THE ARKANSAS PROGRAMME - Part  2		



By Pete Brown (petebrownuk@yahoo.com)

Read all of Pete's stories in
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories 



MEDICAL





The guards led us out of the Director's office and along more
corridors, until we entered a door marked "Medical Centre".  All
the time, we were passed by civil servants going about their
business and they hardly gave us a glance - it was as if four
totally nude men being herded along the corridors was an
everyday occurrence.  Whilst it may have been normal for them,
it was not for us - the only time I went into an office
routinely was to collect my pay check, or to gripe about
conditions on the site, and I found the office environment
intimidating.  All those managers and secretaries really knew
what they were doing, and I was just the site worker trying to
get something sorted out.  But this was much worse - they were
now all clothed in normal office clothes, and I was totally
naked.



In the Medical Centre there was a doctor in the usual white
tunic, and the guards turned to go.  "No, stop!", he said. 
"These men have not been tagged yet, and so they're potentially
dangerous.  And even if they don't turn violent, they could just
try to escape.  You guards need to stay here whilst I examine
them."



He took Dave to an examination table and told him to lie down,
and said the rest of us should sit, as it would take a long
time.  The guards took the only two chairs, and we were made to
it along one of the walls, and draw our knees up to our chins so
that our legs did not obstruct the floor.  I hated sitting there
like that, because my cock and balls were peeking out from
between my drawn-up thighs and I felt very vulnerable.



The doctor evidently was working to a standard routine, and was
very thorough.  Dave's chest was listened to, his blood pressure
was taken, and then the doctor took a blood sample by pricking
his thumb and squeezing drops into a small vial.  He was then
put on a running machine for three minutes whilst an ECG was
taken, and  finally there was the indignity of the rectal
examination as he doctor poked a plastic gloved finger up Dave's
ass.  I've had those exams myself before, and it's pretty
degrading even when there's only you and the doctor there. 
Having your ass probed with a lot of other guys looking on is
something else!



Then it appeared to be all over - except that the doctor then
gave Dave a small bottle and said he was to piss into it as a
urine sample was needed.



Poor Dave blushed.  He was only a young guy, and I know a lot of
guys - even mature men like me - are shy of pissing in front of
other men.  And here he was, with three naked studs lined up
against the wall, two guards, and a doctor, all watching him! 
He said he didn't think he could, and the doctor then said
"Don't worry - I can easily slip a catheter up your penis and
get the sample I need.  Or perhaps you'd like to try one more
time....?"



Dave struggled at these words, and obviously knew that a
catheter up his dick would be painful.  So he strained to get
his piss started and, of course, the inevitable happened - with
all the tension surrounding him, having started, he couldn't
stop and after the small flask was filled, he continued to piss
helplessly and it flowed all over the floor.  



"Disgusting", said the doctor.  And he threw Dave a roll of
paper towel and made him clear up the mess.  Then he gave Dave
another small vial, and told him to put a semen sample in it,
and "be careful you don't overshoot this one, else you'll clean
it up with your tongue off the floor!".



If Dave was embarrassed with pissing in public, he clearly found
the prospect of jacking off in front of the six of us even
worse.  He looked around from one of us to another - the doctor
merely looked dispassionate, Jim, Mitch and I could understand
what he was feeling, and looked down at the floor.  But the two
guards stared at his dick with interest.



"Come on!", said the doctor.  "We don't have all day.  And I've
got your three companions to do yet.  Get jerking.  Or do you
want me to get the guards to get one of your friends to do it
for you?"



Dave was blushing all over, but he reached down and took his
limp dick in his hand and started to rub it.  Whilst most young
guys' erections are driven by the brain and any hand stimulation
is purely secondary, this clearly wasn't the case here - Dave's
brain obviously didn't want him erect in public, and so it was
purely the mechanical stimulation of his cock head that was
going to do it.  But whereas a brain-driven erection is almost
instantaneous, one that is entirely hand stimulated can take a
long time.  He had to rub and rub for about two minutes before
there was a reasonable erection, and then there was still no
sign of any pre-cum.



I thought I knew what the problem was, so I said "Sir, doctor,
sir.  Let him sit down.  Jerking off whilst standing up is very
difficult - most of us only do it lying down, or sitting in an
easy chair.  He would probably find it easier"



The doctor snapped at me "Shut the fuck up!  You don't speak
unless you're spoken to", and he clicked his fingers at the
guards who poked menacingly at me with their "ticklers".  "Don't
speak again, or else!", he said.



But the idea had obviously struck home, because he led Dave back
to the examination table, and pushed him back on to it.  Lying
there in front of us I guess Dave did feel a bit more relaxed,
because he closed his eyes to blot the room out, and soon there
was a spurt of cum from his cock that went into the little vial
that he had been pressing against his cock head.



The doctor then told him to go and sit down with the rest of us.
 He sat next to me, with his back to the wall, and it seemed to
me that there were a few tears trickling down his face.  He was,
after all, only 20, and he did not have such a hard body as the
rest of us.  It was nicely proportioned, but it had not yet got
that final firmness that only comes in your early twenties when
your body has had a lot more exercise.  He probably felt
extremely shy in the presence of us other men whose bodies were
much harder.



His chest was almost hairless, but he had a little riffle of
hair running down from just below his pecs to the bush of light
brown hair that surrounded his cock which, although not as long
as some, was fatter than most.  It had detumesced rapidly after
he had jerked off, and as I watched there was just a drip of cum
that came out of his piss slit and fell to the floor under his
balls as he sat there.  



The doctor then called Jim forward, and he moved his compact,
muscle-packed body into the centre of the room.  He was only
about 5'10", but he had powerful shoulders and his broad back
tapered quickly into a tight "V" to join his bubble but.  He was
quite hairy all over, as I had experienced when I had to wash
his ass earlier, and the curly black hair poked out from his ass
and formed a little tuft at the base of his spine. 



As well as fathering all those kids, Jim was obviously no
stranger to public exhibitions, because he pissed and jerked off
without problems in front of us.  He didn't take long at all,
and was soon back sitting next to me.  Like me, he was not
circumcised, and he sat there fingering his cock - I knew that
he wanted to roll back his foreskin and properly clean out after
masturbating, but I guess he felt just a bit shy about doing it
in public - he had some inhibitions, after all!.  Most of us
with foreskins regard our moist, pink cock heads as being very
private - after all, they're not flaunted on public display in
locker rooms as uncircumcised ones are, and normally stay moist
and enclosed safe under their foreskins.   



After Jim was finished with, it was my turn.  Like Dave, I
didn't like pissing in public, and I had certainly never jerked
off in front of a group of men before - all my relations had
been strictly with women, and even at high school when some of
the other guys had done "circle jerks" in the locker rooms after
a match, I had never joined in.  I've got nothing to be ashamed
about, having a good, strong cock that is easily aroused to
produce strong spurts of cum, but doing it with, or in front of,
other guys was just never a turn-on for me. 



But now I had no choice, and I was glad that the doctor had seen
the sense in letting us lie down to give the semen sample, so I
could shut out the world of the doctor's room and the other guys
looking on, whilst I concentrated all my mind on getting an
erection and beating myself to a climax as quickly as I could.



Finally I was back against the wall, and it was Mitch's turn. 
The marine was about 6'2", I guess - just a shade taller than me
- and he walked proudly to the centre of the room.  I could see
that he was no stranger to being naked in front of other men,
living in a barracks as he did.  And he was probably used to a
mixture of naked guys and clothed ones in the various facilities
on a Marines Base.  He wasn't as hairy as Jim, but he had a
light thatch of black hairs across his chest, running down to a
wiry bush from which his long cock hung.  He had, like me,
low-slung balls, and you could tell from the way he held himself
that he clearly knew he was a desirable stud.



After the doctor had finished most of his tests, Mitch took
control - he didn't wait to be told to piss into the small
vessel he had been given, but took it off the desk and did it
without prompting.  Then he took the little sample tube for his
semen, and with a few quick strokes brought himself to a strong
erection and spurted quickly into the vial.  I wondered if it
was barracks life that had taught him to reach a climax so
quickly - did he have to beat himself off quickly all the time,
before his buddies came back into the bunk room, I wondered?



The doctor looked at all four of us and then said "You're going
to be locked up now, as it's too late to operate today.  Eat the
food they give you tonight, as you won't be fed in the morning
because I will have to give you a mild general anaesthetic in
order to implant your tracking devices."



Then, turning to the guards, he continued "Make sure these are
securely locked up, as they're not yet fitted up and they could
escape at any time.  And be on your guard, as at least one of
them is a trained fighter and another has a history of violence.
 Without that little chip in there, you're very vulnerable from
them!"



HOLDING CELL



The guards gestured to us with their "ticklers", and we were
taken off to another part of the complex where all four of us
were pushed into a cell.  



It was simply an empty room, about 10' by 10'.  Three of the
walls, the ceiling and the floor were just plain painted cement.
 The wall to the corridor was made of steel bars, with a
steel-barred door, so anyone walking along the corridor could
see in to us easily at all times.  



In one of the corners furthest from the door was a tap at about
head height, marked "Drinking Water", and in the other there was
simply a hole in the ground about 5" in diameter.  When we
looked at it more closely we saw it was intended to be used as a
lavatory, because just down below it there was a channel with a
flow of water that would take away any piss or turds.



As the door clanged shut, we just stood there, looking at each
other and wondering what on earth was in store for us!  We had
all been more humiliated than we could ever have imagined, and
it was clear there was to be worse to come.  



Our thoughts were broken by the guards appearing at the bars
with four bowls containing a rich, meaty stew.  There were no
knives or spoons, so we had to eat it with our fingers.  And as
there were no means of washing, we had to lick our fingers
clean.  The guards stood there, waiting whilst we wolfed down
the food, and then took the bowls away.



We were left there, and sat down, two against one wall, and two
against the other.  We looked at each other, and Mitch said "We
sure seem to be in deep shit here.  All this talk of slavery,
whipping, and using us for sex!"



I agreed, and said that that was probably what the Director had
meant when he said that the re-offending rates were so low
amongst other prisoners who were trucked in to see the inmates
on "The Arkansas Programme"! 



"What do you think will happen tomorrow?", asked Dave.



"Hell, I don't know", Jim said, "But I sure do wish I hadn't
listened to those welfare people.  I'd rather be lying with my
old lady now, even with all the kids crying, than stuck in this
cell with three naked guys.  No offence, of course!"



We sat there chatting to each other, speculating what the
following day was to bring, but we had no real idea.  



Then the lights went out, and we tried to settle down to sleep. 
But it was cold on the concrete floor, and hard.  I've slept
rough several times on hiking trips, and sometimes even on out
of town sites when I have worked really late and I haven't
wanted to drive back to my apartment.  But I've always had at
least a pair of jeans and a shirt on, and being naked when
you're trying to sleep is difficult.  Even at home in the height
of summer I always cover my body with a sheet, as I find I can't
get to sleep with absolutely nothing on top of me.  



After a few minutes when we had all tried to shuffle around to
get comfortable and find a space that would let us stretch out
without touching another guy's body, I heard Mitch's voice say
"Guys, this isn't going to work!  Let me tell you an old marine
trick for sleeping rough.  You lie in a square, and each guy has
his head on the next guy's stomach.  That way whilst the ground
may be hard underneath you, at least your head has something
warm and soft-ish to lie on!  Shall we give it a try?"



I didn't know what to think, but the others were obviously going
to do it because I felt them moving around in the dark, and our
bodies touched each other as we shuffled into position.  When I
put my head down I guessed it was on Jim's stomach, because it
was hard and firm and thickly furred.  I then felt a head lie on
mine, and I knew it must be Mitch because I could feel the spiky
short hair of his marine's very short cut.  



We lay there, and it was strange to feel a man's hot breath blow
across my navel as Mitch breathed in and out rhythmically - it
was remarkable how quickly he seemed to go off into a deep
sleep.  As I lay there, I could smell the musky maleness of Jim
- although we had been showered earlier in the day, we had had
the doctor's examination since then and had jerked off, and the
sweat glands around the base of his balls and his asshole had,
like mine, been working overtime.  It's often said that those
sweat glands produce the strongest-smelling sweat of any in the
body, as it's a special sexual signal designed to make the
genitals attractive to your partner.  I didn't feel aroused by
the smell, but I had never experienced it from another guy
before - although of course I had often smelt my own musk odour
when I ran a finger under my balls after a jerk-off session.



I didn't think I was going to sleep, but I did.  I had strange,
erotic dreams about fucking women.  Then into my dream there was
a  crashing sound, and I woke up to realise that the sound was
in fact guards banging on the bars of our cell.  



It was no surprise to feel my balls aching and demanding a
morning release.  Of course I was erect - isn't everyone when
they first wake up - as were we all, and we sat up and rubbed
our eyes.  We looked at each other ,and realised we all had the
same morning difficulty.  The guards told us to hurry up and
crap and piss, as they had come to take us for our operations.



I couldn't piss with a raging hard on, and I usually jerked off
first thing in the morning.  What was I to do?  The answer was
provided by Mitch, who simply sat there and started to wank
himself.  He grinned and said "Come on, guys, are you waiting
for me to finish myself and do you?  Well, it's not going to
happen!  I keep the best wanking hand in the US of A purely for
myself, and if you want your meat beaten, do it for yourself!"



Jim laughed, and he too then started to jerk himself off, and so
I decided to, too.  Even shy Dave, seeing us three studs jerking
away, took his cock in his hand and started as well.



The guards watched intently, and told us not to spill the semen
on the floor.  We were told to catch every bit in our hands, and
then wash it down the corner drain with our piss!



THE OPERATION



We were led back through the building to the medical centre, but
this time went into another room there where there was a sort of
operating table, with an array of medical devices hanging over
it, in the middle.   A cage stretched across one corner, and the
guards put us in to it and locked the door. 



This looked serious - what were they going to do with us?  We
stood there nervously together, worried that we were going to
have some dreadful operation - Mitch told us how the Vietnamese
doctored prisoners by cutting vital muscles, so there were
effective cripples.  And Jim was worried that he was going to be
castrated, because the state thought he bred too much.  But Dave
pointed out that the Director had told us that whilst our future
"employers" could punish us with light whipping and other
corporal punishments, he had explicitly said that they were not
allowed to carry out anything that resulted in permanent
mutilation.  What would be the point of stopping them doing that
if we were anyway to be mutilated first?   But we had no real
way of knowing, and as we stood there nude, it certainly was
creepy - stripped of all our dignity, waiting powerless in an
operating theatre for whatever was to happen next to us.



The doctor came in after a few minutes, and said cheerily "Who's
first, then?".



We looked at each other, and Mitch then said "Me!".



The doctor told the guards to get him out of the cage, and he
was led to the operating table where he was told to lie on his
back.  He lay down, full length, but the doctor told him to move
along so that only his back was on the table and his butt was
overhanging the end, with his feet on the floor.  The doctor
then pulled two metal devices out from under the end of the
table and clipped them into position - they were short stainless
steel posts, with footrests on the end.  The footrests were
slightly above the height of the rest of the table.



Mitch was told to put his knees on either side of the posts,
with his feet in the footrests, so he was lying there unable now
to close his legs together, and with his cock and balls
prominently on display.  The doctor went around and stood
between his legs, and started to examine his cock closely.  "Did
you masturbate this morning?", he asked.



Mitch told him that he had, and the doctor went on "Good.  If
you hadn't, you would have needed to now.  Although you'll be
out for the operation, the pre-op preparations often make guys
ejaculate, and I'm tired of getting covered in spunk.  So I make
it a rule to masturbate all patients first, if they haven't done
so themselves recently."



"Now", he continued, "I'm going to shave your pubic area.  I
need to have a clean area to work in.  Although I'll be doing a
keyhole surgery technique and only a small area of skin is
affected, it's easier if I shave away more of the pubic hair
than is necessary, for two reasons - firstly, it does make it
easier for me to manoeuvre the instruments.  And secondly you
would anyway have to have your balls shaved before you are
auctioned, in case buyers wanted to feel them.  We found that
some buyers resisted getting a good feel of a slave because they
don't like the sensation of a hairy ball sac.  So we now
routinely shave every sac before a sale as we want our buyers to
have the best possible opportunities of examining the slaves
they are going to bid for - that way, we get better prices."



"Some of your owners will of course allow you to grow hair again
down there, but we find most of them like to see a nice clean
sac all the time, and so you will be required to shave your
balls every time you shave your chin.  So here goes."



And with that he took a stainless steel bowl of warm water, and
a shaving brush, and proceeded to lather Mitch's pubic area
generously.  Then he took a glittering shiny stainless steel
scalpel from his tray of instruments, and started to shave away
at Mitch.  As he did so he made little encouraging remarks like
"not long now", and "Don't worry, I'm an expert.  I won't nick
you" and "You'll never get as close a shave as this with a
razor.  Surgical steel really does a great job."



We could see him shaving away at Mitch, moving his cock from one
side to the other to get access to its root, and stretching his
ball sac one way and the other to get the surface really clean. 
Mitch groaned, with a sort of pleasurable groan, as the doctor's
ministrations extended down behind his sac and around his anus
which was of course clearly exposed. 



When he had finished the doctor looked closely at Mitch's anus
again, and said "You know,, I missed that yesterday.  You look
as if you have taken a few cocks up there.  You're the former
marine, aren't you?  Did you have special fun nights in the
barracks?"



"Sir, no, sir!", Mitch shouted. "No fucker has ever been up my
ass.  Sure, some of the guys and me used to jerk each other off
after a few beers if we were watching a porn movie, but it was
just good manly fun.  We didn't do any pussy activity like
fucking each other!  We were marines, and marines only fuck
women."



"I do like to manipulate my prostate sometimes when I jerk off -
only my own finger has been up there, though.  That's what you
can probably notice."    



"Well, I'll take your word for it", said the doctor, "But it
really doesn't matter much anyway.  You'll almost certainly be
sold to a contract  for use as a sex toy at some point in the
next few years, and even if you haven't had any guys up there
yet, you surely will." 



"Now, you're clean down there.  I can start.  Just lie still,
whilst I anaesthetise you.  We just use a mask here with the gas
and air, and I don't bother with a pre-op injection to put you
out as they normally do in hospitals.  When the mask goes over
your nose and mouth, just continue to breathe slowly and deeply
and don't try to fight it - you'll be out after a very few
breaths."



And with that, he moved around behind the table, wheeled a
couple of cylinders and hoses around to by Mitch's head, opened
valves on top of the cylinders, and put a cup-shaped mask over
Mitch's face.  We could see Mitch looking a bit alarmed
initially, and his body quivered slightly, but, as the doctor
said, he soon seemed to be deeply asleep.



The doctor looked at the three of us peering out anxiously
through the bars and said "It's only a light anaesthesia, as
it's a short operation, so I can take the mask off now.  All I
am going to do is make a small incision through his skin just to
the left of his penis.  Then I will reach in with these probes
and insert the tracking device you all get fitted with, and then
sew up the tiny hole with a couple of stitches.  It's a new
technique of keyhole surgery, as I can get up right into the
body cavity with the instruments without needing to cut through
the muscles of the stomach wall.  That means you recover very
quickly, and there's no pain or need for a long period of
recuperation."



He bent over Mitch, and after a very short time said "There,
done."



He got the guards to come over, and they half carried, half
dragged the still sleeping Mitch over to our cage.  They laid
him on the floor, and we saw that he had only a neat patch of
pubic hair now above his cock, and there was a small sticking
plaster just to the side of it.  He lay there, breathing deeply,
and started to wake up.  



I was going to kneel down by his head to help him, when the
guards took hold of my elbow and led me from the cage and onto
the table.  I knew what I had to do, and lay down and placed my
feet into the stirrups.  The doctor started to lather my pubic
area, and I then saw what the posts were for that kept my knees
apart - even though it didn't actually hurt, there was a strong
reflex driving me to try to pull my knees together involuntarily
to protect my cock and balls as the brush probed around them,
and this got worse when the shaving started.



The doctor said "This is the part that gives you the most pain! 
You won't feel the implanting of the microchip at all as you'll
be out, and there is almost no pain afterwards.  But I'm
starting to stretch your ball sac now so I can shave it cleanly,
and I may inadvertently cause you some discomfort.  Try to lie
still, however, as this scalpel is very sharp and I don't want
any accidents - I'm not into castrating guys, even
inadvertently!"



I didn't know whether this was a joke or a serious remark, but I
tried to suppress my body's instincts as his fingers gripped my
sac and moved it down, then to the side, and then to the other
side, as the shaving proceeded.  And, of course, when the
scalpel teased around my anus, it was difficult not to squirm -
I'd never had anyone or anything touch me down there, and,
unlike Mitch, I didn't even know that you could push a finger up
to increase your pleasure with masturbation.  Considering I had
had to jerk myself off for years because my bitch of a wife
wouldn't have any form of sex with me, I wished I had known! 
Any bit of extra pleasure would have been a comfort in my hard
life of unrelenting physical toil followed by totally joyless
evenings at home.



Then came the mask over my face, and the next thing I knew was
waking up back in the cell, with Mitch looking down at me.  He
was kneeling by my side, so the first thing I saw was his long
cock and low-hanging balls, but he was bending over and stroking
my forehead and saying "Are you OK now, Steve?" in a very caring
way.  I had always thought that marines were big macho guys who
would not show any tenderness, but then I thought on and
realised that they probably had a great need for mutual support;
 and Jim, Dave and I had become his surrogate platoon in these
strange circumstances.



I was able to sit up, and saw that Dave was lying next to me
still out, with his fat cock lolling against one thigh and his
arms casually lying by the side of his head.  He looked for all
the world as if he had just fallen asleep on a river bank after
skinny-dipping, and there was a look of pure innocence on his
handsome, yet still somewhat boyish, face.  And looking out
through the bars, I saw the hairy body of Jim on the table now,
having a lot of that thick, black wiry hair shaved off.



When Jim had been operated on he was put with the rest of us to
lie and recover in the cage, and the doctor went out, saying "OK
boys, I'll give you a half hour or so to recover more before
stage two.  It's my coffee time". 



This really brought home our predicament to all of us - the
world was going on normally around us, with people taking coffee
breaks at the office and so on, whilst we were caged, nude,
after a surgical operation and with the prospect of "stage 2",
whatever that was, looming.



RINGING



We were all four recovered when the doctor came back, and there
were no guards with him.  Instead, he was holding a small black
box and said that we were now about to have a demonstration.



The microchip he had implanted had two uses - firstly, it
responded whenever there was a coded radio signal from one of
the US's Global Positioning System satellites, so that its
location could be determined.  He told us that because it was
"government", it used the high level of tracking accuracy so we
could be located to within six feet, rather than the 150 or so
feet that tracking systems in commercial cars used.  This would
enable us to be quickly caught should we be foolish enough to
try to escape, wherever we went on the surface of the planet. 
There was no escape possible, as we could always be tracked down.



He looked at the box, and said "Yes, strong signals from all
four chips.  It's working properly for location.  Now..."



Dave screamed, and fell to the floor clutching his stomach.  



The next instance Jim did, followed by me, and Mitch.



"Yes", said the doctor, "The pain circuits are working, too.  I
needed to demonstrate to you the other use of the chip - it can
be directed to send an electric current into your body.  There
aren't many nerve endings in there and in general you feel pain
only from the surface of the body and some specialist organs
like your ears, and your balls.  But the stomach does have pain
sensors, as you'll know from having stomach aches sometimes and
the chip taps into those.  Whenever your contract owner wants,
he can cause you to be in acute pain - either a very short,
sharp shock as you have just felt, or he can, if he wishes, set
it to a continuous low pain so it feels as if your stomach is
going to burst."



"Most contract owners punish their slaves physically if they
misbehave, but this option of using the implanted chip is always
open to them if they have a particular need.  We do however
insist that it is only used in cases of flagrant disregard of
orders, and if you're unlucky enough to be sold to one of the
pleasure houses where slaves are mildly tortured for their
clients' pleasure, the owners cannot use the chip as part of
their offerings - not of course that they would necessarily want
to, as there are enough ways of causing a young guy to have
agonies of pain that are much more satisfactory for the clients
to carry out!".



"But the government knows there are always some rogues out
there, and every time the pain circuit is used, the usage is
logged centrally and at the end of the contract period the
contract owner has to explain any excessive usage."



"Now that you know that escape is impossible, and that totally
disabling pain is only the touch of a button away, I can unlock
this cage and let you out.  You'll realise that there's nowhere
to go, and no hope for you.  You must just buckle down and work
your way obediently through your sentences, until you're
released."



With that, he came across and unlocked the cage door, and we all
moved out into the operating room.



"OK", said the doctor, "Now for the next part.  You have the
internal bits done, and that's what's really important.  Oh, but
let me tell you that you shouldn't try to remove the chip."



"We had a slave last year who thought that a small nick in his
groin, near where the insertion had been made, would enable him
to get the chip out and then escape.  But the chip is planted
high up in your body cavity, because I used those probes to
place it through the small hole I cut.  You need to go in
through the hard muscles of your abdomen to actually get it out,
and that requires a proper operating theatre and a skilled
surgeon.  Even if you managed to get to a hospital with the
right facilities and persuaded a surgeon to operate, it would be
too late - we would have located you before then!"



"The second part of the tagging system is the visible part. 
This serves no useful purpose really, other than to constantly
remind both you and everyone who sees you that you are slaves,
and part of the Programme.  Whilst we require you to be kept
naked unless you are carrying out hazardous duties that require
special protective work wear, and you might think that's enough
to differentiate you from non-slaves, there is the slight risk
that you might, for example, end up at a swimming poool on men's
night where all the guys are swimming in the buff.  How would
they know that you were slaves then?"



"So the government requires your bodies to be distinctively
marked.  You get a brand on your ass, tattoos on your backs,
stomachs and arms, and rings.  Personally, I think it's a pity -
although you can always have the rings taken out, there's almost
no way that the tattoos can be removed and the branding
certainly can't.  Even after you have re-entered society after
your time on the Programme, you will of course be constantly
reminded of your participation every time you take your clothes
off- and that will be a powerful incentive not to re-offend."



"But from the point o view of a slave contract owner, it's a bit
of a mixed blessing.  Whilst some people find the sight of
heavily tattooed bodies a real turn on, a lot of other people
think they're repulsive.  Personally, I need to have the lights
out when I'm fucking one of the slaves in the pleasure palaces,
and I think that's a real pity as I like to see the interplay of
the guy's muscles as I fuck him."



"But it can't be helped.  The rules are the rules, and I now
need to put your rings in, and do the branding.  The tattooing
is done next door. 





RINGING



It was my turn to be done first.



I was told to lie down on the operating table on my stomach, and
the doctor pushed a foam pillow-like thing underneath my stomach
so that my ass was raised into the air.



"Now", he said, "This will only hurt a bit.  In the old days,
slaves used to be branded with while hot irons and it used to
hurt like hell.  What was worse, the slaves were out of action
for days whilst they recovered.  Now I burn the brand into your
ass with a branding iron super-cooled with liquid nitrogen."



"The effects are the same, in that the flesh is permanently
damaged so that once the scar tissue falls off the mark will be
with you for ever.  But after the initial shock, there's very
little pain as the branding iron is so cold that it
anaesthetises the flesh as it goes in.  And you'll be able to
move around, with only a little discomfort from the scar tissue,
immediately."



Looking over my shoulder I could see him wearing huge gauntlets
and pouring a strange, bubbling fluid out of a large metal and
glass container into a beaker.  The liquid frothed and bubbled
as it was poured, and there were clouds of white vapour flying
around.  



When the beaker was full, the doctor took a metal instrument
that looked like some sort of barbecue tool - there was a wooden
handle, with a metal shaft, terminating in a circular wire plate
at right angles to the shaft.  It was pushed into the beaker,
and the doctor came over and said "That's liquid nitrogen that I
poured from the vacuum container into the beaker.  It's just
chilling the metal branding iron down nicely, and then I'm going
to bring it over and push it into your ass cheek.  Whatever you
do, don't move.  Don't even wriggle.  I want a nice clean sharp
edge to the brand, and you only get that if the branding iron is
pushed in firmly and is held there absolutely without movement."



The next moment, I felt a sharp burning sensation in my left ass
cheek, but it wasn't really bad.  However it turned into a dull,
insistent throb, but nothing I couldn't handle, even though I
had to clench my fists and grit my teeth to prevent any feelings
showing.



"Right, that's the brand", said the doctor.  "Now turn over."



He pulled the cushion away, and I lay on the warm leather, slick
with my sweat, on my back.



He came and sat by my head and said "First, it's the nose ring. 
This will hurt quite a lot as it goes in, but I don't want to
give you an anaesthetic there.  The nerves in the nose are
pretty key to the face, and if I deaden them whilst I'm ringing
you, you will have a drooping face all day - rather like having
an injection at the dentists, only worse.  You're man enough to
bear the nose ringing without it, aren't you?"



I said I guessed I was, and he gave me a rubber bar, saying
"Grip that between your teeth, and bite down if the pain gets
too much.  That way you can keep your head mostly still, and we
won't hear your dreadful screams." 



I put the rubber between my teeth, and thought that I must have
looked like a dog with a bone!  The doctor took a stainless
steel instrument that looked rather like a hole punch from the
tray by his side - there was a sharp spike on one end of the
jaws of a pair of pliers, and a little round cup on the other
jaws with a hole in its middle.  I could see that as the priers
closed, the spike would go through the little hole in the cup.



"OK, then.  Breathe out as deeply as you can, then hold your
breath.  This will hurt, but only for a moment or two.", the
doctor said.



I did as I was told, and he placed one half of the jaws of the
pliers on either side of the septum about half an inch up my
nose.  Then there was the most incredible pain as he quickly
squeezed the jaws together, and there was a little "snick" sound
as the pin from one engaged through the cup of the other.



He was right - having breathed out, and with the rubber bar
between my teeth, I didn't scream out - but I felt as if I
should have.  He withdrew the pliers from my nose, and blood
started to stream out.  The doctor seemed unfazed, and simply
told me to lie still - the blood coming out from my nose was
"only" where my septum had been pierced and it would soon stop. 
Nosebleeds were, after all, quite common; they made more mess
than anything.



Unhurriedly he took a stainless steel ring from the tray.  It
was about two inches in diameter, and was not closed - the two
ends were about half an inch apart.  Bending low over me, he
threaded one end of the ring through the hole that had been
punched through my septum, and turned the ring so that both open
ends were hanging down beneath my nostrils.  Then he took a
little tube of glue, and dabbed a bit on each end of the ring,
and finally another pliers-like instrument, with curved ends,
was used to grip the ring and squeeze the two open ends together.



"There", said the doctor, "That's the nose ring.  The adhesive
used to bond the two ends is a new super epoxy, and the join is
actually stronger than the ring itself!  If you ever try to pull
that ring out, your septum will split before the ring does!".



"Now I've got to do your cock.  Shuffle along, and put your feet
in the stirrups again like when I shaved you earlier". 



He snapped the leg posts out from under the table again, and I
wiggled along, put my knees on either sides of the post, and my
feet onto the little platforms.  The doctor moved his swivel
chair into the space between my legs, and then brought up a
small platform on rollers.  He positioned it and raised the
height, so that my cock was lying on the platform.  A bright
light was then positioned, "So that I can see properly", said
the doctor, and I lay there wondering what next.



I soon found out, as the doctor said "We used to give slaves one
of the rings known as a Prince Albert in their cocks, but that
can be rather messy when they piss as the ring emerges from the
piss slit.  And it wasn't always effective for its intended
purpose.  The government has decreed that you are not to have
sex without your contract owner's permission, and we found that
some slaves were managing to fuck each other even with a PA in
place."



"So now I'm going to give you a new form of piercing, invented
here.  A stainless steel bar, four inches long, will go through
your cock, at right angles to it.  The piercing for it will be
done carefully, so the urethra is not damaged - it goes through
the flesh just behind the tube down the centre of your cock.  I
make the insertion immediately behind the cock head, and for
uncircumcised guys like you there are a couple of problems. 
Firstly, there's no room for the foreskin to retract, and
secondly there's no flexibility left, so having an erection will
at first be quite painful.  You'll find that if you do manage to
masturbate, the foreskin can't pull away from your cock head at
all, and so you'll need to be especially careful with washing to
clear up the large amounts of smeg that will build up."



"For the circumcised amongst you", he went on, looking at Mitch
and Dave because all three of my companions had moved around so
they could see what was happening, "it's not quite as bad.  But
masturbation will still be difficult because your fingers won't
be able to get to the most sensitive part of the cock head, just
at the bottom, where the head ring meets the foreskin scar."



"You'll all find that masturbating with the bar in place takes a
long time.  It always amazes me that in the movies they always
show guys jerking off with the whole of their cocks being
massaged - after all, it's really only the head that counts, and
you all have problems in this area."



"Needless to say, you can't fuck - either a woman, or, as is
much more likely, one of your companion's asses.  With a 4" bar
sticking out from your cock, there's no way you can get it in. 
Or, if by a lot of pre-stretching, you do manage to get in, it
will be extremely painful for both of you as the sharp ends of
the bar engage with the anal passage, and your cock is stretched
and pulled."



"But look at this bar - see there are two small holes drilled in
it?", he said, holding it out to show us.



"Once the bar is slid through your cock, a small half hoop goes
around the cock and through these two holes, and is locked into
place.  The bar then can't slide out from either end.  But if
your master chooses to let you have sex, he can use a small
special tool to release the hoop, and then the bar can be
quickly and easily removed."



"And, of course, replaced, when you have finished fucking!". 



"Now, let me get to work.  And, Steve, isn't it?  You'll be glad
to know you do get an injection this time!"



With that, he drew a syringe and injected it into the head of my
cock, lying there on his little table.  After a couple of
minutes he screwed two little clamps into holes in his table,
and my cock was slipped under these.  They were tightened down,
and my cock was now immobile in front of him.



"Just so you don't get an erection and spoil my operation!", he
said.



Then he took a stainless steel surgical drill (like a domestic
electric drill, only smaller) and fitted a bit into it.  The end
of the bit was glittering in the operating lights, and looked
exceedingly sharp.  Without a moments hesitation, he then turned
the drill on and plunged it into my cock.



Even though I could not feel a thing, I wanted to vomit.  It's
really difficult to see your body being violated so drastically,
even when you have no sensation.



The tip of the bit emerged from the other side of my cock, and
there was a lot of blood flowing, too.



"Don't worry about the blood", the doctor said.  "There are lots
of blood vessels damaged by this piercing, but the cock is after
all rather like a big sponge.  It is designed to have a lot of
blood pumped into it to make it erect, and the many small blood
vessels are what give you an erection.  But because there are so
many of them and they are so small, they do heal remarkably
quickly."



He took the stainless bar, and pushed it experimentally through
my cock, then slid it backwards and forwards to make sure it
moved easily.  Then the small half-hoop was put under my cock
and pushed into the holes in the bar, and he used a small
surgical spanner to lock it in place.  A quick squib of an
antiseptic and a blood clotting agent, and he released the
clamps holding my cock down.



"OK, you're through", he said.  "Go on down the corridor to room
1106, for tattooing, whilst I get on with the other three. 
During the rest of today, slide the bar from side to side a bit
every few minutes, so that as the scar tissue forms the bar
remains free-running:  you do need to be able to take it out one
day!"



I was numbed.  I couldn't believe it.  I had been a normal guy,
and in the space of an hour or so I had been transformed into a
freak.  Having a bit of electronics inside me was bad enough,
but now I had a ring through my nose and a bar sticking
obscenely through my cock. Any I could feel the dull throb of
the brand on my ass. I felt as if I had been transformed into
some kind of fetish object.



"Go on, get out!", the doctor commanded again as I stood there. 
"The tattooist has a lot to do, with all four of you, and they
need to start soon if they're going to get finished today.  I
don't want to have to give a little push on my magic button to
make sure your microchip is working!"



I knew I had no choice, and went out into the corridor, very
conscious of the feeling of the bar on my thighs as I walked.



TATTOOING





I found room 1106, and went in.  There was a youngish guy in
there, reading the morning paper.



He got up, and told me to go and lie on the leather-covered
table that was in the centre of the room.  



"Have you ever been tattooed before", he asked, and then
corrected himself as he eyed my naked body up and down "No, I
guess not!", he said.



"So let me tell you that it will hurt a bit - not much, but a
bit.  And what we have to do to you takes quite a time.  
Effectively, the tattoo instrument is a sharp needle that is
driven electrically up and down many times a minute.  As I move
it over the design, it punctures your skin and blood starts to
well out.  Every now and then I stop, wipe the blood away, and
sponge special ink over the design.  The ink flows into the
holes, and leaves a permanent coloured mark."



"In the local town, in my tattoo parlour, I use many different
inks and designs.  But here I have to work to the standard the
government specifies, and only use black ink.  I'm going to
start on your back, so lie on your front."



He handed me another of the rubber bars, like the doctor had
used, saying "Some guys find these help.  Bite down, and it
helps to stop you crying out."



I then felt the tattoo gun start to move over my back and it
was, as he said it would be, painful, but not so painful that I
couldn't bear it.



My back took about an hour to do, and by the time he was
finished Dave had come into the room, with his nose ring and
cock bar in place, and the tattooist had told him to go and sit
on the floor against one wall.  Poor Dave did look miserable -
he sat with his forehead resting on his drawn-up knees, and his
cock, balls, and cock bar prodtruded down from between his
thighs.



The tattooist told me then to lie on my back, and the  next bit
was going to be the worst - my name had to be tattooed across my
gut, inbetween my navel and my cock.  "Most guys want to squirm
a bit whilst I'm doing this", he said, "but try not to move, as
it musses the design".



Another three quarters of an hour of mild pain, and then he
moved on to so something on my right pec.  Then finally I was
told to sit in a chair, and he tattooed something on my left
upper arm.



By this time Jim had joined Dave against the wall, and it was
good to see that he had put his arm comfortingly around the
younger guy to try to make him feel a bit better.



The tattooist then pulled back a curtain on one wall to reveal a
full length mirror, and told me to take a good look.  Right
across the widest part of my back, in letters about 2" high, it
said "Arkansas Programme 2010".  My stomach said "Slave Steve",
on my pec it said "Arkansas Programme 18756", and my arm said
"18756" with what I took to be the bar-code representation, like
you see on food packages, underneath it.  I could also see the
scar tissue of my brand.  Inside a circle, with a star in the
middle of it like the US Army uses, it said "US Dept Of Prisons".



"There, very sharp and clear, I think", the tattooist said
proudly.  "Your back tells everyone the year you entered the
programme, they know your name every time they glance at your
cock, and your prisoner number is on your pec and your arm.  The
bar code is particularly useful when we're moving a mass of
slaves from one owner to the other, as we can just scan them
with a scanner as you re loaded and unloaded from the trucks".



Just then Mitch came in, ringed like the rest of us.  Dave was
told to get on the tattoo table, and Mitch and I joined Jim
sitting helplessly against the wall, waiting.





End Of Part 2 ....to be continued.     













