There started to be announcements over the PA system – the kind you hear in airports and so on, starting with a kind of “bing bong” noise, then done in a specially soft, ingratiating tone. These informed the “esteemed patrons” that the auction of “today’s fine selection of stock” would begin in thirty minutes, and then in fifteen minutes.
I began to feel much more cheerful – the only buyer who had shown any serious interest in me was the cowboy, and he’d said he wanted a worker, and not a slave for sex. I could work for him, I knew, and it would be good to be able to use my body for good, honest hard physical labour. I could just tell that he’d be an owner who would be firm, but fair – provided I put in the effort, he wouldn’t punish me just for the sake of it. In fact, I speculated, I could come out of this quite well – ten years labour on a ranch would not be stressful, the life in the country, rather than the city, would be good for me, and all the exercise would keep me in great shape. I might even acquire new skills – I’d always wanted to be able to ride horses, but could never afford the hire rates.
Unfortunately, just after the fifteen minute announcement, two men came up and stood looking at me. One was big and overweight, like so many of the men who had been gratuitously feeling my body, and the other was tall and thin. The only thing that differentiated the fat guy from all the other fat guys who’d been humiliating me was that he was much more flamboyantly dressed – instead of being grey, or dark blue, his suit was brown, with a huge checked pattern in yellow all over it – and he was totally immaculate: not a hair out of place, his shirt crisp and perfect, and a large yellow silk handkerchief flopped out of his breast pocket. I learned later that this degree of perfection in male grooming really only comes when you have slaves to take care of every last detail, but even now, I could tell that he was used to being around slaves from the very different way he was looking at me. He appeared to be sizing me up as a whole, rather than just focussing on my pecs, or my belly, or whatever, as some of the other guys had done.
He turned to his companion – who looked sallow and sour and as if he never smiled, and remarked “This is just what we’re looking for, I think.”
“Oh no, not another of these muscle boys…. I keep telling you, the fashion’s going to change….”
“Yes, you keep saying it, but it hasn’t in the ten year we’ve been in business. Our clients will always want a nice-looking clean- limbed athlete like this one… You know that.”
“But the expense – we could get a black for half the price, or a Hispanic….”
“And that’s not our market! You know that – we’re downtown, in the middle of the expensive hotels, and the clients just want to play with the conventional toned, well-put- together white guy. We’ve tried having blacks and Hispanics, and you know as well as I do that they just don’t sell – if there are any potential clients in those hotels who want that kind of thing, they’re after a cheap fuck anyway, and just go and pick it up on the edge of the park – you know as well as I do that if a business man is into dark meat it’s partially because of the excitement of having a different colour under him, and that excitement’s heightened if there’s the risk of picking it up ‘rough’ on the street, and not from an establishment like ours…”
“Yes, but this one will fetch top dollar, you know that. There’s other white guys here…”
“Yes, ex-cons and shit like that. Just look at those hideous tattoos all over them. Mr corporate America doesn’t want to fuck an ex-con – he’d be scared out of his mind that he’d get some disease or other, even if we did give him our guarantee. Unless, as I said, he liked the excitement of maybe being worked over, in which case he picks it up off the street and doesn’t come to us anyway. So shall we stop fooling ourselves that there’s really any other choice, and take a proper look at this one?”
The sallow man kind of shrugged, and clapped his hands. A thin slave, who’d been hovering in the background, at once came over and stood in front of him, head bowed. I could tell this third guy was a slave, of course – even if the word “slave” had not been prominently tattooed across his belly, as was his name “Gary”, right across his chest just above his pecs. His costume – or, rather, lack of it – would have given him away: he was wearing only a pair of blue satin shorts, and these were incredibly skimpy, and his only other adornment was a big shiny stainless-steel ring through the septum of his nose, that hung down over his upper lip.
The slave can only have been about twenty two, and was slight and thin, almost skinny: I felt certain I could see all his ribs as he stood there in front of his owner. Mind you, he had a nice, well- rounded ass as the cut of the shorts left nothing to the imagination there, and when he turned to face me, I saw that he was exceptionally well hung for a guy of his size – I could clearly see the outline of a dick about the same size as my own pressed against his leg by the tight, thin satin. The shorts rode so low down that in spite of him having a totally hairless chest I knew that he must be naturally dark haired – the hair on his head was cropped so short that you could not make out the colour properly, but the pubic hairs that straggled out from the waistband of the shorts were dark black, and wiry.
At a command from the fat guy he came over and simply whipped away my kilt, so I was totally naked. Then, kneeling by the side of me, he took hold of my dick and began to jerk me off! The fat guy and his companion just stood there, looking with interest, and I blushed furiously and tried to get away – I’d never had a guy handle me so shamelessly before, and I certainly didn’t want to spring a wood. The young slave, as I tried to inch away from him, put his other hand on my butt to hold me steady – I was much stronger, and if I hadn’t been shackled to the floor I could easily have overcome this, but somehow the touch of his wiry fingers on my ass was enough to remind me that escape was impossible.
He carried on stroking my dick, and even though I hated it and was totally embarrassed, the inevitable happened – I mean, if you stimulate your dick enough, it’s going to go hard, isn’t it? The two men looked with interest at my dick, then the fat guy said to the slave “Skin him back”.
The slave stopped stroking my dick and used his thumb and forefinger to tease my foreskin back off my dick head. It came out, dark and moist, and now, in a way that I had not even been during all my experiences so far, I truly was totally naked. Without that small sliver of skin covering me, I was now utterly and totally exposed to these men in a way that I had never been before to any other man.
The only other people who had ever seen my dick head were my mom, and she not after I was about seven years old – and some of my girl friends who were very forward and who actually wanted to really experience me (and as you guys will all know, a lot of women don’t really like to look at or touch guys’ dicks anyway, so not all the women I had had were interested at all). But I’d never been exposed to another guy like this before – I mean, in locker rooms and stuff, you don’t skin back, do you? As I say, that feeling of total and complete nakedness was probably the worst thing I’ve ever felt in my life.
But even worse was to come! The big florid guy looked down at the slave and said “I need to make sure he’s a good cummer. Jerk him off!”
I went to protest, and of course found that I could not because of my bonds and the gag, and before I could really think anymore, the young slave had started to stroke my dick in earnest, jerking me off. You know how it is when you’re trying to jerk off standing up – your knees kind of go weak: I don’t like it, so I never do it in the shower or anywhere, only in a chair, or in bed. But there was no escaping the insistent hand of the slave, and as he felt me try to move backwards away from him, his hand on my ass seemed to push me forwards gently – again, it was more the psychological pressure than the actual physical force, as had I not been cuffed to the floor, I could easily have overpowered him. But he didn’t seem content with this – as his stroking got more and more urgent, I felt his finger trying to slide between my ass cheeks – I clenched them together to try to prevent him, and he changed tack slightly, sliding his whole set of fingers first between my thighs, then moving them upwards. He was stroking that incredibly sensitive area just behind my balls, and there was nothing I could do to stop it – and it was making my need to shoot become very desperate.
I really didn’t want to do it – I mean, cumming is something you absolutely do in private, isn’t it – not something to do when you’re standing there being looked at by two men, a slave, and the women in the other row! But then it happened – I felt my balls contract, and the next minute it was over, as my cum streamed out, as it does. I moaned, and I suppose I was easily audible even with the effects of the gag, as the slave carried on stroking my dick. I’m one of those guys whose dick is incredibly sensitive when it’s cum, and having the continuing stimulation was more than I could bear. I almost thrashed around, trying to get away, and was uttering stifled shouts and pleas for him to stop. He did it, of course, as his owner wanted to see the total volume of my cum, and so it was necessary to carry on and make sure that all the “after shocks” were expressed from me. I’ve got a strong dick, and I could feel the slave forcing it downwards so that the cum could fall into his outstretched palm (that is itself an odd sensation – having a guy’s hand pushing down on your rock solid dick, when it wants to reach for the sky). One good thing – at least he stopped scratching at my balls!
Moving to his feet in one smooth motion, the young slave held out his cupped hand with my cum in it for the two men to look at, and they actually did that thing I’ve read about in slave stories – they dipped their fingers and thumb into the rich white fluid and rubbed them together to test the consistency of the stuff. I mean, what are you supposed to do? Having your most intimate fluid examined by other guys like that! I mean, we all produce cum all the time, so we tend to think of it as nothing much, something that can be wasted into toilet tissue or a dirty T when we jerk off: but, if you think about it, it’s really the essence of your manhood, isn’t t? It’s the stuff your whole body is designed to produce, to make sure you breed and carry your genes on to the next generation. I’d gone past being worried about being naked, gone past being shocked and horrified at my treatment, and now all I could feel was anger – anger at the way in which theses men has taken away my manhood, and were treating me just as if I was some sort of animal. That is exactly what they might have done at a livestock auction, after all, when some prize bull was being sold. But then, I suppose that’s what I was to them – a prize animal who was up for sale, and they were the prospective buyers.
I don’t know what else they might have done to me, but just at that moment there was the “bonging” noise again, and it was announced that viewing was closed and that the auction would shortly commence. The two men, with the slave trailing them, went off, and I was left standing there wondering what the fuck they’d been going on about – all that talk of the clients liking a white guy, and so on. Liked a white guy what for? I didn’t have much time to speculate, though, as the guards came along undoing the manacles holding us in place in the hall, and marshalling us into a line, one woman, one man.
I assumed that they’d pick up my kilt and dress me before we left, but no – I was just put in my place in line, between two women, and all of us were ordered to move off. We stopped, and I saw that the guy at the head of the line was led up a few steps, a door opened, he went through, and we all shuffled forward. As we did so, the woman behind me misjudged it and kind of half-stumbled into me – my cuffed hands, high up my back, suddenly felt nipples and the special texture of soft breast tissue, and my body took over, before I could do anything about it – my dick went rigidly hard, and as it did, the woman behind me kind of pushed me into the woman in front; my rock- hard dick was touching her satin shorts, and it made it even worse for me – all this naked woman flesh, and my total nudity, just made me go harder and harder. But before I could do anything to will my dick to subside, it was my turn to mount the steps and go through the door.
On the other side was the auction stage- just a slightly raised platform, really, but brilliantly lit by spotlights, to show off the slave standing there. All the slaves so far , whether men or women, had of course been wearing their shorts, but I was totally naked as you know, and, what’s more, sporting an erection! There was a big cheer from the crown as the guard pushed me forward to the edge of the crowd, and there was absolutely nothing I could do to hide myself, as my hands were still cuffed firmly high up my back.
“Male buck, twenty eight years old, ladies and gentleman”, the auctioneer was saying. “College educated, and, as you can all see, he’s got a nicely toned and muscled body. He’s so proud of it that he’s even decided to show us how one of those muscles that we don’t often see in action here on the stage is functioning – a truly magnificent dick, I’m sure you’ll agree: nicely thick, and perfectly proportioned to go with those long legs and flat belly. And, what’s more, ladies and gentlemen, unlike a lot of the flesh we get through here, let me remind you again that this one’s a this one’s a college boy – he’s got a proper college education, so would be ideal for all kinds of work: manual labour with that body, special sex services, given his cock, or most kinds of administrative work, given his education. So, ladies and gentlemen… Who’s going to open the bidding with fifty thousand? He’s indentured for ten years, so there’s lots of good hard work in him for you.”
I was really pleased to see the cowboy in the front row of the audience, and with an easy nonchalance he tilted a finger to say that he’d bid. My spirits rose, but soon crashed, as the flamboyant fat guy raised his hand when the auctioneer raised the bidding to fifty five. And so it went on – every time the cowboy bid, the fat guy topped it. We went through a hundred thousand, with the auctioneer continuing to point out how little that was for ten year’s salary for a superlative specimen like me, then when we got to one twenty, and the guy topped it with one twenty five, but then the cowboy just shook his head, as if in sorrow, and dropped out.
Look, I’ve been at auctions before, and I’ve bid at some of them – once I even bid on a car I was interested in, and it was really exciting. But now I was more desperately interested in this auction than anything ever before – I had been hoping and hoping that the cowboy would buy me, and each time he bid again, my heart rose, and each time, he was topped, I slumped. And when I knew that he’d dropped out, it was dreadful – I’ve never known disappointment like it before. This auction really mattered to me in a way that no other ever had – well, I suppose I had a lot more riding on it: my whole future!
Nothing held up the pace of the auction, though, and a guard hustled me off the stage, out through a door on the other side, and I was pushed into a cage holding the slaves who’d already been sold. As the rest of the sold stock joined us it got a bit crowded, and with us all still cuffed, it was inevitable that there would be a lot of flesh to flesh contact. It was just about OK for the others, but I was totally nude as they still hadn’t given me my kilt back. I had to really hold my body in check to stop myself being humiliatingly erect again as the odd nipple touched my skin, and I was glad as the owners started to arrive and take the slaves away, to give us more room.
Finally, I was the only one left. I stood there, and a two guards started to discuss whether they should uncuff me, or even dress me in the kilt thing that seemed to be what stock wore at those auction rooms .
“No, leave him alone”, his companion said. “This is the uppity one who went onto stage erect – I mean, what sort of guy would do that, showing himself off to the world in that way? Still, that’s slaves for you – no sense of decency, not like us! So leave him naked – perhaps it will cool him down a bit, before his owner comes.”
When they originally did appear, the fat guy and the thin, sallow one not only had the young slave Gary still in tow, but were accompanied by the doctor, who had dealt with me the previous day.
“We’ve decided to have him done here”, the fat guy was saying. “You can arrange everything, I know. Same treatment as the slave Gary here – show the doctor your marks, Gary!”
The young slave at once turned around so that we could all see again the huge words across his shoulders, the smaller ones on his chest, and the word “slave” across his belly.
“And, of course he’s got to be skinned.”, the fat guy continued.
“High and tight, as usual?”
“Well, we’ve been debating that. I know it’s more or less traditional for slaves in our line of business to be fully ‘skinned, as it makes them look kind of sleeker. But this one does have a really nice dick, and a good-coloured head: I think we’re going to be a bit innovative here, try to start a new fashion, or, at least a trend: he’s got to be done, obviously, as now he’s drooping I find that small flap hanging down there at the end very unaesthetic. But, at the same time, I don’t want him totally tight. What I want, when he comes back, is to be able to see his piss slit at all times, with perhaps a few millimetres of dick head around it. The edge of the ‘skin, at rest, should be on the crown of the head it self. Can you do that?”
“Of course, sir”, the doctor replied. “But we can’t guarantee it. There’s so much potential variation in the size of a slave’s dick from day to day, and the elasticity of the skin and so on, that although it might look OK most of the time, at others it might cover completely, or even ‘skin back to leave the whole head uncovered. Subject to those provisos, we’re happy to take the work on. But I have to caution you that there are still all the disadvantages of his method, just as if you’d left him whole – unless you do the full ‘high and tight’, you have to be very, very careful indeed to make sure he cleans himself properly, or the smeg and stuff can still build up under one of these half jobs.”
“Oh, that’s no problem, doctor. We pride ourselves that the slaves are always squeaky clean for the clients, and that would be part of his normal cleaning.”
Look, I’m not very good at this , really. I just can’t convey to you properly how awful it is to stand there, naked and helpless, whilst other guys discuss your dick and what’s going to happen to your foreskin! I mean, you ought to be able to choose for yourself, oughtn’t you? (well, at least once you’re a grown man – if you’re ‘skinned as a baby, there’s not a lot you can do about it). But imagine standing there, nude, even if you’ve got an OK body, as I have, and having other men discussing you!
“And I see from the tag that he’s called ‘Steve’. Is that what you’re going to continue to call him?”
“I suppose so. Changing a slave’s name can help him acclimatise to his new role, but ‘Steve’ is a good, short, manly name that almost exudes power and sexuality. I can’t think of anything better, can you? And we don’t have a Steve at the moment, do we?”
The fat guy asked this of his companion, the sallow one, who kind of shrugged, as if to indicate he didn’t care, and that seemed to be that. The two men, followed by the slave, walked off, and the doctor stood there facing me.
“Now, old chap let’s see to you. It must be pretty uncomfortable cuffed like that, isn’t it?”
I nodded vigorously, and the doctor called in one of the guards to undo my cuffs. I stood there, swinging my arms and rubbing my hands over my wrists, to try to get some life back into them, and the doctor told the guard that he could also remove my gag. Man, it felt good! To be able to move my tongue, to be ale to clear the saliva out of my mouth, and I croaked “Thank you!”
“Hey, slave, just because I’m a doctor, and soft on slaves, don’t think you can forget your manners! All men are’ Sir’, remember? You’d better get used to it, as some men take strong exception to a slave not addressing them properly, and that leads to punishment!”
“Thank you, Sir….”
“Right… Though no time to lose – follow me, back to the surgery, and we can get started.”
I went to bend down to pick up the kilt that was lying there, but the doctor snapped “Don’t bother about that! I’ve seen more slaves naked than you’ve had hot dinners, probably. And you’d only have to take it off again in my room, anyway.”
I walked behind him along the corridor, strangely silent now that the auction crowds and the slaves for sale had disappeared, and in his surgery he motioned towards a big kind of dentist’s chair, and told me to sit down.
“Now, Steve, are you comfortable?” Well, I was, I suppose. The leather of it had been a bit of a shock when I first sat down, as you’re not used to sitting bare-assed on leather, are you?
But I said “Yes, thank you, sir.”
“Right then, old chap. I’ll just need to strap you down… I’m sure you’re sensible and all that, but some slaves have been known to be violent.” As he said this, he used strips of Velcro to bind my forearms to the arms of the chair, then told me to lift my feet so that they were on little platforms at the side, and tied my calves down, too.
“Right, Steve. You may not have understood what your new owners were saying. But they want us to deal with your decoration for them – so that means the tattoos, like that slave Gary you saw before, the nose ring, and, of course, the ‘skinning: that’ s what it’s called in the trade here, but the medical term is circumcision, for the avoidance of doubt. They don’t want an easy job done on you, though – the standard ‘high and tight’ that most men have – you’re going to be a trend-setter…. Did you hear that?”
“Sir, can you do that? I’m not a slave, really – I’m an indentured servant. I know everyone calls us slaves, but after my period of indenture I’ll be a free man again. I didn’t think that owners of indentured servants could alter your body. I don’t want all those tattoos, and I certainly don’t want to be circumcised, or ‘skinned, or whatever, even if it’s only partial… I’ve grown up with my ‘skin, and I kind of like it… “
“Now don’t be silly, Steve. I thought you were a sensible chap! You don’t want to upset your new owners, do you?”
“But surely, sir, it won’t upset them, if they’re not allowed to order it to be done to a servant! Surely, they obey the law?”
“Look, Steve, I’ll level with you. Strictly speaking, a contract owner can’t order the physical modification of an indentured servant at all. That’ s why it has to be voluntary. You have to agree to it.”
“Well, sir, I don’t. So that’s that!”
The doctor went to a cabinet, and came back with some official looking form. He filled out a few things, then held it up to me. “Here you are then, Steve. The standard waiver and disclaimer, giving me your permission to do the necessary works on your body. All you have to do it sign it.”
“No way…. Sir!”
“Steve, sign it.”
“NO!…. Sir.”
The doctor sighed, and the next moment my body exploded with pain. I screamed out, as my chest felt as if a pan of scalding water had been thrown at it.
“Steve, slaves who don’t obey orders get punished, remember? That was a quarter power prod to your left nipple. And this….. is a quarter power prod to your balls.”
He touched me “down there”, and had I not been tied down into the chair I’d have hit the ceiling, so immensely painful was the jolt that went through my balls. It was like being kicked, punched having your balls scalded, all thrown in together.
“Look, Steve, I don’t want to have to hurt you”, the doctor said, putting his face close to mine. “But it’s really quite simple. The Constitution does not allow slaves to be modified against their will. But it also allows owners to punish slaves, provided it does not result in permanent damage to them, for refusing to obey orders. So I have ordered you to give me your permission to modify you, and you have refused, and so I can punish you. And, old chap, I’ll go on punishing you until you obey. That’s the slave’s lot, you know – obey, or get punished.”
“Sir, please… They can’t have meant it to work that way when they brought in Indentured Servants….”
“Who cares, Steve? Who knows what Congress meant! But the fact remains that you can only be modified voluntarily, or else the ASPCS will be down on me like a ton of bricks if they find out, and the medical insurance people won’t like it much either! I’ve ordered you to sign the voluntary waiver, and until you obey, you’ll have to be punished.”
“Now, that was quarter power to your nips, and to your balls. Shall we try half power?” As he said his, my world exploded once again as he touched me. When the thrashing in my body subsided, I realised I could hardly speak, and was sobbing.
“Now, Steve, come on… Don’t be stupid – you’re more intelligent than most of the morons I get through here. You know what quarter power is like on your balls, and half power on your nips now – do you really want to experiment with the half power on your balls? And then, remember, there’s three quarters, and full power….. You can’t win, you know. You’re supposed to be college educated – see reason, and save your strength for the fights you CAN win, not those where you’re doomed to failure.”
Well, he was right, wasn’t he? Strapped down in this chair, I could go on getting harsher and harsher punishments until I ultimately caved in. So what was the point? I clawed in the air with my hand, he put a pen in it, and I scrawled my signature on the document. The doctor smiled, and said condescendingly
“There, sensible chap! Now, let’s get started….” He wheeled a little trolley between my legs, sat down there, and put my dick onto a snowy white cloth – it looked like one of those big German wursts or something, on sale at the market.
“Now, this is going to be tricky, so it will take some time. But it’s kind of interesting, isn’t it, to give you a trend-setting new look?”
“Am I supposed to brace myself for the pain, sir?” I muttered, kind of ironically.
“Don’t be so stupid, Steve! Do you think I’m some sort of butcher? I’m a doctor, remember. Me, the AMSPCS and the doctors’ organisations all say that unnecessary pain should be avoided in slaves, just as much as in men. I know that in slave fiction guys always get ‘skinned without anaesthetic, but that’s just so that writers can give their readers a little thrill! In the real world, I always deaden it, the more so as this one’s going to be tricky….”
As I watched, he drew something up into a syringe, sprayed a little out of the end, as they do to dispel the air, then plunged it down into my dick head.
To be continued …
