a bare concrete floor, bare
concrete walls, and floor to ceiling stainless steel bars, inset with
a door made of the same stainless steel bars at the front. Other
than the bunk, that was bolted to the floor, the cell was bare except
for a toilet bowl in the corner.

I started to holler and shout for someone to come. I tried shaking
the bars, but they were rock solid. I raged to be told where the
fuck I was, and why I had been brought there. But there was that
sort of "dead" sound in response, when you sort of know that no one
has heard you, or that, if they have, they're deliberately not
responding in any way.

After about five minutes I realised it was futile, so I just sat on
the bunk and waited to see what would happen. Where was I? Why had
the guy obviously drugged me? And, worringly, what was going to
happen next?

I don't know how long I waited - I went to look at my watch, but it
was missing. It was probably more than an hour. Then a door in the
corridor outside the bars opened ,and a guy came in carrying a tray
with food on it - man, did it smell good, I think it was a big juicy
steak sandwich with lots of onions - my stomach rumbled, and I though
it was hours since I last eat.

I started to shout, and but the guy just said "Shut the fuck up! ",
then

"Are you hungry, do you want food?"

"Yes".

"Well get naked, and throw your clothes through the bars".

I told him to fuck off, of course, and he just turned, walked away,
and went out of the door.

I shouted and raged again, but nothing happened, and I was left
sitting there in the cell.

I really don't know how long I was left, but, judging from the growth
of the stubble on my chin, I guess it must have been about 12 hours.
I was now REALLY hungry, and when the man appeared with the tray
again the savoury smell coming from it almost drove me wild.

"Hungry now?", he asked.

"Yes, of course".

"Well get naked. Give me your clothes through the bars."

I told him to fuck off, and he again started to leave. But I knew it
was useless - sooner of later I would have to eat, and there was no
way out of the cell. So I called out to him to come back, and, when
he did, I took off my jeans jacket and pushed it through the bars.

He stood there silently, but watching me with an interested look as I
unbuttoned and took off my shirt, then bent down to take off my
trainers. I unbuckled my belt and pushed down my jeans, so I just
stood there in my T-shirt, boxers, and socks.

"Come on, then, let me eat now", I said.

"The shirt and socks first", he replied.

So I pulled off my T-shirt, enjoying the feel of my stomach
contracting as it does as you pull something over your head. I've
got sensitive nipples, and the cotton being dragged over them quite
often makes them go erect, and this occasion was no exception. Then
I bent down and took off my socks, wriggling my long, hairy toes as I
did.

"Come on, the food!" I then demanded.

"Look, perhaps you didn't hear. I told you to get naked.
Does 'naked' mean something else in the Marines? You don't seem to
have anything to be ashamed off, so let's see all of you. Get out of
those boxers NOW!".

I could see there was nothing else to do, so I pushed my thumbs under
the waistband of my boxers and shucked them to the floor. Without
thinking, I did that little flip of my cock with my hand to free it
from my balls - you know how it is when you've been dressed all day
and finally strip before a shower, or bed. But that's usually in
relative privacy - guys don't tend to do that in locker rooms, and
here there was the man staring in at me through the bars just as if I
was an animal in a zoo.

"Push it through the bars, out here", he said again, so I did, and
was then totally nude in the absolutely bare cell.

"OK, now let me eat! I'm famished."

I was really looking forward to the big steak sandwich I could see on
the tray, but instead the guy pushed a stainless steel bowl through
the bars at me. It looked like dog chow - just brown and grey hard
chunks of biscuit.

"That's all you get!", he said, and left, laughing to himself after
picking up my shorts.

The bastard! They'd completely tricked me, but I was very hungry so
I tried the stuff in the bowl. It had almost no taste, but was
crunchy: I had to bite real hard to chew it up. But it did seem to
be food, and so I persisted and managed to get it all down.

Without my clothes I felt quite cold in my cell, and all the hairs on
my body were erect. I started to shout again for them to bring me
some clothes, or to turn up the heat, but there was absolutely no
answer or reaction of any kind. It must have been an hour later
when the lights went out, and I guessed all I could do was to try to
sleep. So I lay down on the leather covered cot, and hugged my arms
around me and curled into the foetal position to try to keep myself
as warm as possible. The leather was sticky and clammy against my
naked skin.

I woke up when the lights came on again, and stood and stretched my
cold body. I had my usual morning hard on, and wondered if I should
jerk myself off quickly, but decided not to and instead went through
the Canadian Army routines I tried to do every morning to maintain
basic fitness. It was strange to feel my cock bobbing around as I ran
on the spot, did press-ups and basic stretching routines as I used to
pull on a pair of running shorts as soon as I got out of bed before
starting my exercises.

I had almost finished when the guy came in again. I stopped
exercising, and started to shout "Now just let me out of here! You
can't keep me caged up like this! How long do you think it will be
before the police come looking for me? At least give me some
clothes - I'm fucking freezing!"

"Listen up, and listen up well, because I'm only going to say this
once", he snapped. "You'll stay in this cell as long as necessary:
there's no escape as you can see. There's no way a naked guy can
break out of a concrete and steel cell, as many of your predecessors
have found out."

"The police won't come looking for you. You told our 'scout' who
picked you up when you were hitching that you're single, just out of
the Marines, no friends, no family, and you had left your last town
and were making your way West. As far as the system is concerned,
you're just another one of the thousands of guys who disappears
without trace every year."

"Don't think you'll be rescued, because no one is even looking. You
can scream and shout, but no one will hear you - this cell is in an
old 50s-era bomb shelter five feet underground under my garage, and
even if I have friends in the yard, there's no way they would even
suspect you're here."

"I'm a slaver. I have a couple of scouts who drive up and down the
freeway looking for lone hitchers like you. If they seem to be
relatively untraceable, the scout knocks them out with a little
injection, then calls me to pick up the body."

"I keep you here whilst I search out a buyer. You're a good looking
piece of man flesh, with a lot going for you - good body size, good
muscle definition, young, healthy, and with all the things that
buyers look for in a slave: nice cock, good balls, bubble butt that
looks really fuckable, and rugged good looks. I bet you've even got
a nice smile, but we haven't seen that yet."

"You're lucky - that's all the kind of stuff the Arabs want
currently, so I'll be able to sell you to the near-East market and
you'll be relatively well treated. Some of the guys we get here are
just not what's wanted there at all, so we can only sell them to the
South Americans where I understand they're broken up for spare-pats
surgery and organ transplants."

"And you won't even have to stay in this cell very long. I've got a
potential buyer coming through this afternoon, and I feel certain
he'll buy you from me."

"As for the clothes, what's the point? You wear clothes for three
reasons normally: because conventionally you're not allowed to go
around naked in the USA, to protect you when you're working, and to
keep you warm. Well, here, you are made to go naked - indeed, it's
easier as potential buyers can see you more easily. And it cuts out
work for us as guys here for a few weeks don't need their laundry
done! You're not working, so you don't need protection. And it's not
cold in here - it's a constant 65. I could see you shivering a bit
yesterday, but you're used to it now, aren't you?"

"Look - I don't know what all this is about selling, and slaves. But
you've kidnapped me and that's a serious crime. But if you'll just
give me my clothes back, blindfold me, drive me somewhere near the
Interstate, and leave me, I swear I won't go to the cops", I said.

"No, we don't do that for any of the guys we have captured and
brought here. You're worth at least 30,000 dollars to us as a nice
piece of man flesh for sale, and there's no way that we're going to
let that pass by. Even if you had the money to pay yourself, we
still need a constant supply of slaves for to keep our buyers
content, so we still wouldn't do it. So just relax, smile nicely at
the potential customers, and look forward to a life of slavery!".

"Now, a shower for you - we want you all fresh and smelling nice as
there's a buyer swinging by later today!".

With that he went to the side wall by the bars and came back holding
a hose, which he turned on and started to play over me. It was
freezing cold, and I shouted at him to stop, but the water continued
to play over my body. He threw me a scrap of soap, and turned the
water jet onto the walls and floor of the cell whilst I stood there
and soaped myself all over, then the icy water deluged all over me
again.

"Did you clean out under your foreskin?", he asked when the water was
turned off. "I don't think I saw you do that. And we want you nice
and sweet there in case the buyer wants a full inspection. That's
about the only problem with you uncut slaves - there can be a really
unpleasant cheesy build-up of smeg if you don't attend to it
properly. Best you come over here and show me!"

"What do you mean?"

"Come over here, by the bars, and roll your foreskin back. I want to
see that it's all nice and clean in there."

"Fuck off!", I told him. You just don't do that in front of other
guys. Even in the showers in the Marine barracks when we were
completely used to seeing each other totally naked, uncut guys
always turned decently towards the wall when you were cleaning under
your foreskin. It's OK for cut guys who're used to flashing their
cock heads and piss slits at everyone, but when you're used to having
it all decently covered by your foreskin, you keep it covered in
company! Well, that's what I've always done, and I wasn't about to
change. It was bad enough being naked in front of him, but I wasn't
going to show him any more.

"You still haven't understood, have you?", he went on. "What you
want, and what you'd like to do or not do, are no longer relevant.
You're now a slave, and a slave does what a master orders, whenever
he orders it. The sooner you learn that, the easier it will be for
you."

And with that, he turned the hose on again and played it over me for
a couple of minutes. I was already chilled from the "shower", but
now the full force of the water relentlessly striking my chest, ass,
and back made me really cold, and I was shivering.

He turned it off, and said "Now, get over here, and roll that
foreskin back."

I went to tell him to fuck off again, and saw his hand move towards
the tap on the hose. I knew there was nothing I could do - he could
stand there all day, and I was very cold. So I shuffled over towards
the bars. He just stood there, looking at me, obviously knowing he
was in complete control. I felt crushed and humiliated - I was going
to have to obey him, against all my instincts. What else could I do?

My dick had really shrivelled with the cold, and it was quite tricky
to get the skin properly rolled back and the head exposed, but I did,
and he seemed pleased. In spite of being really chilled, I could
feel my chest, shoulders, neck and face flushing with red as I
blushed deeply at the humiliation of being made to do this in front
of another guy. I'd never even had to do this in front of the docs
at medicals.

"Good, you're starting to learn!", he said. "Now, perhaps we'd
better move on to step 2, as I don't want you shaming us all in front
of the buyers. Why don't you just have a nice erection, so I can see
that dick of yours standing proudly to attention?"

Again, what could I do? He held all the cards. But nothing
happened. Now normally I have erections all the time, as all young
guys do, at least twice an hour, but since I'd been in the cell,
other than my morning hard-on it hadn't happened. I guess my mind
hadn't been on the ladies - or, at least, there were none of them to
look at: after all, normally, you're surrounded by girls everywhere -
on the street, in shops, at work, and you just have erections all
the time thinking about them. But I just couldn't do it in these
circumstances.

"Come on! You're surely not shy. Not a big stud like you. I bet
tens of people have seen that big dick of yours rock hard", he said.

Well, it wasn't true. At school you always hid an erection in the
locker room, in case the other guys thought you were gay. And in the
Marines you did too. Of course sharing a barracks with your fellows
made it more difficult, but, basically, you kept an erection under
your clothes and waited until you were in your own bunk at night
before allowing it full stretch. All the guys knew the others were
erect, and we all knew we were jerking off before going to sleep, but
you didn't mention it, and you pretended never to notice it. I don't
think another guy had ever seen my erect dick - it was reserved for
the ladies (and a fair number of those had seen it, in very intimate
circumstances!)

I just grunted, and I knew I was blushing even more with the
humiliation.

"Come on, I haven't got all day", he said. "Or do you want
encouraging, with the water again? If it won't go hard itself, help
it along a little with your hand!"

As if being naked in front of the guy wasn't enough, having to try to
jerk off to get an erection was terrible. But there was nothing I
could do - here I was, naked, like an animal, and he had all the
power. I couldn't escape, I couldn't be fed, and I didn't want
another drenching in the freezing water. So I started to stroke
myself, and of course soon I was sporting a proper hard-on.

The guy looked at me and said "Good. You're learning! Now when the
buyer comes this afternoon, just be sure to do that again without
complaint and without delay - quite apart from the fact that we don't
want to have to punish you in front of a buyer, it won't stand you in
very good stead if the word gets around in the Arab market that
you're uncooperative. You could end up in the body banks of Brazil!"

"You've got a really nick dick, too. They buyers always like that.
Even if you're not going to be used for sex regularly, they all like
a slave to be well hung 'just in case' - most masters like to fuck
their slaves once or twice, and some like to be fucked by studs like
you. Or, of course, to have you and another slave perform as a
little after-diner entertainment."

" It's a pity your erection doesn't go straight up - but I guess
that's always true for big studs like you. It's only the little
twinks who can get their dicks almost parallel to their stomachs -
the sheer weight of a nice dick like that always causes it to be held
lower, however powerful your erection."

What he said was of curse true - even as a teenager I'd been well
built and my erections never went up much beyond the horizontal.

He then turned and went out, and I stood there planing the remaining
loose water off my body and trying to get warm again by doing a bit
of light exercise. I don't think it was just the water that made me
cold - all this talk of fucking with other guys had made my blood run
cold.


BOUGHT

It must have been a few hours later when the corridor door outside my
cell opened again and the guy came back accompanied by another man
who looked distinctly Arabic - he was dressed in a normal Western
style suit and immaculate pale blue shirt and silk tie, but he was
quite swarthy, and had straight, luxurious very black hair.

"This is the merchandise ", said my captor,
unnecessarily ."Absolutely prime man flesh, probably a virgin ass as
he says he's only been with women, and an ex-marine. He's about 26
or 27, so you've got a lot of good years left in him."

The Arab looked me up and down for several moments with a penetrating
gaze (I had come close to the bars to look out at them). I saw his
eyes rake down over my body, stopping to look intently at my dick,
then he rapped "Turn around." I hated being looked at like this.
You know a lot of guys in locker rooms sneak a peak at you when
you're changing or when you've come out of the showers, but having
someone looking at you slowly, calmly and coolly, appraising your
body as if it's an object, is quite different. I felt more like
a "thing" than a person.

I was going to tell him where to go, but remembered what I had been
told about being co-operative. Maybe there was something in that.
And, anyway, what else could I do? So I turned around and it was
almost as if I could feel the Arab's eyes burning into the back of me.

"Yes, good body shape", I heard the Arab say to my captor. "Nice
broad shoulders tapering to that narrow waist - the classic inverted
triangle. And I like his ass, the way he has those little dimples at
the base of the spine before the ass cheeks flare out. It's always
good to see those in a slave, I think. And good, muscular thighs.
It's good, too, that that hair all over his chest isn't on his back -
there' a new appreciation of hairy slaves at the moment, it's quite
the fashion, but most masters only want it on the chest and abdomen.
Hairy shoulders and backs are still a turn off for most buyers, and
it's extremely inconvenient if a master has to keep having the
slave's back shaved."

He went on "I'd like to examine him more closely. Is he safe?"

"No, far from it. We only took him two days ago, and we've had no
chance to do even the most basic training. If you want to examine
him, it would be best to cuff him."

I noticed that the Arab spoke only to my captor. Even though he was
talking about me, he never acknowledged, even by the tiniest gesture
or intonation, that I had any part, or potential part, in the
conversation. It's as if I was an inanimate object, just standing
there. It was really strange to hear my body being discussed in this
way - sure, I know I've got a good body and I've always been proud of
it. But you just don't get guys in real life discussing other guy's
bodies in that way - well, not in my experience you don't!

With that, they both went out, and I sat down onto the leather bunk.
Then came back a few minutes later and I again got up as the corridor
door opened, feeling the leather peel off my sweaty ass and thighs.

"OK", the captor said "Up against the bars, your back to the bars,
and arms out to the side above your head and against the bars."

I did as I was told - what else could I do - and felt the cold steel
of the bars against my naked back and ass. The captor reached up and
cuffed my wrists to the bars of my cell, then unlocked the cell door
and he and the Arab cam and stood in front of me.

The Arab reached up and used both hands to cup my head and feel all
around my skull.

"Nice, uniform shape", he commented. Then "Open wide"

I saw that he wanted me to open my mouth, but decided not to. He
didn't bother to say anything else, but the next moment cupped my jaw
in one hand and pushed in - hard - to the base of my jaw bone with
his thumb and forefinger. It hurt, and although it was a pain I
could easily withstand, I knew that resistance was really futile so I
allowed by jaw to be prised open.

He started to run his fingers around inside my mouth, pushing my lips
out and down so he could see the base of my teeth. This was too
much, and I decided to teach him a lesson and bit down on his finger!

The next second I was in absolute agony. As I bit down, he raised
his knee sharply and kneed my balls. I was incapable of doing
anything. I could hardly breathe as that awful pain you get as your
balls are struck hit home. I gagged and almost threw up. I screamed
in agony, of course releasing his fingers from my mouth.

The Arab took out a silk handkerchief and wrapped it around his
bitten fingers.

"A slave with spirit, I see. Well, I like that, at least initially.
A lot of my clients will enjoy beating that rebellious streak out of
him!"

He'd said that to my captor, who was standing there looking slightly
horrified, but now the Arab looked deep into my eyes and said "I'm
going to continue my examination. If there's any more trouble, I'll
simply reach down and tear your balls off. I don't like damaging a
potentially valuable slave like you, but there is a market for
eunuchs, you know, and I'd only loose a few thousand dollars....
Which is rather less that you'd lose!"

He was obviously so sure of himself, so totally in control, that he
didn't even bother to ask me if I understood, or if I agreed to stand
quietly. It was obvious he just knew what my choice would be.

So he continued to examine my mouth minutely, then felt the strong
muscles of my neck, digging his thumbs deeply into the hollows of my
shoulder blades as he did until I gasped with pain. Running his
hands down my body, he probed all my ribs with his strong fingers,
then came back up to examine my nipples in great detail.

He tweaked them, and rolled them between his thumb and finger until
they stood erect, and I was squirming. I've always had sensitive
nipples, and on hot days I often have to go around without a T-shirt
as when they're erect, the constant brushing of them against the
cotton fabric can be painful. You know how it is - you're walking
down the street, when all of a sudden the very movement of your body
makes every step painful as your nipples get stimulated.

I'd never had another guy feel me in this way before, and it was
strange. Sometimes one of the more adventurous women I'd been with
would kiss or perhaps lick my nipples during love making, but I'd
never had another guy's hands on them before; and certainly had never
had anyone deliberately kneading and tweaking them like this!

But then he was on down, probing my navel - I'd have jerked back as
he did this, except of course that my back and ass were jammed
against the bars of the cell. Again, it's one of those strange
pains - even when you're trying to get the lint out of your own navel
it can hurt, and having another guy's little finger probing at it to
test the muscle tone in that area almost made me want to wretch.

Then it was the examination I was most dreading (although little did
I know of what was to come!) - he cupped my balls in one hand, and
took my dick in the other. Now it's the honest truth - I've never
had another guy feel me there before. Not even in high school, when
there was a lot of mild sex play in the locker rooms. I just never
did. You get used to your own hands, of course, and your own body is
at the same temperature all over. But this guy's hands felt really
warm, and he fondled my dick, rolling it backwards and forwards.

In spite of myself, I had an erection, and the Arab looked up into my
eyes and smiled. He teased my foreskin right back so my entire cock
head was exposed, pink and moist, and I winced again and almost cried
out as he suddenly rubbed his thumb crudely over the exposed flesh.
I don't think cut guys know just how sensitive the cock head of us
uncut guys is - when it's not constantly rubbing against your boxers,
it's much more sensitive as it's only really used to be being inside
nice warm cunts or your own slicked hands when you're jerking off.
To be scratched suddenly gives an exquisite sensation that I can't
really define as pure pain or pure pleasure.

"Good. Sensitive", he said. "I don't like the foreskin - it's too
long. It's unusual to get an American with one I know, as most of
them are removed shortly after birth. It's almost as if he's a
European. But because of the scarcity, uncut slaves do fetch higher
prices - but not like this with all that loose flesh hanging down
beyond the head: the current fashion is to have the foreskin trimmed
so that just the tip of the cock head is exposed, and perhaps I'll
have that done just before I sell him on."

Then he was probing my balls, separating them on the palm of his
hand, and ever so gently feeling each one all over in turn.

"So many buyers neglect this", he said to the captor. "But it can be
a problem. Most young guys don't examine themselves regularly, and
testicular cancer is a big killer in young males. I don't want to
buy him and find I have to pay for a castration because of cancer."

He was right - I'd read all those articles in GQ and so on about the
importance of examining your balls regularly, but I'd never done it.
Like most guys, the only time I feel my balls is when I'm jerking
off - I hold them both at the same time, so I can feel them spasm as
I cum. But I don't separate them and feel them all over, as the Arab
was now doing. And even though he was very gentle - and I mean very
gentle - I was trying to back away and had almost gone up on tiptoe:
when you balls are being held it's almost as if there's some primeval
reflex that makes you want to get the hell out.

Looking at the captor, the Arab said "So it's just the back now. I'll
hold his balls whilst you re-cuff him."

He stood there with my balls gripped firmly in his hand, and said "I
know you're clever enough not to try anything! One move on your part
and you're a eunuch."

The captor reached up and undid one cuff then pulled my arm across my
body to cuff it where the other one was already against the bars.
The Arab then let go of my balls, and I could twist around to face
the bars, with both hands cuffed together to the bars in front of me,
just at head height.

I felt the Arabs strong fingers pushing into the back of my head, and
I realised he wanted it to go down. I started to sort of kneel, but
he said "No. Spread your feet a bit. Move them back from the bars,
then bend from the waist."

When I hesitated, he said "Do you want me to reach between those
thighs and slap your balls? Now, do as I say!"

So I did, and then I felt his fingers probing my ass crack and
cupping my ass cheeks. I'd thought that you couldn't be more
humiliated than by having another man fondle your dick and your balls
when you were held against your will, but now I realised there was
something worse - an intimate examination of your ass.

"Good, very firm and muscular, as you'd expect in a Marine", he
commented.

Then the next minute I felt an incredible sensation as the tip of his
finger probed my ass hole. I've never even done this myself - never
ever, honest. It was an indescribable sensation as his finger probed
that most secret place, and I felt completely humiliated. No one had
even touched me there before, let alone tried to push a finger up it.

"Excellent. I don't think I need to go all the way in. I can tell
from the way that it's resisting that his ass has never had anything
up it before!".

Then I heard him discussing me with the captor, as I was left there
cuffed and bent over humiliatingly. They were arguing about price -
the Arab offered 20,000 dollars, the captor wanted 35, and after a
lot of haggling they settled on 30. I was being sold - this was not
some prize horse or steer that they were discussing - this was me!

They left the cell, closed and locked the cell door, then released my
cuffs so I was again free to move around.

The Arab reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a thin strip
of black flexible plastic. He motioned me to come over near the
bars, the reached in and put the strip around my neck and fiddled a
moment. I realised the plastic was like those cable ties that you
use everywhere - there was a sort of ratchet arrangement on the end
of it, so that, once fastened, it couldn't be undone and would need
cutting off. Hanging down from the plastic collar, because that is
what it was, was a rectangular piece of hard plastic, rather like a
luggage tag. It banged against the naked flesh just below my throat
as I moved, so even if I momentarily forgot the collar, the sensation
of the tag would remind me I was collared.

The Arab pulled this towards him, read numbers on it, which he then
inscribed into a small notebook. "I have to write down the temporary
slave ID number and how much I paid, as I can't remember them all
when I get back from a long buying trip", he told my captor as they
both went out.

I ran my fingers around underneath the fairly tight collar, but there
was no budging it. Not only had I been inspected then sold, but I
now had an owner's label on me.


TRANSPORT

I was only in the cell for another day, and only had one more icy
shower, when the captor came in and told me to turn with my back to
the bars so that I could have my hands cuffed together.

What else could I do? I'd been here for days now, and there was
obviously no escape. So I complied.

He then opened the cell and told me to follow him - along the
corridor, then up a flight of concrete steps and into what was
obviously a four-car garage. Waiting in the garage was a small white
delivery truck, of the type you see bakers and so on using to deliver
bread in New York City. And outside I could see desert, through the
open garage door. The light was blinding, as I had only been used to
artificial light for the past days.

There was only me and the captor there, so I decided to make a run
for it. I ran past him and out into the sunlight. I was in the
driveway of a big ranch house, with the drive stretching away in
front of me, so I ran as hard as I could away from the house.

Have you ever tried to run fast totally naked, with your hands cuffed
behind your back? You have two problems - your dick and your balls
fly around, as usually when you exercise like this you at least have
running shorts on. And the second problem is that without your arms
pistoning back and forwards to counterbalance your legs, you're
totally off balance and it's really hard to make a good speed.

But I knew this was my only chance, so I ran, and felt the sharp pain
as the stones and pebbles dug into my naked feet. I ran and ran,
down the driveway and out onto what was obviously a country road.
On and on I ran.

Then I hear the truck coming up behind me, and then drawing parallel
to me I kept on running, but the captor had the window down and
looking at me said "Slave, you're doing no good. You're just tiring
yourself out unnecessarily. We're at least 10 miles from the next
nearest house out here, and there's just no way you're going to make
it."

"Now, be a sensible boy, stop running, and stand still whilst I open
the back doors of this truck so I can put you in."

I was sweating all over, in spite of the very dry desert air, and I
could see what he was saying was true There was no way I could run
10 miles in the heat, with bare feet, and he could always catch me in
the truck. So I just stopped and stood there, panting.

Inside the back of the truck there were some clamps on the floor, and
I soon found out what they were for - I was made to lie on my
stomach, and my neck was held firm in the clamp.

"Spread your legs to steady your body", my captor advised, "As I
don't want you strangling yourself as we go around the corners."

He slammed the back doors, and we drove off. I did need to brace
myself - not only to keep myself from being strangled as he said, but
also because my dick was against the floor of the truck and as we
rolled around corners, it was quite painful to have it scrape against
the bare metal.

It seemed like hours, and then the doors were opened and another
naked guy was pushed in and clamped next to me. We lay there, side
by side as the truck drove off, and started to talk.

Like me, Jeff was a "loner" who was hitching across the country, and
he too had been kidnapped after accepting a lift - it must be the
local industry, we decided!

We speculated on what was going to happen to us - we had both been
bought by the same Arab, we thought, so we knew we were safe from the
South American organ banks. But what did Arabs want young American
men for, we wondered? And what was going to happen to us next?

We lay there, our bodies pressed against each other, and eventually I
had to throw my right leg over his left one to give us both room to
brace ourselves adequately, I'd never been in such intimate contact
with another guy before - of course I'd had my legs wrapped around
ladies before, but feeling another guy's hairy leg brushing against
the hairs on my own leg was strangely - and excitingly - different.
And there's a difference if the feel of a man's flesh from a woman's
I decided. Somehow, it was quite companionable lying next to Jeff,
in such intimate contact.

After a couple of hours like this when we'd mostly run out of things
to say, the van stopped and the doors opened.

In turn we were unclamped from the van and three tough-looking guys,
all in identical black jeans and tight black T-shirts - pushed us
roughly into a large building. Inside, the sight was incredible -
there were three tiers of the same sort of cells as I had been in,
one on top of another, with 10 cells in a row. Each of the tiny
cells, except for two, held a naked guy.

The "guards" manhandled Jeff and me into the two remaining empty
cells, and uncuffed us.

I was used to being naked by now, and somehow having all the other
naked guys there too made it better. But what was this for? It was
like some bizarre jail scene from a nightmare movie, with all the
cons stark naked!

As I stood there pressed against the bars trying to look out, I
learned from the guy in the cell on the side that some of them had
been there for a month or so, and that gradually the cells were being
filled up. We were obviously at some sort of collection point, where
slaves were being amassed for some reason. We were all collared and
tagged like me, with black plastic collars, so I assumed that we had
all been bought by the same Arab.

The routine did not seem to differ much from the cell I had been used
to - the same sort of dog-chow food was brought around, and every day
the T-shirted guards moved along the rows of cells hosing down the
slaves inside - I say "slaves", because that was how the guards
referred to us. Not as "men", not as "guys", not as "convicts", but
as "slaves".

There was great excitement on the fourth day of my being there - one
by one, the guards came and took a slave from his cell out into the
outside. I was almost the last, and when it was my turn I was led
outside to see that the building we had been in was on the edge of an
airstrip, and standing there was a medium-sized jet - not a 747, but
one of those regional commuter planes.
I was led up the steps and into a seat, and my wrists were cuffed to
the seat arms. Shortly after Jeff had been loaded into the seat next
to me, the plane took off.

END OF PART 1. To be continued.
MY LIFE AS A SLAVE. PART 2

By Pete Brown. Petebrownuk @ yahoo.com


ARRIVAL AT THE SLAVE CENTRE

The plane journey seemed interminable. Even in economy class you can
usually get up to stretch your legs occasionally, but all 30 of us
were kept cuffed into our sets throughout the whole journey.
The "flight attendants" had an interesting job - instead of serving
us meals their only function was to come around with a container and
a funnel, so that the guys who desperately wanted to piss could do
so. I had to make use of it after about four hours, and it was
another humiliation to have another guy hold my dick so that my
stream of piss was accurately directed into the funnel. And as if it
was the most normal thing in the world, he ran his fingers along my
dick when I'd finished to expel the last lingering drops of piss
(this is really important if you have a long foreskin like me, as
there can be quite a lot of piss trapped under there).

"Don't want those dripping onto the seat fabric, do we", he commented
as he did so.

Judging from what I could see from out of the window, we were
crossing the Atlantic. And the flight went on and on.

But we did land eventually, and outside the plane it looked like a
very small airport in the middle of a desert - it looked mighty hot
outside.

We all sat and waited, and were talking about where we might be, and
what was going to happen next. Then we saw trucks approaching the
plane, and, one by one, we were uncuffed and led out of the plane by
guards in crisp khaki uniforms holding machine pistols. They spoke
no English, but their gestures with the guns were unmistakable - obey
us, or get shot.

Even though I've been trained in hand-to-hand combat, I know enough
not to try to tackle several guards single-handedly when all of them
are alert and armed, so there was nothing I could do other than
simply obey their instructions and go down the steps of the plane.

The tarmac area at the foot of the steps was achingly hot to my naked
feet, and I had to sort of hop from one foot to another over to the
trucks. Behind the drivers' cabs, the backs of the trucks were flat
and enclosed by a cage of steel bars. A guard looked at the tag
around my neck, consulted a list, and snapped something at the guard,
who motioned me towards the left-hand of the two trucks. As the rest
of the guys were unloaded I saw that we were being sorted in some
way, according to this list, just as if we were animals that had been
bought and whose owner now wanted them taken to different places -
and, indeed, that seemed to be the case because in the cage with me
were only nine other guys, and all of us were relatively well-build
and good looking. The other guys from the plane, more twink-ish,
were loaded on to the other truck.

We drove off, and the violence of the ride kept throwing us together
in the cage. Of course I've been naked with other guys before, in
showers and so on, but there's usually an elaborate protocol to avoid
touching another guy's body at times like that. Here we had no
choice - we were constantly thrown together and you just couldn't
help clutching at another guy's body, or finding your cock brushing
against his ass. It's not that we were embarrassed about our
nudity - as we sped through the desert, there was no one to see,
anyway. It was more the enforced intimacy of the small cage and the
fast driver that was making most of us really touch the naked body of
another man for the first time.

But it was only about 20 minutes before we arrived at a large, modern
building in the centre of the desert - it looked like one of those
new factories you see all over the USA : square, one-storey, no
windows in the outside walls, an imposing main entrance with a
flagpole outside, and a big block of air conditioners on the roof.

Our truck went past the main entrance, where there were several big
Mercedes and BMWs parked, and around to the side to what was
obviously the loading bay. The truck stopped, backed up to the bay,
and eventually four armed guards appeared. They unlocked the cage,
and we were made to get out and walk in a shuffling line across the
bay and into the building. We were "goods", arriving at the goods
entrance, and not "visitors", who went in by the front door.

Inside, it was cooler (in fact, we all started to shiver - outside
it had been in the 90s at least, and here it was probably only in the
70s, but the contrast was extremely noticeable to us as we were all
buck naked). And the harsh desert sun was replaced by the ubiquitous
glow of fluorescent tubes set in the ceilings.

The guards took us along a corridor - very utilitarian, with bare
concrete walls painted white and plastic tiles on the floor, then
unlocked a door and gestured us through. We were in another cage -
the room we went in to was divided in half by a set of steel bars,
and we were on one side, whilst the other half of the room was empty.

We just sat on the floor, and talked amongst ourselves, wondering
what was going to happen next. It was amazing, really, how we had
adapted already to our new situation: 10 completely naked guys
locked in a big cage were able to sit on their bare asses and talk,
without any attempt at modesty and without feeling any shame. I
guess most of us had been used to being with the naked guys in the
past anyway, and we none of us had anything to be ashamed of - as I
said, we were all good specimens of manhood with big strong bodies,
and this extended to our dicks which were all at least above average
(from what I could tell from my limited experience of locker rooms
and barracks. I would say we were all the kind of guys that other
guys sneaked a peak at and found their own bodies failing by
comparison).

A door in the other half of the room opened and an Arab man in smart
casual clothes (designer jeans, and what looked like a cashmere
sweater) came in. We all got to our feet, moved towards the bars,
and stood looking at him expectantly.

"Right!", he said with only the trace of a middle-Eastern accent.

"I'm going to explain what's going to happen to you next. You're
only slaves, and slaves do not either expect or get explanations, but
over the years we have found it easier to do this brief introduction
as it saves us a lot of time and effort later."

One of the guys started to shout out about being allowed to go free,
but the man simply snarled at him to be quiet, and continued:

"If there are any more interruptions, you will all simply be
processed without the explanation. So be quiet if you want to know
what's happening."

We sort of shushed the guy who had shouted out, and the man went on:

"You are all young men with what seem to be good bodies. You were
enslaved in the USA, and you were bought from your enslavers by our
buyer who picked you out for certain qualities you all have: good,
big strong bodies, nicely proportioned, and tolerably handsome.
You're here at our processing centre, where you're going to be
prepared for sale. We are a 'value added' operation - that's to say
we take the raw slave material like you, and give you an amount of
preparation and training that turns you from soft American guys into
hard muscular slaves that fetch premium prices."

"During the next few weeks we'll have you properly examined to make
sure you have no lurking physical disorders or diseases - we give our
buyers a guarantee that you're all in perfect health, and we'll
prepare your bodies. This preparation is of two kinds - firstly,
we'll toughen you all up. Even those of you who had manual jobs, or
who went to the gym a lot, don't really have the type of muscles our
clients are looking for. They like long, lean muscles capable of
delivering sustained power over long periods, not the puffed-up
artificial sort you get from working out. So lots of physical
training for you."

"Along with this, we tidy up your bodies generally. A few of you have
unsightly moles, that we'll have surgically removed. As far as
possible we will efface any tattoos with advanced laser treatment - a
lot of clients like their slaves to be tattooed, but they want a
blank canvas to work on. And we'll trim your hair, and get you
properly coloured - those white asses where you have all so modestly
worn shorts are not how a slave should look - he should be the same
even colour all over. For most of you that means a good dose of sun
tan all over, but we have a couple of red heads in this batch, and
you'll have your skin bleached to get rid of the freckles where your
arms and legs have been in the sun - the fashion is for red heads to
have milky-white bodies, and these fetch a higher price."

"We'll also give you the minimum slave training. Most masters like
to train their own slaves, and relish the opportunity of introducing
you to the whip and the cane in order to make their lessons sink home
quickly. But there are a few basics of slave behaviours you need to
be taught that masters can then build on - you'll learn how to remain
silent unless spoken to, how to keep your eyes subserviently cast
down, and the five basic slave positions."

"When we think you're in he best possible condition, you'll be put
into our next auction and sold to your new master. We specialise in
slaves for hard physical work - not common labourers to work in the
fields or mines, as they can be sourced more cheaply from the Far
East or Africa. But jobs where a master needs a big, strong, tough
slave who's also good to look at - most Arabs have a view of male
beauty that is conditioned by American porn magazines and what they
see on the Internet, and so when they are selecting litter bearers,
or slaves for their gymnasia, or other activities where the master is
going to constantly see the slave working, they like American guys."

" You will all fetch high prices, because it costs a lot to enslave
you in the USA, transport you here, then give you your initial
training. And, of course, the risks to our enslavers are quite high
and that has to be factored in. So when a master has invested a lot
in you, he'll want to get a good return on his money, so you should
all expect to be worked very hard indeed. And your master will
probably want to use you sexually - 'a bang from his buck', as I
might say! - because you will all have bodies that in the porn I
mention are considered to be eminently fuckable."

"The good news for you, however, is that because you are expensive
items you'll be treated tolerably well. Rather like an expensive
car - having paid a premium price for good engineering, you then look
after it well, have it serviced regularly, attend to small bodywork
damage promptly, and so on. In that respect you're better off than
the cheap imported 'work' slaves in the fields or mines, where it's
often cheaper simply to let an injured or sick slave die and simply
replace him. And, of course, rather than having you blinded or
castrated or having an amputation if you seriously misbehave, a
master is more likely simply to sell you on."

"Now... There are no questions, because slaves don't ask questions.
We'll start processing, with the medical inspections. In a moment
you'll be taken one at a time for your examinations and shots. But
one final word of caution: don't try to escape. You'll certainly be
caught, as we're a small, tightly-knit country and no inhabitant will
give you any help or assistance. Escaped slaves are invariably
spotted and recaptured before they can cross our borders, and the
only penalty, the automatic penalty, is death. We don't even try
you - an escaped slave is simply killed as soon as he is recaptured.
And if that slave was part of a team - for example of you are one of
three slaves working in a master's gym and pool complex - we assume
your companions are complicit in your escape, and we kill them, too.
So all of you have a real incentive to stop your fellows from
escaping."

"You may find the life of a slave harsh, especially being totally
subservient rather than having any free will, but it's certainly
preferable to being dead. You can all look forward to many years of
active life, and some of you will actually enjoy it: you'll have
your bodies kept in good condition, rather than getting fat and
flabby as you would have done if you'd stayed in the States. And
you'll have a carefree life: no bills, no worries about finding a
home or a job, no nagging wives... Just obey your master in all
things, and the life of a slave will be better than you might now
imagine."

With that, he turned and left, and we sat down again and started to
talk amongst ourselves about what he'd said. Most of us were just
too shocked to say much - I don't think the idea of being slaves had
really sunk in.

We at there until two guards appeared outside the cage, opened a gate
in the bars, and gestured one of us out. They took him away, and the
remainder of us sat waiting until they came back for a second guy.

I took the view that whatever they were going to do to me they were
going to do anyway, so the sooner the better. Consequently when the
guards came back I stationed myself near the door so that I was the
next to be taken out.

INITIAL PROCESSING

We went along another of the stark corridors, and turned into a room
that was completely tiled in white. In the corner there was a shower
head coming our of the wall, and the guards gestured at me to go over
and shower. It was bliss - the first time for days that I'd had a
chance of a proper shower with hot water and soap! I thoroughly
soaped myself all over, and really enjoyed the feeling of the slimy
suds slipping over my muscles.

The guards watched me intently, and even when I had finished, made me
continue - they wanted to particularly ensure I had thoroughly washed
my ass, and made me soap my hands again and slide them between my
butt cheeks, before washing away the residue thoroughly. They were
also intrigued by seeing me wash under my foreskin - I was made to do
it as they watched - and I guessed they didn't see too many uncut
guys there.

I thought the shower was just finishing, when another slave - for
that's what I took him to be as, like me, he was totally naked - came
in. He was only about 20 I would guess and he was black, and
totally hairless. His whole body shone smoothly, as if he had been
oiled.

He knelt in front of me, and I saw he was holding scissors and a
razor. Looking up at me, and sort of pleading for me to make no
trouble, he scissored away at my pubic hair so that the patch on top
of my dick was reduced to about half length, and the rest around my
dick and sac was cut away totally to leave a short stubble. He then
lathered his hands with soap, and rubbed around my dick and balls,
and shaved the stubble away totally, followed by gentle scrapings all
over my balls to leave them devoid of hair, too.

He gestured at me and took my hand in his to get me to hold my dick
and balls up towards my stomach, and gently pushed my feet apart so
he could finish off nipping away and then shaving the hair under my
balls and at the top of my thighs. Finally he got to his feet,
turned me around, and pushed me gently to bend over. He again guided
my hands, to grip my ass cheeks and pull them apart, and then I felt
the razor slicking down between them as he shaved around my asshole.

I think it was lucky I'd had a bit of 'conditioning' in the crowded
cage on the truck, with other guys touching my body so intimately,
otherwise I don't think I could have stood having a naked guy shaving
me so intimately in this way. But the guards looked menacing, and
there didn't seem much else to do but to try to make it easy for the
poor lad.

Finally I was allowed to shower away the remaining lather residue,
and when the water was turned off I stood there and planed the
surplus off my body, as you do, and I was even given a towel to
finish off with. This was the first piece of textile material I'd
felt for days, and it was amazing how such a simple thing felt. You
never really notice things like towels against your skin, after all,
but now the sensation of the cotton fibres against the hairs on my
chest, belly, arms and things was really exciting.

It felt really strange as I dried my now-naked balls. I can't
remember them before I matured and grew all my pubic hair - guys
really only get interested in their balls after sexual maturity,
after all, so I have no real recollection of them not covered in a
thick coat of wiry hair. Somehow they seemed to be much softer, much
more sensuous, and I could see now why so many guys like to have
their sacs shaved.

When I was dry I did what you normally do with a towel after
showering when you're with other guys - I draped it around my waist,
tucking the corners in to make a sort of skirt around my dick and
ass. It was only a small towel, so my right thigh was completely
exposed between the two ends of the towel, but it was good not to be
completely naked again, especially with two fully clothed guards
looking at me. However my pleasure was short lived, as when we set
off through the door to the next room, one of the guards reached out
and casually pulled the towel off me, leaving me fully exposed again.

Without hairs in my ass crack it felt very different walking. You're
not normally aware of any sensation from your ass crack as you walk
after all, you're so used to having two layers of hair rub against
each other you don't feel it at all. But at least for the first few
minutes I now did feel my ass - there was a distinct sensation of my
two butt cheeks gliding over each other as I strode along. It made
me feel very horny, and to my shame my dick started to erect. It was
only by a supreme effort that I managed to stop it, as I didn't want
to let the guards see me with a stonking erection.

In the next room was a guy in a white smock of the kind doctors wear
in medical rooms, and indeed this room looked like a medical room -
there were lots of bits of equipment standing around the walls, and
an examination table in the centre with a leather-covered top.

"I'm a fully qualified doctor", the guy in the white coat said in an
English accent, "And I'm going to go through a series of routine
medical screening tests on you."

He sat down on a chair, and indicating one in front of him, said "Sit
down, this is going to take some time."

"I advise you to co-operate fully, as I can instruct the guards to
cuff you if there's the slightest hint of resistance to anything I
do, and then I can make it much more unpleasant for you. But if you
behave properly and make it easy for me to complete the things I have
to go through, it will be the easiest way for you, too. I guess
you're used to medicals, as I see from your files that you're an ex-
Marine, and what I'll be doing here won't be that different from the
sort of things the doctors on your base used to do to you at regular
physicals. OK?"

"Yes".

"Look, I think there's something you need to remember. Whenever you
speak to a master, you do it respectfully. So you should have
replied 'Yes, Master'. I don't care personally, but you will serve
yourself better by getting into the habit of speaking that way. So
from now on, reply properly. Is that clear?"

"Yes.... Master".

"Good. We'll start with medical history. Any current illnesses?
Before enslavement, were you on any medication, or undergoing any
course of medical treatment?"

"No"

"What?" - he looked at me threateningly

"No... Master".

"Good. Now which of the following have you had.... Chicken pox,
mumps, measles....?" The list went on endlessly, and other than
having to add "Master" to the end of every reply, it was just like
the sort of medical story I had given many times before to various
medics.

Then he took a blood sample from my arm, and asked for a urine
sample, handing me a small tube for it. I looked around for a toilet
basin or some thing, but he said "Here, now, whilst I'm watching.
You're not shy, are you?"

In fact I was, as I don't like pissing when other guys can see the
piss coming out of my dick. Don't get me wrong - I don't mind public
lavatories and so on, I just don't want other guys looking at the
piss coming out of my dick. But there was nothing for it, so,
blushing a bit, I pissed into the tube and then, of course, had the
pain of trying to cut off the flow in mid stream - I hate having to
do that!

Then there was something I'd never been asked for before. He
produced another small glass tube, and said "Now for the third fluid
we need to test - semen in here."

I couldn't believe this. Why did he need semen from me? I
said "What? Do you expect me to jerk off in front of you?"

The doctor replied "OK. This is the last time! You did not address
me as 'Master', as I had warned you to do. So do you want to be
cuffed?"

I shook my head.

"You must learn that slaves have no opinion on anything . If I tell
you to jerk off into this tube, you do it without question and
without hesitation. A slave should feel no embarrassment at doing
anything a master orders. And, in any case, I'm a doctor - don't you
think I've seen lots of guys masturbating, and taken thousands of
semen samples? What did you think was so special about yours?"

I didn't respond, and, blushing deeply, started to jerk off as the
doctor watched. It wasn't easy - even though I hadn't masturbated
for at least 36 hours, it was really difficult to get even the start
of an erection going, and, as we know, whilst your dick is completely
soft it's really difficult to coax it into life. Once you get a bit
of a hard on, any guy can stimulate himself to go the whole way, but
the first bit is the most difficult if you're not in the mood. But
eventually I did manage it, and shot my normal large load of thick
jism into the tube - although that wasn't easy, and some of the
initial ejaculate shot out and went half across the room.

"Idiot!", the doctor said. "Get out of that chair and clean the
floor up!"

I stood up, and looked around for a cloth to remove the couple of
spurts of my jism from the other wise sparkling clean plastic tiles.

"On your knees, and with your tongue!", he snapped.

I couldn't believe this, but saw there was no choice. The guards had
gripped their machine pistols menacingly, and I knew that if I didn't
obey the doctor I would probably be cuffed - or worse.

So I got down on my hands and knees and approached the slicks of
jism. Tentatively I put my tongue out and licked at them. I felt
desperately and completely humiliated - a big naked guy crawling on
the floor and licking up his own jism, in front of armed guards and a
doctor! I was blushing all over, and I could feel the little veins
in my temple throbbing as they do when blood is pounding around your
body.

I was expecting it to taste vile. I've never tasted jism before -
not even licked at my fingers after jerking off. I was expecting it
to taste like it smelled - sort of like ammonia, so was surprised
when I found it had almost no taste, just slightly salty. Although I
didn't like the slimy texture coating my teeth and the inside of my
mouth.

"Good", said the doctor when I had scrambled back to my feet. "Not
only are you getting your medical done, but you're learning valuable
lessons in slave behaviour."

"Now, for the heart and blood pressure".

He took my blood pressure as usual by wrapping one of those bandage
things around my forearm, and took my pulse. Then I was told to go
on to an exercise bicycle in the corner, and pedal hard for 10
minutes.

And it really was hard - the bike could be set for various degrees of
resistance, and I had to do 10 minutes at maximum speed and maximum
resistance. After that, I was breathing very hard, and my body was
covered in a fine sheen of sweat.

The doctor took my blood pressure again, then told me to lie on the
examination table whilst he wired up an ECG machine and monitored my
heart for a couple of minutes.

Then it was the rectal exam, and he snapped on a latex glove before
telling me to bend over so he could probe my ass . I've had this
done several times before by docs in the Marines, so I knew what to
expect, but I've never found it very pleasant. And it wasn't on
this occasion, either.

Then I was told to sit in a chair and he came and poked around in my
mouth with one of those small dental mirrors and a sharp needle-like
probe on a stainless steel instrument, like dentists use. After a
few minutes he grunted at me

"Good. Well cared for teeth. That's one of the advantages of having
American slaves. So I won't have to schedule you for a visit to a
dentist before you can be sold."

And finally, he took an X-ray of my chest from a portable X-ray
machine in the other corner.

"You'll be pleased to know you're in fine physical condition", the
doctor said. "Excellent heart, and lung condition. Assuming there's
no problem with the tests on your blood and urine, we'll be able to
sell you in 'A1' condition."

"What about my semen... Master? What will that test tell you?"

"You're not allowed to ask questions, slave. Speak only hen spoken
to. But I'll tell you the answer - a lot of men seem interested and
you all ask the same thing. We only take a semen sample to see if
you have live, healthy sperm. It tells us nothing about your
physical condition. It doesn't really mater if you're 'shooting
blanks' or not, as long as there's a good spurt of jism when you cum,
and you have proper-looking balls. But some masters may be planning
to breed from a good looking slave like you, so we like our pre-sales
particulars to be accurate. If you're sterile, it won't affect your
price much, but it's part of our philosophy of being honest with our
clients to actually tell them."

This was too much - it was just as if I was some sort of prize bull
being considered for sale - they needed a test to make sure I could
reproduce. Was I going to be put out to stud, or something? I
wanted to protest and scream at the guy, but what good would it do
with the guards looking on?

"Anyway, I'm finished with you - except that you'll have to come
back at some point in the next few weeks to have that tattoo effaced,
as best we can. I really wish you young guys wouldn't deface your
bodies like that - most masters will have you tattooed, but it has to
be their choice of design, and of the area it's to go in. That
big 'USMC' on your shoulder will have to go!."

Then, in what I assumed was Arabic, he said something to the guards
and they led me out, down yet another corridor, and into a new cage
that already contained the two guys who'd been examined ahead of
me.

TRAINING BEGINS

Later that day, when all of us had been processed through the
doctors, we were all sitting in the cage. All of us, I saw, had had
our pubic hair trimmed and cut in the same way so that you could tell
what natural colour we were, but our dicks and sacs were totally
exposed. I guessed the other guys had had their ass cracks shaved,
too, but I didn't like to ask - and they didn't ask me, or talk about
it, either.

Guards came in and, motioning with their pistols, led us off to a
large room that looked, superficially, like a gym with a whole array
of exercise machines - except that, mysteriously, several of them
were surrounded by steel cages.

We stood there, with the guards pointing their guns casually at us,
until a big guy in his early forties, I would guess, came in. He was
magnificently muscled and extremely well hung - you could see the
high definition of his chest and thighs, and his 'basket', as he was
dressed entirely in skin-tight, very thin, black leather. A studded
belt circled his waist, and he wore studded arm bands around his
biceps on his otherwise naked arms.

"Listen here, slaves!", he began.

"I am your trainer, and my job is to get you all in the peak of
condition so that buyers will pay premium prices for you. Those of
you who are used to going to the gym can think of me as the personal
trainer from hell! Those who have been in the forces will not have
experienced a sergeant like me when you were training!"

"There'll be a personal regime for each slave, designed to get you to
optimum condition in the minimum time. I can guarantee that all of
you will have aching muscles every night for all the time you are in
my care."

"Let me explain a little bit about our facility here. Firstly,
notice the floor. You'll see it has a soft sheen on it - that's
because there's a network of fine wires embedded in the plastic."

He stopped, and touched something on his belt, and all of us slaves
fell to the floor as an agonising jolt of electricity caused our leg
muscles to spasm.

"As you have just seen", he went on when we had stopped screaming and
had managed to get to our feet again, "I can trigger painful shocks
by remote control. This has two advantages: firstly, we can
dispense with the guards and their guns, so we save money - you're
not going to try to attack trainers, or wilfully disobey orders, when
we can fell you at a stroke. You are all naked, and will be naked
all the time you're in here, so there's no escaping the current
through the floor. You'll notice that the other trainers and I have
these nice rubber soles on our boots!"

"And, secondly, it encourages you to get your comrades to behave.
As you'll see, we only have one floor in here. So if I punish one of
you, you all take the hit. So you'd better think how you're going to
be pretty unpopular with the others if I'm forced to deal with any
one of you!".

"Now, first, we're going to have some basic obedience lessons. I'm
going to teach you the five basic slave positions, and I'm going to
use one of you as my model."

He pulled one of us guys out from where we were standing to stand
alongside him, facing us.

"Now, position 1. This is the easiest. This is the one you've all
done at some time in the past... It's 'stand at ease'. You move
your legs about two feet apart, clasp your hands behind your back,
and stand up straight. The only difference between this and what you
may have been used to if you were in the forces is that you keep your
head bent down in an attitude of respect, so that your eyes look at a
point on the floor about two feet in front of you."

He pushed at the poor guy who was the model, because as the trainer
had been speaking the guy had tried to do what he said - but hadn't
bowed his head. I felt really sorry for the poor guy, being made a
spectacle of in front of the rest of us.

"Now all of you do it."

When we were hesitant about obeying, a jolt of electricity through
the floor caused us to jerk, then quickly arrange ourselves as he had
said.

"OK. Now let's practice. You can all move around, and when I
shout 'position 1' you'll immediately assume the position... Now,
move".

It was bizarre - all us naked guys moving around very self
consciously, then, when he snapped "position 1", stopping and
assuming the position. After we had done it several times, the
trainer said

"Now position 2, also known as 'display'. This is designed to give a
master the best possible access to all your good features - your
pits, pecs, and cock are all very accessible in this position. It's
like position 1 as far as your feet and head are concerned, but your
hands are clasped behind your neck. Then you thrust your chest
forward, and clench your ass muscles nicely."

He again showed us using the poor guy as a model, then we went
through the same exercise with us moving around and then snapping
to 'display' when commanded, several times. It was bad enough
doing 'position 1', but 'display' was much worse - standing there
with your hands behind your neck and your chest thrust out really
makes you very vulnerable - this was emphasised to us when, during
our practice, the trainer came around and "inspected" us by rubbing
his thumbs over our nipples, and taking between his fingers and
tweaking that incredibly sensitive bit of flesh at the back of our
pits.

Positions 3, 4 and 5 were all low down - we practised 3 first, where
we had to kneel, feet together, body at right angles to the floor,
hands clasped behind our backs, and heads respectfully bowed. This
was the position masters would like us in before starting to suck
their dicks, the trainer said! As if I or any of the studs kneeling
there would suck another guy's dick (little did we know of how our
lives would change!).

Position 4 was kneeling, but with our ankles together and out knees
spread far apart. Our hands were clasped behind our necks, and this
was apparently, according to the trainer, how we would be presented
if the master intended to face fuck us rather than have us actively
just suck cock! I felt much more vulnerable and exposed in this
position, as of course my dick and balls were fully on display and
completely accessible. Having quite a long dick, it almost touched
the floor as the trainer angrily pushed my knees apart as far as
possible during practice. This was much more painful than position
3, as the tension in the muscles on my inner thigh when my knees were
along way apart was considerable.

And finally, position 5 was crouching - you know, almost balanced on
your toes with your thighs horizontal. Body vertical, and hands
clasped behind your back - but on no account, we were warned, were we
to use our hands or even the tips of our fingers to steady
ourselves. Now I know that orientals and Indians can crouch for
hours and hours, but western guys just aren't used to it - after only
a couple of minutes the pain at the back of my knees was extreme, and
I wondered how long I could hold it. When one of the guys fell over,
I discovered I had new reserves of strength in my legs and new levels
of tolerance to pain - the electric shock we all got when he fell
meant that we were all particularly careful to remain crouching when
we resumed the position, until the trainer said we could stand.

It seemed we practised this for hours - moving around, then assuming
1,2,3,4 or 5 on command from the trainer. He told us he wanted it to
become almost automatic, so that on command "assume 3", or whatever,
our bodies would do it almost without them being under control of our
wills. I guess it was really demeaning to have to do all this - a
bunch of naked guys running around, then assuming these positions on
command. Even in basic training in the Marines I had not had a
sergeant who went at it so consistently, or for so long, as the
trainer did here.

But he must ultimately have been pleased with our progress, because
he then started to lead us off, one by one, to the various exercise
machines. When it was my turn I was put on a running machine first -
this was a pretty conventional treadmill, much as you see in most
gyms across the States, except that it was surrounded by a steel mesh
cage. The trainer opened the door and told me to get on to the band,
then touched some controls so that I was running along at a nice
steady jog. He locked the cage door behind me, stood looking in at
me for a few moments, then said"

"Pretty easy, isn't it?"

I nodded - I felt I could jog along like this for hours, as I was in
good shape.

He adjusted the controls, and the belt speeded up. It also rose
sharply at an angle, so that I was in effect constantly running up a
hill.

"Bit harder?", he queried.

I nodded - I didn't think it wise to speak, as I needed my breath for
the run.

"You're on this for two hours.", he went on, "and the machine
randomly speeds up and slows down, and randomly changes slope, so
you have a variety of running conditions. We find it best to vary it
like this as it gives your heart and lungs a much better work out."

"So I'll leave you to it. But, let me caution you - don't even think
about trying to straddle the belt to avoid running, or simply letting
it carry you to the back of the cage and standing there for a moment
to get your wind. The cage is electrified, and if you touch it at
all, it will be extremely painful. You may think you'll be in agony
after two hours of running, but it will be as nothing to the pain of
touching the cage!"

With that, he went off to start one of the other guys on another
machine, and I was left pounding away. Now I'm pretty fit - I'd only
just come out of the Marines, after all, but there's a difference
between the short, sharp training runs we did at our camp and being
forced to run at really quite high speeds, up hill, like this. And,
of course, I did relax momentarily and was swept back into the wires
of the cage - but only once! I howled with pain as the shock jolted
through my body.

After an hour I thought I couldn't go on - my lungs felt as if they
were bursting, and my body was drenched with sweat - small drops of
it were spraying from me as I pounded away relentlessly. But what
was the alternative? So I just had to keep at it.

When the trainer came back after what seemed an eternity, he looked
in at me and said "So, marine, you're already finding life as a slave
a bit harder than the US Marine Corps?"

I managed to get our a "Fuck you!", as I didn't like the Corps
referred to by some pervert like this.

He just smiled, adjusted the controls, and said "Another half hour, I
think, for a spirited Marine!".

I really didn't think I could last, but just reached inside me for
that determination the Marines teach you, and stuck it out.

When I was released, it was all I could do to remain upright - not
only was I gasping for breath, but my calves, thighs and stomach
muscles were all now screaming for relief.
But there was no respite. The trainer led me over to another machine
and said "Now for the arms and shoulders - we want our slaves to be
nicely proportioned, and not overly developed in any one part of the
body at the expense of another!"

This second machine must have been invented by a sadist! It
consisted of a cylinder of steel mesh held against the wall about
three feet in the air. The trainer opened it in half, and told me
to stand on my hands, with the lower half of my body and my legs
inside the cylinder, which was then latched shut. When I went to
disobey, his hands moved menacingly towards the control knob for the
floor on his belt, and I thought of the other guys - I think I could
have stood the pain, to show I was still a man and not just a slave
to be ordered around, but saw some of the others standing there
dejectedly, and thought better of it.

As I rested there, upside down, on my hands, the trainer said "Let me
explain. When the machine starts, two probes will rise from the
floor, under your shoulders. You will need to push up with your arms
to keep your shoulders from touching those probes - I think you can
guess what they will do if they touch you! When your arms are at
maximum stretch, you'll be allowed to rest for a moment - but not
too long! We used to find slaves could "lock" their arms to give
them some relief, but in this new version of the machine the probe
from the top of the cylinder comes down between your legs towards
your ass - you'll need to lower your body to avoid it touching you.
The probes from the floor sink as the one from the top descends, and
then the whole cycle is repeated."

"Under the control of the machine you do constant push-ups of your
whole body weight. Ingenious isn't it - a really good work out for
the top muscles."

"Even athletes who can do regular push ups, and one handed push ups,
and those you do in the Marines where you are required to clap your
hands together when you're at maximum stretch, find our variation
particularly taxing. And, again, the speed varies - you'll go
through a cycle of several slow, steady pushes, followed by a few
fast ones, then a little rest, and so on... That way, we can keep you
on here for quite a long time and ensure your muscles get the maximum
possible exercise. We need to get you ready for sale as quickly as
we can, as every day you're here you're eating up the profits!"

With that, he pushed buttons on the wall and my exercise began.

If forced running is bad, forced push ups, with your whole body
weight, are terrible. When my ordeal was eventually over I was
almost sobbing with the pain and strain from my muscles.

Mercifully, that seemed to be all for today, and we were led out of
the gym and into a corridor lined with individual cells - bare except
for a sleeping pad and a lavatory, and with stainless steel barred
doors. We were locked into individual cells, and a guard then came
along with stainless steel bowls containing the "dog chow" that I had
become used to.

This training went on day after day - after the first day in addition
to my aching muscles I had an excruciating pain in my balls, so much
so that I as almost limping. The trainer saw this, and said to
me "Muscle strain, or is it just your balls aching?"

I told him my balls were in agony, and he just laughed : "It happens
to all you well hung, low-slung guys for the first few days. It
comes from your balls banging up and down and into your thighs during
hard exercise - you've probably never exercised naked before, as most
of you fit guys always wear a jock, or running shorts, or something.
When we make you do it naked here, your balls just aren't used to
it. But it will sort itself out - you'll suffer today, but within a
week you'll be back to normal as you get used to it!"

He was right! In addition to the incredible pain from my lungs and
all the muscles from my body as I went through the enforced exercise
regime that day, I had to contend with the constant ache from my
balls that almost made me want to throw up all the time. But there
was no escaping the exercise - the constant shocks if I slacked saw
to that. And I was introduced to a new exercise that day, to further
strengthen my six-pack - an inclined plane, which I had to lie on
head down whilst my ankles were clamped to the top, and a collar
placed around my neck holding my wrists behind my neck. The exercise
was "trunk curls" upwards - seemingly endlessly - whilst one of the
relentless probes moved up and down underneath me to keep me on the
go.

I was there for - at my count - about five weeks. I say "about",
because although I tried to keep track of the days, there was no way
of making a mark - the classic idea of prisoners making marks on the
cell wall wasn't open to me, as every night was spent in a different
bare cell. And to make it harder, the days never varied - just
endless exercise, the same "dog chow" food, with the routine only
varied when every third day the shower I was allowed was followed by
a shave (including, of course, my sac and my ass).

Then one day, in the middle of a hard run (I must have been up to 10
miles a day by then), the trainer came over and stopped the machine
unexpectedly. "There's a potential buyer for you", he said.

End of Part 2. To be continued.
MY LIFE AS A SLAVE. PART 3

By Pete Brown. Petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all Pete Brown's stories in group petebrownseroticstories on
Yahoo! Groups

SOLD

The trainer stopped the running machine and opened the cage door. He
gestured for me to follow him, and we went out of the gym area and
along a series of corridors. Passing through a door, the decor
changed - instead of the painted concrete walls, harsh fluorescent
lighting, and plastic floor with wires embedded in them, all of a
sudden there were pleasant pastel-painted smooth walls, concealed
lighting, and carpet.

It felt really strange to feel carpet under my naked feet, as they'd
only been used to plastic and concrete for weeks. But my nudity now
seemed more shaming: you get used to being naked in a harsh "prison"
environment with a lot of other naked guys around, but to be alone
with just he sinister leather-clad trainer in what looked like the
corridor of an upmarket hotel, or a corporate headquarters building,
made me feel my nakedness.

"Listen up, slave", the trainer said. "Just because you can feel
that carpet under your feet, don't think I've lost my power to punish
you. I can't sock you instantly, but I can still press the button on
my belt that will shock your companions still in the gym - and I'll
make sure they know why they were getting shocked, so you won't be
very popular with them!"

"But you'll want to behave nicely - a potential buyer for you has
expressed a strong interest in taking a closer look. If I were you,
I'd be inclined to fully co-operate. If a master buys you like this
he has to pay the full asking price, which, believe me, is high! So
when he takes you away, he's acutely aware of the value o his
purchase and is likely to treat you well."

"If you don't sell privately like this, you'll go into the next
public auction - whoever buys you will probably pay a lot less, so he
won't value you so much. And at the public auctions we tend to get a
lot of brothel keepers and the like looking to pick up good specimens
of man flesh for their operations - their clients like constantly-
changing variety, and they're always on the look out for a nicely
muscled stud with a good dick and a nice smile. But I can assure you
that you wouldn't keep that smile for long in a brothel, when you'd
taken the tenth or fifteenth dick of the day up that nice ass of
yours!"

"So the message is co-operate. Remember our training in the
positions. Do not speak unless the buyer asks you a direct
question. And show no sign of resistance when he examines you,
however intimately. And finally, remember that whether he buys you
or not, you'll still be here after he has left as slaves can't be
taken away until the funds have cleared - so there will always be
lots of time for me to punish you. I'll be watching your every move -
remember!"

We had entered a small room, and he told me to wait whilst he went
through a door in the wall opposite to the one through which we had
entered (Which, I noticed, had no handle on our side so I couldn't
open it to leave).

He came back a couple of minutes later and said

"Right. You're on next! The buyer was watching you work out, and
wants to see the sweat all over you at close quarters. He's told us
not to shower you, as he wants to know how you smell with a good
lather of sweat all over you - he's looking for a gym workout buddy,
and as well as having a body that turns him on, the slave he buys has
to be pleasant to be around."

He opened the door, and we went through into a lavishly-furnished
room in the modern style: luxurious leather sofas, steel up-
lighters, a couple of cabinets and chests in light maple. All very
discreet, all in excellent taste, and all obviously expensive.

Sitting on one of the sofas was an Arab guy in his late twenties or
early thirties, dressed in what was obviously an expensive business
suit, crisp white shirt, and expensive-looking silk tie. The darkly-
tanned skin of his wrist was circled with, I estimated, twenty five
thousand dollars worth of designer watch.

The trainer led me over to the front of the sofa, and
snapped "Display!".

In spite of all my inclinations to make a run for it, or hit out, or
do something, I remembered what the trainer had said and assumed the
position, remembering to push my chest out and tension my arms behind
my neck. But I think both the trainer and the prospective buyer had
seen my momentary hesitation, because the buyer said to the
trainer: "I see he has a little spirit left. You haven't succeeded
in crushing him totally. I quite like that - I want a slave where I
have to constantly impose my will on his, not some cowed, subdued,
dog!".

He got up, and stood in front of me, and raised my head from the
subservient bowed posture I had adopted as part of the "display"
position so that I was looking straight ahead at him. I was
surprised to see we were abut the same height - he'd looked shorter
than me, sitting on the sofa, but our eyes were at the same level.
As he stared into my eyes, I felt a deep sense of embarrassment -
here I was, naked in front of this well dressed guy, knowing that,
potentially, he could buy me and there was not a thing I could do
about it. I wondered if this was how cattle and sheep felt as they
were inspected by farmers. Without being able to control myself, I
felt a flush spreading down from my face to the top of my chest, and
my dick stirred into life!

Oh fuck me, not an erection at a time like this! I get them all the
time, like all guys of course, but this shouldn't have been one of
them. I should have been cringing with embarrassment and shame, not
starting to feel horny. Did I really have a slave mentality, so that
I could be turned on by something like this?

And then things were decided for me - still looking into my eyes, I
felt his hand cup my balls, and "weigh" them - pulling them down
slightly, as if to gauge their weight, then gently rolling them
around so he could feel the size and shape of each ball
individually. His eyes remained locked on mine, as I gasped softly
under my breath - even though it wasn't painful, as I suspected he
had examined lots of slaves' balls like this before and was something
of an expert, you just do it instinctively. No guy likes to feel his
balls being played with without his permission, as there's just too
much risk of a crippling pain. And it was having another effect on
me, too - my semi-hard dick had gone to full erection!

His eyes left mine as he looked down, and I felt his hand leave my
balls to ease the foreskin away from my dick head.

"Nice dick!", he said to the trainer. "I was a bit unsure when I
first saw him, with that long foreskin overhanging the end. But when
he's good and hard, an when you pull it back, you can see he has a
very powerful dick and a really nice dick head - the flange is
particularly well formed and deep".

As he spoke, he was holding my dick whilst rubbing his thumb over the
moist head in slow strokes. This was more than I could bear, and my
reflexes had taken over - in time to the stroking of my dick head, my
hips started to thrush my dick backwards and forwards in his hand.
Only a very small amount, and I stopped myself as soon as I became
aware of it - but enough for him to notice.

"I thought you said in the sale particulars that his slave was
straight, had never fucked or been fucked, and was said never to have
had proper experiences with another man", he said to the
trainer. "For someone who has not been with a man before, he seems
to know what to do when his dick is being played with! Or perhaps
he's one of those hidden gays who lives a straight life until they
are woken to their true potential by a master."

Looking at me directly, he went on "So which is it, slave? Did you
and your marine buddies all have jack-off parties in the barracks?
Did you not marry because you wanted to sleep with the other tough
marines. Or perhaps you went all the way and actually made out with
your buddies, and that so-called virgin ass of yours has had more
marine dick up it than we can imagine in our wildest erotic
fantasies?....... You may answer".

"Sir... Master... I've never had my dick touched like this. I was a
proper marine. Marines are true men. Marines don't fuck with their
buddies, sir... Master! No guy would even dare to think of going up
my ass and be allowed to live afterwards!"

He looked at me and laughed. "Oh you charmingly simple marine! It's
well known that the marines corps has more active fuckers in it than
any other part of the armed forces! Guys join the forces because
they secretly want to be with other guys, and they gravitate towards
the marines because they work on their physiques and are the toughest
of all the fighting forces, and appreciate the company of other
strong, virile men!"

"Why do you think that is? Let me tell you: it's because they all
secretly want to fuck, and be fucked by, another guy! Most of them
don't admit it, even to themselves, and spend their free time picking
up women and making out they're big studs. A lot of them marry, too -
but have you ever seen how many of those marriages break up? They
father a couple of kids to 'prove' to themselves they really want a
woman, then subconsciously recognise that that isn't the case at all -
they really want to buddy-up to the other marines in their platoon,
but, of course, they can't say that, or even show it!"

"You're exhibiting typical marines behaviour - you pretend to be
outraged at the thought of going with another guy - indeed you may
even actually think you really are outraged, because you can't admit
it to yourself. But when a real man, a true master, gets his hand on
your dick, your own body gives you away by the way in which you
react."


I was dumfounded. He couldn't be right. I really had never wanted
another guy, and had never wanted to feel or stroke any of my
buddies, let alone fuck them! But he seemed to know what he was
talking about. And certainly there was the evidence of my hard-on to
consider.

Hew went on "But no matter. I don't really care whether you have
fucked, whether you consciously want to be fucked, or whether it's
only your subconscious mind that wants your body fucked. You don't
have a choice - I will decide what happens to that ass of yours, and
where that dick is allowed to go. Whether you're really straight, or
just don't yet know that you like men, it's all the same to me. If I
buy you it will be because I like your body, and I will then decide
what happens to it."


He then continued with a detailed examination of my body. Firstly,
he took my left nipple between his thumb and forefinger and rolled it
around - I reacted because I have sensitive nipples, because no guy
has ever done that to me before (one of my girlfriends once kissed my
nipples, but that was very unusual), and because my nips were
extremely exposed and vulnerable thrust out as they were in
the "display" mode.

In response, he dug his nails into the nipple, and I actually yelped
with the unexpected pain, and jerked back.

"Steady!", the trainer snapped. "Stay still when a master is
examining you!".

"Interesting", the buyer said. "Such sensitive nipples. And very
beautiful, too - look at how they stand out from those large, dark
aureoles. And how his chest hair lends a nice emphasis to them."

He proceeded to run his hands up and down my ribs and over my waist
and hips, then, kneeling, all the way along my thighs and up again to
press is strong fingers into my ass muscles. Then on up again, to
come back around the front to probe my six pack, kneading into my
abdomen with his strong thumbs in a way that made me want to move
away again. But I remembered what the trainer said, and simply stood
there and took it, stoically.

"Really excellent muscle tone, and not a trace of fat anywhere. You
really have done an excellent job in getting him into shape. Even if
the raw material was quite good, I can see there' a lot of work gone
into honing and fining the body to this state of perfection", he
commented to the trainer.

Then, to my amazement, he leant towards me, pushed his nose into my
pits, and breathed in deeply.

"A real proper male scent to him, too", he said. "Was he last
showered last night, and has come fresh from the gym where I was
watching him? You haven't played a trick and had him showered on the
way, to remove disagreeable body odours, have you?"

"No, sir", the trainer replied. "He last showered last night, then
went straight to the gym this morning and has been working hard -
really hard - since then. What you smell is the real him - the sweat
from overnight in his sleep, plus the good honest lot that poured out
this morning when we worked him hard. Of course, it's only fair to
say that a lot of potential odour sources are eliminated here -
because all our slaves are only fed slave meal, you don't get the
sweat tainted by garlic, or curry, or even the esters that come from
a meat diet. H's been here long enough for all that sort of stuff to
have been purged from the system, so he only has a good, natural,
wholesome man tang."

"Well, I only ask, because it's quite important to me", the buyer
went on. "I'm looking for a slave to be my workout buddy in my home
gym, and so I'll be spending a lot of time in relatively close
proximity to his body. Consequently it's not only got to look nice -
I may as well enjoy the sights whilst I exercise - but it's got to
have no offensive smells. I don't want to get a whiff of stale body
when he's next to me on the machines, or in the showers."

All the time this was going on, he was continuing to run his hands
over my body, pressing here, pinching there, to get a real feel of me
all over. I was past embarrassment, and past caring. But something
was happening - my semi-erection was now a raging hard-on. I don't
know why! I don't think it was the sensation of another man's hands
on my body - I think it was more that being talked about this way as
an object, a possession that was being acquired because I had certain
characteristics, was somehow erotic.

The buyer noticed, of course, and commented to the trainer that I
must like the life, and that he could see how I was appreciating
it! They both laughed, but the buyer then went on to say "But it's
a pity that erection only just makes his dick horizontal. I really
like to see a slave's erection make his dick head almost touch his
belly! I suppose it's his age - he's getting on a bit, isn't he?"

"Sir, might I suggest that that your experience is based on usually
seeing younger, less well developed slaves? Perhaps the slaves that
attend to you in your bath?" , he trainer replied.

"I guess you're right - at home, and at the Club, the bath slaves are
usually about 20 or 22, and they're chosen to be on the slender side,
not well muscled like this one. And the other slaves I see a lot of
are of course the waiters in the restaurant at the office - they're
usually those 'Italian' types that are the vogue for waiters, as we
try to make it look a bit like a restaurant from Manhattan. You
know - slim-ish, very tight asses, and not much muscle at all. With
all their body hair shaved off (after some of my fellow workers
complained about pubic hairs being shed onto the tables as the
waiters moved around amongst us) it's difficult to get a true
perspective of their dicks - but when they are erect, I do think
they're almost at their bellies."

"With respect, sir, I think you've pointed out something important",
said the trainer. "All the slaves you are describing are younger
than this one, and of quite a different body type. Whilst there's
some tendency for a slave's erection - indeed, any of our erections,
not just slaves' - to be less rigid and not to go so high as the man
gets older, I don't think that this is what's causing your comment in
this particular case. Rather, it's the size of the slave's dick.
Your bath slaves and waiters probably all have relatively modest,
relatively slim dicks. Am I right?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"But look at this slave. He's over 6', like you, and well muscled.
Don't you think his dick's in proportion to the rest of him? That's
relatively rare, you know. Quite a lot of these big well-build
slaves just have 'ordinary' dicks - nothing to be ashamed about on a
guy of 5'8 or so, but somehow they look small on a much bigger
frame. But this one is beautifully proportioned, don't you think?"

The buyer agreed.

"Well, then, the problem is this: the weight of that big piece of
flesh hanging there is considerable, and dicks that big never reach
up of their own accord to get to the belly. He's slightly above
horizontal, and that's pretty good going for a dick that size -
believe me, I see a lot of them, and he's way above average."

Turning to me, the trainer said

"Even when you were in your teens, did your dick ever touch your
belly when you had an erection whilst standing up?"

I felt terrible about having to answer questions like this, and about
having my dick discussed in this way. I blushed more, and my dick
got even harder - I didn't think that was possible. It almost hurt,
it was straining outwards so much."

"No, master".

"See", said the trainer, "It's not the age you need to worry about -
I would guess he'll be much like this in 10 years time. Its just the
consequence of having an exceptionally well endowed slave on view.
This slave is in the prime of life - as you yourself are, sir. It
may be possible to have young, relatively underdeveloped guys in
their late teens or early twenties with erections that reach to the
sky, but a man does not really put on proper muscle, muscle you see
here so appealingly displayed in front of you, until his mid-
twenties. And if he is exceptionally well built to start with, his
dick is just never going to have erections that go straight up! You
really have to make a choice, between young 'twinks', and proper
mature 'men' with well developed hard bodies. I suspect, with
respect, sir, that you are a connoisseur of male flesh, and are tired
of those twink types - you want to move on to proper specimens of
glorious manhood, such as you see displayed in front of you here."

The buyer stood up, kind of nodded in agreement with what the trainer
had said, and seemed to have finished. But the trainer said "Do you
wish to inspect his ass hole? Shall I have the slave bend over and
spread his ass cheeks for you?"

Oh no - if feeling my dick was terrible, how was I going to bear this
Arab fingering my ass? I'd never even done this myself, let alone
have another man do it. I can't see the fun guys get from poking a
finger through their anuses.

But the buyer didn't seem interested and replied "No. In my
experience the ass on a slave with a body which is so good all
around, like this, is always eminently satisfactory. I'm not
certain I will be fucking him anyway, and, if I do decide to take him
one night, it will come as a nice surprise to have a part of him
revealed of which I have no previous experience.!"

After a few more moments, the buyer said "I've seen enough. I'm
inclined to have him, if the price is right."

"Would you step this way, to the office, sir?", the trainer said,
motioning towards the door, and handing the buyer a towel so he could
dry his hands that were still wet from my sweat.

Looking at me, he snapped "Position 5!", and I immediately crouched,
as I had been taught, with my hands clasped behind me and my head
subserviently downwards. I was left alone with my thoughts, and they
raced - was I really gay? Has I really wanted to fuck with my
buddies in the marines? And what were they doing now- haggling over
the price of me? How could I, so recently a proud free man, now be
in his hideous place where two men were discussing the merits of my
dick, feeling my body so intimately, and then going off to agree a
price for me?

They came back a few minutes later, and the trainer was saying "You
strike a hard bargain, sir. I've never seen anyone negotiate the
price of a prime piece of flesh in the way you did."

"Well, it is my job! I'm a trader, and buy and sell stuff all day.
It's nice to see the actual goods I'm negotiating for, rather than
just talk about moving numbers on the trading screens".

"Now, sir, how do you want the slave tattooed?"

"Tattooed? I don't think I want him tattooed at all - I prefer my
slaves 'au naturel'".

"Sorry, sir, it's the new regulations. That temporary collar on him
has his temporary slave id number on it, but now he has been sold for
the first time he gets a permanent SIN. We've had to tattoo all new
slaves since the first of January last."

"SIN?"

"Sorry, sir. His permanent Slave Identification Number. It stays
with him until he dies or is killed. The law now requires it to be
tattooed on some part of the body of every slave, so if there's any
question as to whether a man picked up by the police is a free man or
a slave, an examination of him all over will quickly reveal the
truth."

"So what do you suggest, trainer? You must see a lot of slaves
leaving here tattooed."

"Well, sir, it's entirely up to you. Probably the most popular place
is high on the arm - above the biceps, on the shoulder line. Some
masters like to make a definitive statement, and have the number
tattooed on the slave's forehead or on his cheeks. Whilst this does
make the slave feel truly subservient every time he sees his own
reflection, personally I think it would be a shame to spoil this
one's features in that way - and it would probably reduce his resale
price, as even though you might want him marked very prominently, not
every master does. The other place is, of course, the perennially
popular ass - there's a good lot of muscle there to take a nice big
tattoo if you want. And some masters like the thighs, or perhaps
around the ankles - that can look quite, how shall we say, 'sexy'.
But it's entirely up to you, sir."

"Does it have to be visible? As I'll be exercising with this slave
almost every day, and I like good clean flesh, I don't really want a
tattoo staring back at me every time I look at the slave."

"No, sir, not at all. Provided the tattoo is somewhere on the body,
so the police can find it on a full body inspection, it can be
anywhere. Two popular concealed places are inside the ass - we can
easily hold the cheeks apart to tattoo the number deep down inside,
so it's not visible with the ass cheeks together. That would work
well on this slave, who has such big ass muscles. And, of course,
there's the underside of his dick - not visible in normal use with
the dick hanging down, or even most of the time when the slave is
erect. The only time you'd really see it is if he was running, and
his dick was flopping up and down as he ran. However again there's a
problem with the next buyer, when you sell him or trade him in for
another model - some masters will undoubtedly want to fuck him, or be
fucked by him, and finding a tattoo inside the ass cheeks, or on the
erect dick, can be a turn-off."

"Trade-in?"

"Yes, sir. We offer a complete service. Once you have bought a
slave from us, we will take him back from you at an agreed price- if
you look at the contract you have, you'll see the 'depreciation
schedule' - not much fall in the first few years, but then about 5% a
year from then on. That's assuming he's kept in reasonable
condition, of course - if he's been allowed to get fat, or is not
subservient, or is overly scarred with whip marks or brands, then
he'll be worth a lot less. But many masters prefer to trade in for a
new model - younger, stronger, more sexually experienced, or
whatever - again, you'll find our guaranteed trade-in prices in your
contract. It makes the financial planning of owning a slave so much
easier - just like people in the West now tend to purchase cars wit
guaranteed resale values."

"I can see I must read it in depth. However none of these sites
appeals to me for this slave's tattoo.... Anywhere else?"

"Well, sir, the sole of the foot is an obvious choice for almost
total concealment. Only if you want to suck the slave's toes are you
likely to be confronted by it!"

"Sounds good to me. Have him tattooed on the left foot. And
there's one more thing.

"Yes, sir?"

"Have your doctor insert this." He drew a shiny object, about the
size of a large drug capsule, out of his pocket, and out of the
other, some papers.

"Here are the full instructions. It's quite simple, but it will save
me a trip to my own slave practitioner with the slave. We have the
advanced security system installed in my house, and this is the slave
locator that needs to be embedded in him."

"Certainly sir. Anything else?"

"No, I don't think so. Will he be ready tomorrow?

"Yes, sir. But before you go, might I be so bold as to make a small
suggestion"?

The buyer - my new master, I suppose - nodded.

"Well, sir, you commented that the slave hasn't had all the spirit
beaten out of him. Now he's yours, and whilst he's still here so we
can punish him if it proves necessary, might I suggest you get him to
make the kiss of allegiance? If he refuses, we can have him properly
chastised."

"Good thinking, trainer."

My master came over towards where I was crouching, and started to
unzip the fly of his trousers.

"Would you like me to turn around, or leave the room, whilst you
expose yourself, sir?"

"Don't be so stupid, man. We're all men here, and I'm not worried
about showing my dick to either free men or slaves! There's enough
guys who've seen my dick - played with my dick even - that having a
good looking hunk like you take a look at it doesn't bother me a
bit. Who knows, you might want to sample it yourself!"

He and the trainer both smiled, in that easy way that men have when
they know they're just kidding around with another guy.

My master was now standing in front of me, with his dick hanging out
of his trousers. He was cut, and I looked at the purplish flange,
the piss slit (that was slightly moist), and the band of darker skin
behind the flange, as it hung in front of me. I couldn't avoid
looking, even had I wanted to, as my master was standing so close and
his dick was at my eye level.

The trainer said to me "It's the practice here. When you get a new
master, you kiss his dick head as a sign of total obedience and
subservience to his will."

"Of course, you may be ordered to do more in due course - but
immediately after sale, the kiss of your lips against your master's
cock head signifies to you, to him, and to the world, that you
understand who is the master and who is the slave."

"Now, lean forward and kiss your master."

I almost fell backwards from my crouched position, as I'd never even
touched another man's dick before, let alone put it to my mouth!
What was I to do? My first reaction was to tell them to fuck off,
that the game was over, that I wasn't going to be a slave, and that
they could torture and punish me all they wanted and no way was I
going to kiss a dick. But then I thought of my companions, and that
it wasn't just me who would suffer.

So, with only a moment's hesitation, I leaned forward and touched my
lips to my master's dick as it hung there in front of me. I was
amazed - how warm and soft it was! I always thought that dicks were
a bit cold compared to the rest of the body, but this was warm to my
lips. And the texture - utterly unlike anything I had ever
experienced. I moistened my lips, and leaned forward and kissed it a
second time. And now I got just a faint taste of something - was it
pre-cum, I wondered, or piss? I'd read about guys who like the taste
of cum, and the taste of piss, but of course I'd never tried either
myself. I'd never even licked experimentally at my own cum. So the
very tiny fragment of whatever liquid was just on my master's piss
slit was a totally new, totally exotic, experience.

"I think he understands!", my master said, laughingly. "See you
tomorrow - I'll collect the slave myself." And with that, he turned
and walked out of the door.

The trainer looked at me, still crouching in position 5, and
said "That's a tidy profit on you for us. And, I think, you will
probably make a good cock sucker one day. There's not many slaves
who take a second kiss from a master's dick on the first time - are
you sure you're actually a virgin?"

"Sir... Master.... I've never been with another guy. Not ever. Nor
even touched another guy's intimate parts. I swear."

"Well, it doesn't matter. I suppose we'd better get you finished
off, so you'll be ready for collection tomorrow."


TATTOOED AND TAGGED

The tattooing wasn't bad at all - it tickled on the sole of my foot,
but that's all. It was just like someone's nails rubbing lightly
over the sole of your foot, only for about an hour.

It was the first time for weeks that I had been allowed to sit down
for such a long period during the day!

But having the electronic tag inserted was another thing: I was
taken back into the doctor's "surgery" later that day, and saw him
reading the instructions intently. "Below the rib line, avoiding the
intestines... " I heard him mutter to himself.

I was left there for some time, without him saying anything to me.
No "doctor / patient" relationship crap for this guy! I just had to
sit there until he was ready.

He came over, pressed his fingers into the corners of my jaws so that
I opened my mouth, and looked in.

"OK, slave. Here's what's going to happen. I have to stick a thing
called an endoscope down your throat - deep down, a very long way -
so I can pass this silver bullet down and lodge it in your guts.
Once it's in position, I trigger it, and it fires out little pins to
cause it to stay there. Then I withdraw the endoscope."

"I'll give you a shot to suppress your gag reflex so we can get it
down, and of course there are no nerve endings inside you so there
should be no pain from the thing as it fixes itself to you. But
you'll have a really sore throat tomorrow, as your throat wasn't
designed to have a shiny steel tube rammed down it by me!"

"Now, open wide. Wider..."

I did as I was told - the combination of a doctor - always a powerful
authority figure who we all tend to obey unquestioningly anyway, and
my surroundings and new status, all conspired to ensure I could do
nothing else.

The doctor approached me with a needle, that he placed right inside
my throat before beginning to inject. It stung for an instant, but
then my entire throat went dead.

I was not able to do anything whilst the tube was forced down me, or
whilst the doctor manipulated something whilst watching a TV monitor
relaying pictures of my insides from a tiny TV camera. It took about
an hour in all.

Afterwards I was taken to one o the sleeping cells, without any
dinner, and without being made to resume my day's exercise programme.


As I sat in my cage, I thought a bit about the day's events. As well
as being examined like an animal, and sold off without having any say
in the matter, perhaps the thing that really defined my status as an
object, not a human, was the lack of a name. Not only did my master
and the trainer speak to each other about me as if I was not there,
but they never referred to me by name. Indeed, since I had
been 'enslaved' back in the USA, no one had even asked my name - it
clearly didn't matter to them that I was a man, and that I had an
identity. I was just an anonymous piece of male flesh to be prodded,
probed, trained, and bought and sold. Objects don't have names.

And in the morning my throat WAS sore!



MY NEW HOME

After my dish of slave meal and a thorough shave and shower, I wasn't
taken to the gym but along corridors and out onto the loading bay
where I had first entered the building. I was locked in a tiny cage,
one of several near the edge of the bay, and which was only about the
size of a phone booth and where I was thus constrained to stand as I
couldn't sit.

After a couple of hours, which I spent watching trucks come and go,
some delivering slaves, some collecting them, my new master
appeared. He spent some time signing papers with a guard on loading
bay, and it made me think about the customer collection point at a
big store- they needed t o make sure the customer had paid, and was
entitled to take the goods away, before the merchandise was releases
to the customer. Again, I had been dehumanised, reduced to the state
of a chattel of my master.

My master and the guard came over, and my master did not even speak
to me to say Hullo again" or anything - I wasn't a person! And, of
course, my slave training meant that I knew I was not allowed to
greet him unless he spoke first.

The guard consulted his papers, then commanded me to lift my left
foot, so he could check my SIN against the tattoo I now bore. It
reminded me irresistibly of what goes on when you take a hire car out
of the hire car lot at an airport - the guard on the gate, as a final
check, looks at the paperwork and the licence plate!

"That's all correct", he said to my master. "Shall I load him into
your vehicle for you, sir?"

"No", my master replied. "It's only a short distance to my house,
and I will walk the slave there. Just have him cuffed, and lend me a
choke chain, will you?"

"Certainly, sir. If you're waking him home, would you like to borrow
a pair of slave shorts for him also?"

"No. He's shown some signs of an independent spirit, and I want to
emphasise his new status to him. Having him walk across town behind
me, on a leash, totally naked, should help him understand his
position better."

The guard ordered me to turn around and put my hands behind my back,
and I felt him cuff my wrists together. Then he unlocked the cage
and told me to get out.

My master reached up and slipped a chain round my neck - which had
been bare since the black plastic collar was cut off after I had been
tattooed. The chain was like the sort you see on big dogs- two
rings, one slightly smaller than the other, one on each end of the
chain. My master slipped one ring through the other, then attached a
longer chain which had a clip on one end and a leather handle on the
other, to the smaller ring.

He jerked on the handle, and the chain collar tightened around my
neck, and I remembered why they are called "choke collars" when you
use them on dogs - if the dog strains at the leash, or if the master
tugs sharply on the leash, the chain tightens and starts to strangle
the dog.

"Follow me"", he said.

The walk was one of the most humiliating things I have ever done.
Totally naked, I was led through the crowded streets of the Arab
town. Mean and women stopped to stare at me. Some of the younger
men whistled and hooted. Small children ran alongside us, laughing
and pointing at my dick (whether this was because they had not seen
such a big one, or whether it was because an uncut guy was a rarity,
I don't know). If I slowed down, or stumbled, or got too far
behind, a swift tug by my master on the chain bought me "to heal".
With my hands cuffed behind my back, I could do nothing to conceal my
private parts from the watching crowds.

But the walk was over eventually, and we went through a big gate set
into a long, featureless wall occupying the whole of one city block.

Inside, it was totally different - gone was the dust and noise of the
street, and here all was calm and quiet. We went from concrete roads
and pavements to elaborate marble tiles on the floor.

My master strode on, along cool corridors giving glimpses into
reception rooms, with lush tropical plants growing everywhere in
containers. We were going along two sides of a "cloister" around an
ornamental pool with tinkling fountains, until my master opened a
door and led me in.

He slipped the chain off me, over my head, and said "Your new home".

The room was a huge gymnasium with two of every kind of exercise
machine imaginable. He led me on trough another door into a marble
tiled changing room, with conventional wooden benches, clothes hooks,
but no lockers. Beautiful white fluffy towels were neatly arranged
in piles on each bench. Further on was a tiled shower area, with
gleaming chrome shower heads, a Jacuzzi, and a cold plunge pool.
Beyond that the exercise suite - for that was obviously what it was -
the complex opened into an open area containing an Olympic-sized
swimming pool set around with reclining chairs.

On the other side of the gym he showed me a squash court, and asked
me if I was familiar with racquet ball.

I told him I was, as I had played in the Marines as part of my
fitness programme, and he said "Good. Squash is the grown man's
version of that. Faster, and more vicious. Only truly dominant men
can win, hover fit they are. Once you've adapted to the much faster,
harder ball that doesn't bounce as much, I will enjoy playing you and
winning."


And then there was a wrestling, or boxing, ring. "Wrestled or
boxed?", my master asked.

"Not boxed, master. But I wrestled in high school. And of course we
were taught hand to hand combat in the Marines, that was a lot like
wrestling."
"Good", he said. "I don't believe in boxing for slaves, as it a pity to devalue the goods by having your features battered to a
pulp. But I find the sight of two slaves, or possibly four slaves if
we have visitors and can arrange a tag-tam event, wrestling in the
nude to be very erotic. Especially if we give them a real incentive
to fight, by declaring that the winner is the first one to fuck his
opponent."

Nude wrestling? Fucking the opponent? What sort of crazy world was
this? Surely two men wouldn't wrestle each other totally naked until
one of them was fucked? What possible way was there that such a
match could be made to happen? There was no coercion on earth that
would make me fight to fuck another guy. Looking back on it, I see
it was easy to have those thoughts then - it was only later that I
realised that the masters were most subtle in their control of
slaves, and matches certainly could be arranged in these
circumstances.

"Now", he went on, "Let me explain why you're here."

"You're my personal trainer and workout buddy. I do a stressful job,
sitting in front of a screen most of the day, trading. I need to
burn off excess energy, and keep my body in good shape. Obviously as
a high status member of society I can't go to a public gym, so I have
this little set up here. But by myself I'd never use it enough."

"So you are here to 'encourage' me, within the bounds of remaining
properly respectful, to exercise for long enough and hard enough.
You will run with me when I run. You'll give me something to test
myself against on the exercise machines. You'll race me down the
pool. When I fancy a game of squash, I have a ready-made partner and
don't have to have my secretary ring around to find someone who also
has free time - you'll always be here."

"And, let me emphasise, you will always be here. That capsule
embedded inside you is part of the house security system - a very
advanced system that keeps track of all my slaves in real time. You
are not to leave this leisure complex without my express permission.
If you cross the threshold of that door, an alarm will sound, the
guards will come immediately, and you will be punished agonisingly.
Escape is impossible. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master".
"Likewise, don't ever dare to disobey me, or injure me. I will have
you punished for any attempt to disobey me. Injuring me will result
in your mutilation in some way. And there are standing orders that
all my slaves are to be put to death if I die in mysterious or
violent circumstances - so no plots to kill me. Understand?"

"Yes, master".

"Right. Then I'll uncuff you, which he did.

"In addition to being my trainer and workout-buddy, you are also
totally responsible for keeping this whole area completely clean and
impeccably neat. IF I ever find so much as one spot of dirt, you
will be punished."

"That's all. I have to go back to the office now for the rest of the
day, but you should thoroughly familiarise yourself with all the
apparatus, and the controls for the pool, Jacuzzi, air conditioning,
lights, and so on. And as it's your first day here, I will allow a
limited number of questions. Ask away."

There was so much I wanted to ask - why had I been enslaved? What
was my future? How would I be treated? When would I be released? I
just couldn't formulate the questions, I was so overwhelmed with all
that had happened to me. Instead, I heard myself coming out with the
rather lame:

"Master, if I am to stay here all the time ,where do I sleep?"

"Anywhere. In one of the pool side loungers, on a rubber mat in the
gym. On one of the benches in the changing room. I don't care where
you sleep. There' no bedroom, or bed, or anything - you're only a
slave, after all. I did once have a small room for one of your
predecessors, but it was a bit unsavoury - he tended to spend too
much time in there and it got a bit of a rank 'man smell' - I think
he spent all his time jerking off in secret! Giving you the run
of the entire complex, all the time, seems a better idea."

"And whilst I think about it, some other "house keeping" things.
Firstly, food. You get two bowls of slave meal a day. You are to
eat all the meal and it is not permissible to leave anything in the
bowl. You are to eat only that meal, even if I or other guests leave
food lying around. Slave meal is specially formulated to keep you
fit and healthy. It's entirely vegetable-based, so your body fluids
don't take on that typical 'meat taint' that Orientals would notice.
You'll do a lot of hard exercise, so it's rich in minerals and salts
to replace all those you'll sweat out. And you get a measured dose:
just enough to keep you fit and able to exercise and work hard, with
no chance of laying down even he tiniest bit of fat. I like to look
at that body of yours with the skin stretched tightly over the
muscles, with no underlying layer of fat, however thin."

"You can use the showers and lavatories in the changing rooms, but
they are to be immaculately cleaned after you. My guests and I do
not want to see any trace of 'slave' on the fixtures and fittings. I
do not usually have bath slaves in this environment, unless I have a
guest and there's a bath slave he particularly appreciates, so you
will have to learn to attend to my needs. Generally, I don't have
sex here, and when I do, it's not usually with my workout slave - so
the sort of attention I need is the usual shampooing of my hair,
drying of my body after we have showered, and so on - you know, the
usual things slaves do for their masters. Or perhaps you don't know -
so I will have to teach you. But beware - I have a short temper,
and don't expect to have to say anything twice. I will punish you if
you fail to remember some detail of the routine that I like which I
have taught you."

My mind was racing -what did he mean by "don't usually have sex
here... Not usually with my workout slave. Was he planning to have
sex with me, even if only "sometimes"?

"You will wear shorts when you are exercising with me, or using the
weights machines, or playing squash with me. I find it too
distracting to see a slave's tackle flying around loose during hard
exercise. But when you swim, or use the Jacuzzi, you will of course
be naked, like me. And, as I have said, you will service me and my
guests in the showers when you will of course be naked with us. But
remember - here's my first rule - you are not allowed to use a clean
towel. You dry yourself on a towel that you have used to dry me or
one of my guests. If you shower when you are alone here, stand there
until you dry naturally."

"I will not normally fuck you, or toss you off. But I expect you to
keep your tackle in good working order by jerking yourself off at
last once a day. Make sure you do. There's a supply of creams and
oils in the shower area, so I don't expect to see any unsightly 'hand
burn' on your dick - remember, you are here for my visual pleasure as
well as your ability to exercise hard, and I don't want to see that
dick with any blemishes on it."

"Is all that all understood?"

I stumbled out with "Yes, master".

"Good. Remember then that I am a good and generous master. But I
also am strict - any infraction of the rules means harsh punishment.
Now there's no more time for questions. Get on with the rest of the
day."

And with that, he turned and left, leaving me alone in the complex
that was to become my home for the foreseeable future.


End of Part 3. To be continued.


MY LIFE AS A SLAVE. PART 4

By Pete Brown. Petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all Pete Brown's stories in group petebrownseroticstories on
Yahoo! Groups

ROUTINE

After my master left and I was alone I thoroughly explored my new
home. It was vast, and obviously no money had been spared in fitting
out the exercise rooms, showers, gym and pool complex in the most
lavish way possible. There was the whisper of air conditioning
inside the gym, but the pool as open to the hot, dry desert air and
as I stood looking at the water I could feel the harsh sun burning
into my flesh.

There seemed nothing else to do, so I spent the rest of the morning
on a good hard workout, then in the afternoon swam until my body felt
truly exhausted. I have always liked swimming totally naked, but of
course you usually don't get much opportunity - as a teenager some of
my friends and I used to go and "skinny dip" at the local river late
in the evening, and I really enjoyed the flow of water over my dick
and balls. In the marines we were always supposed to wear the
regulation swimming shorts, but late in the evening, when the base
pool was no longer being used by officers' wives and families, there
were occasional "men only" nights where we could swim naked. It was
amazing, looking back on it, how many more guys went to these "men
only" nights than you ever saw there on a regular evening: Perhaps
there is something that makes men want to look at each other naked,
even though they're totally "straight". I certainly enjoyed seeing
my buddies thrashing up and down the pool then hauling themselves out
with their muscular arms and sitting on the edge with their tackle
hanging down - it seemed so natural, so right, that young, healthy
guys like us should be allowed to swim in the way that nature
intended.

After lying in the sun for a bit - not too long, as I was conscious
of the way it was so burningly hot - I showered and used the sauna,
then showered again. Remembering what my master had said, I was
particularly careful not to make any mess and to clean the whole area
thoroughly after me. But then there was nothing else to do, so I
just sat down on one of the chairs in the gym and waited to see what
would happen next, if anything.

What was next was "dinner" - the outer door of the complex opened,
and a foil package was thrown in and the door slammed behind it. I
retrieved the package, and saw that it was stamped "gym slave -
evening", and opened it to find some of the slave meal. I was very
hungry by now after all the exercise, so I swallowed it down
greedily - but there didn't seem to be enough. I could have eaten
twice as much.

Later - probably about an hour, judging by the way the sun was
setting (there were no clocks in the complex, and, of course, I
didn't have a watch) the door opened and my master came in. Without
saying anything to me, he strode into the luxurious changing area,
and started to strip off his clothes - he wore conventional Western-
style stuff - dropping them onto the floor as he did so.

"Lesson 1", he snapped "You pick up my clothes and fold them neatly
or hang them up, as appropriate."

I hated this - it was just as if I was a servant! It's one thing to
change with a lot of guys in a communal changing room, but quite
another to have to touch their clothes still warm and sweaty from
their bodies. It was particularly disgusting to have to pick up his
briefs and carefully fold them - I couldn't help feeling their clammy
warmth, from where he had been sweating, as I ran my hands over them
to smooth out any creases.

My master stood there, totally naked in front of me. I saw that
although he was not as well developed as I was, we had many
characteristics in common: we both had a good covering of hair on
our chests that tapered out to leave our bellies mostly clean except
for a very pronounced "treadure trail" that went down around our
navels to our thick, curly pubic hair. My balls had been shaved. And
my pubic bush trimmed back, but his was thick and manly. Unlike me,
he had been cut, and his good-sized dick had a pronounced, purple
flange.

"Hand me some shorts and a shirt", he snapped, and I saw that we was
waiting for me to go to the pile of crisply laundered kit that was
stacked neatly on the shelves nearby. "And I always wear a jock
strap, so bring one of those, too", he continued.

I stood there watching as he dressed, then, seeing him looking
around, retrieved and handed him white gym socks and a pair of
spotless trainers that were also on the shelves.

"You wear shorts when you're with me in the gym", he
said. "Normally, those I used the day before. You're bigger than me
in the ass and have thicker thighs, so you won't need a jock -
there'll be no chance of your cock escaping down the shorts' leg.
But yesterday's stuff has been sent out for laundry, so on this
occasion you can just put on a fresh pair."

I did as I was told, and felt my dick and balls constrained by the
cotton fabric.

"Now this is what we do", he went on. "I have an exercise programme,
and you do it along with me. You run on the second running machine
whilst I'm running, 'spot' me on the weights, and so on. You're
my 'work-out buddy'. Do you understand what that means?"

I'd exercised with other guys in my squad of course, and we did
exactly these kind of things, so I replied, "Yes".

He was livid! He rapped out "Look, slave, begin as you intend to go
on. Didn't they teach you anything at that initial training school?
How do you answer a master's question?"

I realised my mistake, and said "I'm sorry, master. I should of
course have replied 'Yes, Master'".

"Good. Don't forget it again - ever - else you will see the use of
one piece of equipment in this gym that you are probably not used
to. I keep a cane in here specially for disciplining my gym slave if
he gets too familiar, or forgets himself".

We then started his exercise programme, and, in spite of my tiredness
from my day's routine, it was actually quite easy for me to do it all
alongside him. Then we swam, and finally, had a sauna together. It
was almost as if we really were work-out buddies, except that he
never helped me, of course, and we had none of that easy banter that
guys have when they're together in the gym.

Afterwards, naked in the shower, I stood to one side whilst he turned
on the water and stood under the deluge.

"Shampoo my hair", he commanded, and I saw him indicating the shampoo
container.

I've never done anything quite so intimate with another man before -
running my soapy fingers across his scalp was somehow very erotic.
And when you're close enough in the shower to another guy so that his
head is within reach, you know how easy it is for your dick to brush
against him - well, of course, mine did. He didn't seem to mind, but
this was the first time that my dick had ever touched another guy's
body, and I felt a slight sort of electric tingle go through me.

When he'd had enough, I saw that he was expecting me to dry him, and
I knelt down and rubbed one of the large, luxurious fluffy towels
over his body. Again, this intimacy with another man was quite
outside my experience - in the showers in the Marines we all used our
own towels on our own bodies. I then roughly dried myself on the
damp towel, and followed him back into the changing area where he
started to dress.

"Put my dirty shirt, jock and socks into the chute", he said, "But
keep the shorts for you to wear during our exercise tomorrow."

He finished dressing, and turned to leave.

"Tomorrow the slave maintenance company is coming for their regular
weekly check-up of you", he said.

"They weight you each week, and test your body fat index. Than
enables them to compute the exact amount of slave meal you'll receive
the following week. Their barber will also trim your hair - I like a
very clean line at the back of your head, and a weekly trim and shave
of the neck line ensures that. And they'll re-shave your balls and
ass to keep them smooth, and keep your pubic bush trimmed as it is at
present."

"Each day you will of course shower yourself and shave your face, but
you will use the special razor here in the shower area: it's
designed so that you always have a residue of stubble as I think a
swarthy man like you looks best with a constant 24-hour growth on
him. Understood?"

"Yes, master".

"The maintenance company is also responsible for setting your
exercise regime to ensure you keep in tiptop condition. You'll
notice that all the machines have meters on them - they'll give you a
set of targets that you must reach on each machine before their next
weekly visit. The amounts we do every night count towards that, so
you should be specially grateful for me helping you out. Don't fail
to meet any of those targets if you wish to avoid punishment - I've
spent a lot of money on you, and I want you kept in perfect order;
and, of course, you're more pleasing to my eyes if you're in peak
condition constantly. You'll find that the amount of exercise you
have to do and the amount of slave meal you get given are kept very
tightly in balance- they have lots of experience in doing that.
You'll always be slightly hungry, as I prefer my slave's bodies to
have that lean, slightly starved look, rather than being huge masses
of overblown muscle."

And with that, he left.

My life then was now this - exercise by myself all day, exercise with
my master for an hour or so every evening, then sleep where I could
on the gym equipment. Two packets of food a day, and the only change
from one day to the next was the weekly arrival of the slave
maintenance crew: they were brisk and workmanlike, and barely spoke
to me. I soon got to know that all they wanted to do was weigh me,
take key measurements of my body fat, waist, biceps, and so on, then
have me bend over so they could efficiently and quickly shave my ass,
and bend backwards so they could shave my sac and crotch area
generally. They also occasionally trimmed my pubic bush, and the
hair in my pits - my master apparently liked to see hair there, but
not so long that it showed when I was standing with my arms by my
side. It was all done so quickly and impersonally that I had no
opportunity to feel shy or embarrassed by it - they were obviously
used to doing this to many slaves, and, as far as they were
concerned, I was jut an object that they were paid money to service.
They had as little feeling for me or my possible thoughts as a garage
mechanic would have for a car he was servicing.

My only regular human contact was my master, and other than to give
me orders, or to comment on how his body felt as we exercised, he
almost never spoke to me.

CHOKING

I came to rely on the visits of my master, and eagerly awaited the
opening of the door each evening and his appearance. Sometimes he
didn't come, and after waiting several hours, I simply went to sleep
as usual. He occasionally commented the following day about his
absence, saying something like "Fucking meeting overran, then they
wanted a conference call most of the night to New York", but that was
all. He clearly knew he owed me no explanation, and didn't feel the
need to give me one.

I relaxed into a world of almost silence - I never heard any news or
saw any TV, never chattered with any other slaves, and had no
conversation with anyone. My only chance of speaking to anyone was
to my master, and my training had been such that I knew I was only to
answer his questions.

One day when he appeared he looked particularly tired, and broke off
his regular exercise half way through. Throwing his clothes off,
instead of leaping into the pool for a swim as we usually did, he
instead went and lay flat on his belly on one of the tables in the
exercise area.

"Bring some of that oil over, and massage me. I've had one bitch of
a day, and I need relaxing", he said.

I approached his naked body and shook a little of the oil into my
hands. Reaching over, I gingerly started to massage it into his
shoulders. His head was turned to one side and his eyes were closed,
but he opened them and saw me.... And sat up, abruptly, turning over
as he did so.

"Fetch me my cane!", he commanded.

I looked around, then remembered that there was a three foot long
light, springy pole as part of the gym equipment. He'd mentioned
this in my early days, but had never referred to it again. Anyway,
not knowing what I had done, but not wanting to annoy him further, I
fetched it over to him.

"Get out of those shorts, and bend over the table", he
snapped. "Don't ever let me see you disrespect me that way again!",
he shouted. "You never, repeat never, appear clothed when I'm
naked!".

Realising my mistake, I quickly shucked off the shorts I had
continued to wear, expecting us to exercise as usual. As soon as I
had bent over the table there was a "swish" noise and an absolutely
agonising pain from my ass, followed by another, and another... until
six strokes had landed on me. As well a the physical pain of the
beating, I was hurt inside from the shame and humiliation of me, a
grown man, being caned on my bare ass by another naked man. Then, to
add to my humiliation, I felt an erection growing - the scene of one
naked guy caning another was somehow very erotic for me.

My master went over and lay back down, then commanded "Get on with
the massage at once, unless you want another thrashing for insolent
disobedience!"

So I went over, acutely conscious of my erect dick jutting out in
front of me, and started to massage the oil into his back, then in
response to his commands, up each leg paying particular attention to
his thighs. And when I stopped, he commanded me to massage his ass
well. Now although my master was not as muscular as me, his almost
daily attention to his workouts meant that he was far from flabby so
it was really hard work to knead and massage his ass cheeks, and I
was sweating from the exertion of it. I could see tiny drop of my
sweat flying off me as I worked, and landing on him.

I wondered if I was supposed to massage the oil up his ass crack too,
but when I tentatively started to do this, he at once commanded me to
stop, and then rolled over to lie on his back.

I stood there, sweating, with my dick still semi-erect, and he
gestured for me to start massaging the oil into his front. I started
with his pecs, and because I had no experience of massage, clumsily
allowed my hands to catch his nipples. I felt him flinch slightly
under my hands, and he snapped at me to be more careful, and I
stammered an apology, and begged him to forgive me as I was a novice
at massage.

He then took more control, as usual, and directed me to massage his
belly, then to do each foot thoroughly and work my way up his legs.
The only part of his I had not dared touch so far was his cock and
balls, and I imagined that I would be told to do this next. But
instead he spread his legs apart a little on the table and commanded
me to get up onto it and kneel between them. I was then told to
repeat the massage of his chest and belly using both hands at once.

As I ran my hands up and down his body I was looking down at him and
moving my body up and down to give him the best massage possible. I
saw him looking intently into my eyes, and suddenly my situation
struck home to me - here I was, a big, husky man, totally naked,
kneeling between the legs of another man and performing an intimate
massage of him. His body gleamed slickly with the oil, and my own
was shining from the sweat of my exertions. Every time I leaned
backwards and forwards, the tightening of my ass caused new little
shivers of pain from my caning to go through my ass muscles - not so
much as to be unbearable, but enough to make me almost wince and be
very aware that my ass was there - it's as if I had discovered new
life in a part of my body that I normally didn't think about at all.
It was almost exactly like a scene from a porno movie, I thought, and
it was as if this thought triggered a real porno reaction: my semi-
hard dick went rock solid into a massive erection, and my dick swung
up and down in time to the movement of my body as I continued to
massage him.

Raising his head slightly and looking down over his body, my master
saw my erection and laughed. "So, marine, I see you find this
exciting! You are supposed to be straight, but feeling your master's
body is obviously a turn on for you. Are you certain you have no
experience of other men?"

"Yes, master, I have never felt another man's body. Yours is the
first, and this is why I am not as expert at massage as you would
like me to be."

"Well then, marine, I think you have done enough for tonight. The
only part of me that has not now been properly relaxed is my cock - I
will take relief here rather than waiting to summon a slave to my bed
later. You may bring me to climax."

Gingerly I reached out for his cock, wondering what it would be like
to jerk off another man. But as I touched it, he screamed in almost
incandescent anger "How dare you! Did you like the cane so much that
you want another thrashing? The only proper way for a slave to
bring his master to climax, unless ordered otherwise, is by mouth."

I almost sobbed with a mixture of fear, worry, and disgust. Other
than the time I had been forced to kiss the tip of his dick when he
had bought me, I had no experience of taking a dick into my mouth.
Sure, I'd had blow jobs from lots of my girl friends, and so I sort
of knew what I was expected to do. But what would it taste like?
What would it feel like? Should I just put the tip of his dick in my
mouth, or the whole shaft? And when he started to cum, should I
swallow it or pull away? If I was supposed to swallow it, would I be
sick at the taste? I knelt there between his legs with all these
thoughts torrenting through me, and my master saw my hesitation.

"Get off the table, kneel on the floor, and reach up and start
sucking my dick, marine!", he commanded, and still in a half-waking
stupor, I obeyed.

I tentatively opened my mouth and lowered it over his dick head,
then closed my lips together and started to move them up and down the
shaft a little. I went on and on like this, but it was obviously not
satisfying my master because he suddenly shouted "Fucking hell!
Can't you even suck cock properly? Didn't you learn anything in the
marines? There you were, surrounded by cock all day and night, and
you don't know how to pleasure a man properly!"

"Until I have you trained, I'll just have to do all the work and face
fuck you. Get up and go and lie on that bench, with your head
overhanging the end."

I did as I was told, and lay on a low changing bench on my belly,
with my head hanging over the end, looking at the floor.


"Jesus fucking Christ!". My master was really angry now. "Are you a
complete imbecile? I'm going to fuck your face, and you lie on your
belly! Turn over!"

"No, wait. You need more education. Whilst you've to your ass in
the air, I'll thrash you again so that you really learn this lesson."

He reached for his cane, and then I felt the agonising sting of six
more strokes with it across my ass - he was standing over me, very
angry, and was able to put even more force into his strokes now than
he had before. And, of course, they were landing on my already
thrashed ass. I felt tears well into my eyes - not just from the
pain, but from the complete humiliation of being beaten on my bare
ass by my naked master. But deeper than this, somehow, was the
humiliation of knowing that I had failed again at something that was,
the moment I thought about it, so completely obvious.

Almost sobbing, I rolled over onto my back when it was clear that my
master had finished thrashing, and there was a new flood of exquisite
pain as my beaten ass met the wood of the bench.

Master now knelt on the floor in front of me, and my head hanging
over the end of the bench was at exactly the same height as his now-
erect dick.

"Open wide, marine!", he commanded, and I opened my mouth. Then I
felt his dick enter me and slide along my tongue. I went to close
my lips, but master commanded me to keep them open, and he continued
to push slowly into me. The moment his magnificent dick touched the
back of my throat I gagged with that uncontrollable reflex you have
when something seems to be going "the wrong way" down your throat. I
thought he would pull out, but he seemed to press further in and my
gagging turned into panic and I kicked with my legs and raised my
arms to try to push him back.

My master must have sensed that I was out of control, because he drew
back a little, whilst still remaining in me. I was able, with a huge
effort of will, to bring my body back under control and he said, less
angrily "Calm down, marine. You've got to learn to take your master
right down the throat, and lying like this is usually the easiest
position as your throat is almost straight. But I can see that
you're totally inexperienced, so I'll have to forgo a little of my
pleasure this time! Stay calm, get yourself under control, and
breathe through your nose."

So saying, he told me to close my lips, then began to rock gently
backwards and forwards pushing his dick into and out of me, but not
going to the extremes of making me gag again. I could almost sense
his mounting excitement, and I felt he must be almost about to cum.
I was wondering what his cum would taste like, when he gave a little
groan, and thrust brutally down into me so that my nose rammed into
his wiry pubic hair and I started to retch again. His whole weight
was bearing down on my face and one of the panicky thoughts that went
through me as I forced myself not to fight him off was that my neck
might snap.
But then it was over, and he pulled out most of the way from me,
commanding me to lick the remaining cum that was dribbling out of the
end of his dick. I could feel the back of my throat and my tongue
already coated with the sliminess of his cum, and so I did as he
commanded, very tentatively licking at his dick head with my tongue.
The sweet-salt taste of his cum was a surprise - when I had smelled
my own cum, I had always thought that it would be slightly
ammoniacal, but there was no trace of this in my master's juices at
all. I wondered why I had never tasted cum before - after all,
jerking off once or twice a day since I was 12 I had had lots of
opportunity to sample my own!

"Good!", master said. "You did well to recover and obey me. I
thought for a moment you were going to dare to try to stop me just at
my moment of ecstasy."

"However I think that I will need to start training you properly to
take me fully down your throat."

He stood there, eyeing me speculatively. "You know", he went on, "I
feel even more refreshed than ever after my time in the gym tonight.
Perhaps giving you a good thrashing does more for my feeling of well
being than all this mad exercise. The only purpose is, after all, to
get my endorphins flowing, and beating you then face-fucking you
seems to do that at least as well as an hour's solid exercise."

I said nothing. The pain from my ass was extreme, and my throat and
jaw muscles were extremely sore from where they had been spasming
involuntarily. It was probably the worse experience I had ever had
in my life. But there was nothing I could do about it - even had I
not been his slave, I would not have complained to my master about my
aches: real men do not mention problems with their bodies unless the
are actually life-threatening, and I was still a proper man.

Master then commanded me to the showers, and we went through our
usual ritual of showering, before my master left for the night.


THROAT TRAINING


When my master arrived in the complex the following evening he did
not immediately change. Instead, he told me to assume position four,
and then bent down behind me. He had with him some of those plastic
cable ties of the sort you see electricians using all the time to
hold bundles of cables to rafters and so on, and he wound one around
my wrists and slipped the end through the ratchet mechanism so my
wrists were held immobile. Then he did the same to my ankles, and a
third tie held my wrists to my ankles. Even had I wanted to stand
up, or use my arms in any way, I was now totally incapable of doing
so.

"Now, marine slave, I am going to start training you in ways that the
marine corps never thought of. You have to learn to take a master's
dick deep down into your throat, without all that gagging and
choking. I stopped at the slave shop on my way home from the office,
and have here his handy training kit."

He took out a stainless steel bar about six inches long, which had
wedge-like pieces on it, and a flat extension at right angles to it
in the middle of the bar.

"Open wide!"

He was holding the bar near my mouth, so his meaning was clear, and I
obediently parted my lips and let my draw drop. Master pushed the
bar between my jaws, and I found that I could not then close my mouth
as the wedge-like pieces were holding my back teeth apart. Neither
could I move my tongue, as the right-angled extension came almost to
my front teeth and pressed it firmly to the floor of my mouth.

Master then took out two of those elastic straps with hooks at either
end such as you usually use to hold luggage onto the roof rack of a
car, and passing it around the back of my head slipped the hooks over
the protruding ends of the bar. A second elastic strap went down
under my jaw. The bar, and its wedges and tongue restraint, was thus
fixed securely in my mouth and there was no possibility of my being
able to get it out.

"Now for the third and fourth pieces of the kit", master said,
grinning, and slipped over the middle of the bar a hook attached to a
very short chain, at the other end of which was a bullet-shaped piece
of stainless steel. The chain hung out of my mouth, and I could fell
the bullet - which was heavy - dangling against my chin.

"Ready? - No, don't answer, as I can see you can't speak! So here we
go!"

Master picked up the bullet and flipped it into my mouth so that it
fell backwards down my throat. The chain prevented it from going
down, so it hung there with its heavy weight resting against the
back of my throat.

At once my body went into reflex action to try to clear my throat,
but of course it could do nothing: my mouth and tongue were
immobile, and the stainless steel "bullet" was too heavy to be blown
out by the wheezes and coughs that started to rack me.

I went into a panic attack, and sweat broke out all over me. I
thought I was going to die, as my body fought for air. I tried to
pull my arms free so that I could reach into my mouth, but the
plastic cable ties only cut into my wrists and ankles.

Master reached in to my mouth and casually pulled the bullet out, so
it was again dangling over my chin. It took me about three minutes
to get myself under control, and stop wheezing and retching. The
sweat that had poured out from all over me felt cold and clammy on my
naked flesh.

"Good. First pass. Thirty seconds", master said. "Now let's try
again, for a little longer."

With horror I saw him flip the bullet again, and I was again
transformed from a rational man to an animal reacting entirely by
reflex and totally unable to control my body. But my torment did end
eventually - it seemed like a lifetime.

"A little better. Forty seconds", master commented, as if he was
totally uncaring about my wretched state. "I think we'll do the full
minute this time.", and the bullet was again flipped into my throat.

We did not do any real work out in the gym that night - master had
ten attempts to train me to stop gagging when something was lodged in
my throat, each time for a little longer, but I really was unable to
stop the choking reflex. Indeed, it seemed to me that I got worse
and worse - my whole body was heaving and shaking with the futile
efforts I was making to relieve my unbearable torment.

"No time or a workout", he said as he cut my wrists and ankles
free. "But I have enjoyed my time in the gym tonight almost as much
as last night. We will continue tomorrow, as I am determined that
you will learn to control your body fully so that you can properly
pleasure me."

I spent the rest of that night sitting huddled in a corner of the
gym, my knees drawn up to my chest and with my head resting on my
knees. I felt totally wretched and utterly alone. I thought I was
doomed - I simply would never be able to learn to stop choking, and
so for how long would this ghastly torture continue? Would I have to
endure periods of minutes whilst my muscles spasmed and contracted
under their own volition? Would I survive it? As well as incredible
soreness in my throat, all the muscles around my ribs were aching
from their exertion as they had tried to expel the "bullet". I
almost forgot the pain from my beaten ass as the sharp, stinging pain
from where the plastic ties had cut into my wrists and ankles in
their efforts to break free took over my pain centres.

I did sleep, fitfully, and the next morning I knew what I must do: I
must conquer this myself. I must take control. I could master my
own body. After all, I had been through heavy marine training, and
knew that the human will can drive the body to do quite extraordinary
things.

So after I had eaten my morning slave meal and allowed it to "go
down" as I did not want to vomit it up (I was always hungry because
of the way in which the slave maintenance service ensured I did not
gain weight, and the thought of losing a meal was awful), I sat down
and looked at the apparatus master had used on me.

Tentatively, I slipped the bar into my mouth, and slid the wedges
between my teeth so my mouth was wedged open. The bullet rubbed
against my jaw, an ominous sensation of what was to come. I regained
my composure and self control, then calmly picked up the bullet and
slid it back into my throat.

Of course I choked and gagged, but I as able to retrieve the bullet
and then have another go. By an effort of will I managed to continue
to keep pushing the bullet down my throat for longer and longer
periods, and after a couple of hours found that, whilst I was in some
discomfort, I had trained my body not to panic and lose control.

That evening when master came into the gym and sat down on the bench
to start changing, I knelt in front of him, pushed the bar into my
mouth, and flipped the bullet down my throat. Master watched me
intently, then leaned forward and ran his fingers through my hair
almost affectionately, as if he was rewarding a pet dog for having
learned a new trick.

"Well, marine, I see you have conquered your fear", he said. "That
is very commendable, and shows you are learning the proper attitude
of a slave. However I will now punish you. Take out that bar, strip
those shorts off, and lie across this bench."

To my utter amazement, master then administered six new stinging
lashes with his cane across my already sore and swollen ass.

When he had finished, he commanded me to stand, and looked directly
at me. I could feel tears of pain, humiliation, and, frankly, rage,
starting to swell the corners of my eyes.

"Do you realise why I have punished you, marine?"

"No, master. I though you would be pleased that I was able to
control my gagging reflexes."

"Yes, I was. That was commendable. But when you demonstrated it to
me, it was with pride. Pride has no place in the thoughts of a
slave - you are not to be proud of doing something like that, as it
is your whole purpose. You are here solely to gratify me, to make my
life easy, and to amuse me. You must not take pride in doing
anything with your own body, unless it directly fulfils one of those
objectives."

Regardless of my training, I interrupted as my master seemed to be
wrong.

"But master, I thought you wanted me to be able to take your whole
member down my throat."

"Yes, I do. But did it occur to you that I might get pleasure from
training you myself? I might have wished to continue last night's
training session today. I might have brought friends back to see how
a proud marine was unable to control his own body, and then been
severely embarrassed as you had 'perfected' yourself."

"What you did was commendable, but you did it for the wrong reasons.
You were proud of taking control again. And you must learn that you
are never in control. I will command you, and you will obey. I am
the master, and you are the slave. My slaves do not have free will,
and any signs of attempting to exercise independent judgement will be
beaten out of you."

"Now, enough of this. I need proper exercise tonight, as it has been
three days since we last worked out together. Leave those shorts off
tonight, as your knowledge that I can see your beaten and bruised ass
as we work out will remind you of who is in charge."


End of Part 4. To be continued.




























