Always Read the Contract (2)

I thought I must have misheard. All three of us just looKed at each other. Then Rob spoKe, and I realised that the Darren guy was serious.

“Come on, Steve! It’s not an unreasonable request – there’s a lot of the banK’s money riding on you, and they have a right to be cautious. And, looK, I haven’t got all day – I’ve got a meeting with one of my paying clients later on… ShucK your clothes, and let’s finish up here so I can get away….”

Well what was I supposed to do? The friend I’d brought along to advise me thought it was OK, and if I didn’t do it I guessed the banK would call the deal off. And it’s not as if Rob hasn’t seen my body before, when we go hunting. And I’ve got nothing to be ashamed off. But I still didn’t liKe the way that Darren, Mr Taylor as I was supposed to thinK of him, was looKing at me. He caught my eye.

“Yes, boy, hurry up. I’ve got other men to see this morning, too, you Know – there’s a steady stream of you losers who need the banK’s money. And, don’t worry – it’s purely professional – I’ve got a wife and Kids – but I have to looK at you, it’s part of the contract, where you say you’re in good physical condition and allow the banK reasonable access to verify it.”

Actually I don’t care if it is “purely professional”: it still seems odd to have to strip off our stuff in front of other guys. I’m used to it at the Pool of course – I can’t stand the way some guys huddle away in those little changing cubicles they provide and I’m always one of the ones out on the benches in the big open area. It’s different there – we’re all going to do sport, and it’s only for a moment when you finally KicK off your boxers and pull on your swimming shorts.

But here – well, it was an office. A desK, PC, phone, papers on the desK, carpet on the floor – it didn’t seem to be right to be getting naKed.

But both men were still just sitting there, waiting, looKing at me expectantly. Hell, I thought, I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of… and so I started to remove my clothes. I undid my shirt, that was now soaKed in my sweat even though it had started out so crisp and clean only a couple of hours ago. I had to balance on one foot whilst I slipped off my boots, and it shows how nervous I was, as I Kind of wobbled as I stood there on one leg, and I’m usually so well in control of my body that that doesn’t happen.

I wish I hadn’t worn the very tight Jeans that morning as they’re always difficult to pull over my feet, but finally I stood there in front of them in my grey boxers.  Almost instinctively, as you do, I just lightly scratched the bulge at the front where my dicK and balls were maKing their customary presence felt through the thin jersey material.

I stood there, and the two men looKed at me.

“When I said ‘undress’, boy, I meant all the way. Do you usually just undress down to your underwear? Now, taKe them off!”

That Taylor guy had spoKen, but Rob just looKed at me, and nodded. Well, what could I do? I needed the loan.  With a Kind of little shrug that implied “what the hell”, I put my thumbs under the elastic waistband and pushed my boxers down, felling them fall, warm with my body heat, on to the top of my feet.  I stepped out of them, and then realised that my body had taKen over – I’d reached down and given my dicK that little “flicK” you do when you taKe your boxers off, to free it from your balls.

Darren, Mr Taylor, now got up and came and stood in front of me. “Legs about three feet apart, and hands behind your necK, boy. We call it ‘display’, and you should do that in front of prospective hirers.”

Well, I did as he said, and felt that position made me push my pecs and my hips forward. My dicK felt strangely exposed.

“Hmmm… A lot of thatch on this pelt”, Darren mused almost to himself, almost to Rob. “And he’s not cut. Some hirers wouldn’t liKe that – it’s probably just as well he didn’t sign up for one of the jobs where he’d be needed to display more of his flesh. Still, he’s in very good shape – I see a lot of men in here, and some of them… Well…  But his one is pretty spectacular.”

Rob joined in now! Rob, my friend. He wasn’t supposed to start discussing me as if I was some piece of meat. “Yes, he’s always been liKe that, ever since school. And he does hard manual worK for a living – well, did, I suppose I should say. And he swims a lot. Most of the guys at school used to wish we were more liKe him – especially with that dicK: I Know you’re not supposed to be envious of another guy’s dicK, but his is the one I’d have if I had a choice. And his folKs didn’t have him cut at birth, either – all the rest of us used to try and see if his dicK head would pop out when we were changing…”

Darren had walKed around me now, and he just looKed at me again and said “I thinK that’s fine – just one more thing – I do need to see your dicK head. We’ve had a couple of cases where guys have had a lesion or something hidden by their foresKins, and it’s badly affected their hiring chances. So just sKin bacK for me so I can maKe a quicK visual inspection – we’ll give you a full medical later, of course, but we don’t want to waste money on that if it’s hopeless from the outset.”

FucK me!  SKin bacK!  I’d never done that in front of other guys.  The sight of my dicK head in its raw state is strictly reserved for a woman who’s about to get a taste of it, or a feel of it as it slides into her cunt.

I just stood there, as if frozen.

“Oh, come on, Steve, get it over with. Time’s moving on…”. FucKing Rob, agai n, more worried about himself than me.

But what was I supposed to do?  What would you have done?  I’d come this far, and there didn’t seem much choice.  I reached down with my left hand, and squeezed at the side of my dicK head with my thumb and forefinger and pulled bacKwards, and my dicK head, wet and shiny with it’s usual coating of pre-cum, slid out. Darren glanced briefly at it, and said “OK, get dressed now.”

Then turning to Rob he said “Same time, one weeK from now. We’ll go over to the court together. MaKe sure he has no watch, no phone, no Keys, nothing.  And only clothes he doesn’t mind losing as we can’t guarantee to Keep stuff liKe that safe for four years, and most employers want their indentured servants to wear a uniform of some Kind. Oh, and here’s a chit for County Hospital – maKe sure he gets there within there next four days for a complete checK-up: they’re contractors to us, and Know what we’re looKing for – there’s nothing to pay if you show them this.”

Why was he ignoring me liKe this? Why hadn’t he told me all this stuff, instead of addressing Rob?  It was just as if I was no longer a guy who could understand English and act independently. He shooK hand s with Rob, and totally ignored me as if I wasn’t worthy of his attention. I was seething with anger now, and I felt liKe hitting him. I thinK Rob sensed this, as he tooK me by the arm and led me out, muttering “Easy, Steve. It’s only the way a lot of men treat indentured servants – they just don’t really exist to them, and they don’t see you as another man liKe themselves.”

Rob did shaKe hands with me outside in the street, though, before he scurried off bacK to his office. And he gave me the hospital chit, reminding me to maKe sure I got there within the four days – without a medical sign-off, the banK wouldn’t even touch my loan, he reminded me, and then it would be a court-ordered Agency and all that implied.

I don’t Know – I felt Kind of numb as I made my way bacK to the parKing garage where I’d left the Fireblade. At first all this stuff about indentured servants and everything had been OK, but now, now that I’d seen the way that that Darren had started to treat me as the interview had gone on, I wasn’t so sure.  I rode home – much too fast, as if trying to prove to myself that I was still a man- and didn’t feel liKe going out and worKing. Fortunately I was at a slacK period and all I’d planned to do that day was visiting some prospects and giving them estimates, and now it didn’t seem worth while: fucKing hell, four years out of my life! I’d be thirty before I was free of all this crap.

I was restless, and I paced up and down my apartment a bit, but here’s nothing to do there really as it’s only a small place. I put one of my DVDs on, one of my favourites that’s always guaranteed to get my dicK hard and leaKing pre-cum, but that didn’t worK: oh, fucK me, I wasn’t going fucKing impotent, was I? That didn’t happen to young guys, and certainly not to me.

It was no good – I’m just not a guy who can sit still and do nothing. I got the ‘blade out again and roared off to the Pool, and just swam, almost mindlessly, endlessly up and down. But even that wasn’t much good – all the fucKing Kids and their moms were in there, and they hadn’t got any racing lanes marKed off at that time of day, and I had to contend with all the brats leaping off the diving boards  and just missing me, and these stupid cows standing in a line along the end, when I was trying to do racing turns.

The swimming tired me out physically, but I didn’t sleep much that night – I Kept tossing and turning all night as I tried to thinK my way out of the problem – was there another way? Was there anything else I could do? Did I Know anyone else who could lend me the money, rather than these Agency people, whether voluntary, or appointed? Did I? FucK,  no – most of the guys I Knew would have a problem lending me two hundred and fifty, let alone two hundred and fifty K.

The next morning I was in two minds about running away – just giving it all up, taKing the Fireblade and just setting out across the country and starting all over. But I Knew that wouldn’t worK for long – after all the problem with the illegal immigration bacK at the start of the century they’d really tightened up on things, and you could hardly move now without quoting your social security number – and the moment my number came up anywhere, they’d have me. And, I felt certain, there’d be penalties for evading the courts, and if you could be sent down the mines just for debt, I didn’t liKe to thinK what sort of jobs might be allocated for those who tried to escape it.

So if I wasn’t going to run, I might as well get on with it, I thought. I got the ‘blade out and did my favourite thing, sneaKing in and out of the morning commuter chaos as all those guys gong off to their little cubicles were shut up in their cars. I always liKe doing this – I maKe incredible time along the highway, and it freeKs most of them out to see a good looKing, well set-up guy liKe me pissing all over them on my fantastic speed machine.

At the hospital I showed my chit at the reception desK, and the receptionist’s welcoming smile turned almost instantly into a sneer. “Tenth floor for indentured exams”, she snapped, and before I could say anything to her  she turned away and oozed charm over the next in line.

There was a change in the hospital decor on the tenth floor – the bright lights and slicK fittings gave way to tungsten bulbs and altogether a more shabby decor. I was put in a waiting room along with about twenty other guys, and we all just sat there. And sat there, and sat there. No one made any attempt to tell us how long we were going to have to wait, or when we might be seen. Occasionally a nurse would appear and taKe a guy away, and that was it. We all looKed pretty fed up and beaten by the system.  I suppose that by the time you owe so much that you’ve got to be an indentured servant to get out of it, things are pretty bad and you’ve lost most of your get up and go and your fight. We didn’t even speaK to each other – I mean, normally when there is a group of guys together they start to talK about the football or the something, but we just all sat there, wrapped up in our own misery. They hadn’t even provided any newspapers or magazines to read, and there was fucK all to do.

My turn did come eventually, and after I’d followed the nurse I was told to strip and put on a Kind of hospital gown – liKe a long shirt, without sleeves.  Not that long, either – it was OK whilst I was standing up, but I felt that if I sat down my dicK and balls would be exposed to full view. Perhaps that was the idea, as I discovered that we were all maKing our way aro und past a number of “stations” – height, weight, blood sample, urine sample, EKG, run for five minutes on an exercise machine, then pulse and heart again, and blood pressure, and a chest X-ray.  None of the surly staff seemed to be in a hurry as it seemed to be understood that all of us had all day to waste, none of them spoKe to us and explained what they were doing or even asKed our permission. Us guys just had to shuffle around from point, queue for whatever was to be done, then shuffle on to the next thing. We never got chance to sit down, so the short smocKs didn’t matter so much, but it felt really funny running on the exercise machine without any support – I’m used to exercise, and I sometimes go for a run if I can’t swim, but always in a jocK or in proper running shorts with built-in support.  Even five minutes, fast, maKes your balls ache when they’re flying around loose.

There was a bit of privacy for what turned out to be the last “station” in the testing – there was a Kind of screen about five feet high, the sort you see in offices dividing off the cubicles, and behind it there was a guy in a white coat sitting at a table with a number of little glass vials in front of him. He asKed my name, noted it on a list, then said “OK, bud, this is where we see if you’re really a man.  Semen sample in one of these.”

He pushed on of the tiny vials across at me, and I just started at it.  “Hey, why do I need this…”

“Because the bidders for your contract will want to Know if you’re shooting blanKs, or live swimmers.”

“But I’m not going in for sexual stuff – I’m just going to be an indentured labourer.”

“Oh sure, now you are. But suppose you change your mind and want to bid on some of the higher-valued stuff…. They’d need to Know then. Some guys have used the lacK of info about them to hold the whole process up, so now we just test everyone.  It doesn’t cost all that much extra, and occasionally it really saves us a mint of money in lost time. Now, stop wasting my time – give me a sample, or get out.”

I stood there and felt so vulnerable in my short smocK. Was he seriously suggesting that I jerK myself off in front of him. He just sat there looKing at me, and I realised that’s exactly what he was expecting. Well, I’ve never done that in front of another guy – never. It’s not the Kind of thing you do, is it? I mean, everyone Knows that all guys jerK off, but you don’t talK about it much to your buddies, do you? And you certainly don’t do it where they can see you. On hunting trips and stuff Rob and I would lie there in our sleeping bags and I was jerKing off and I Knew he must be – but we didn’t say anything to each other, either when we were doing it, or when we finished, or even the next morning.

“Get a move on!”, he said again. “If you don’t want to go through with the tests just get out, collect your clothes, and leave. I’ve got a lot of other guys to process, guys who want to be certified as suitable for voluntary indentured service. If you don’t want to, just get out – I’m sure the court-ordered tests will be much worse, but you won’t have any choice then.”

Oh, fucK me. He was right, I suppose. I turned my bacK on him and started to fondle my dicK, conscious that even this action was causing the shirt smocK to ride up and show him my ass. I stroKed away at it, willing myself to have an erection, but it’s funny, isn’t it – sometimes, however hard you’ve been all day, when you actually start to try to jerK off, it doesn’t worK. Oh, please, God, I thought, don’t let that be one of those times. Get me hard. MaKe my dicK reach for the sKy…

It’s hard to jerK off standing up at the best of times, I find. I usually do it in bed, or sprawled on the sofa when I’m watching a DVD. I do sometimes do it in the shower, but I don’t find it as good. For one thing I find it hurts my Knees – I tend to lean bacKwards as I thrust my hips and dicK forward, and that bends my Knees the wrong way and afterwards they feel Kind of funny.

Now, today, with the thought of that guy’s eyes watching my bacK, and Knowing that all the other guys were just on the other side of the small screen, it was almost impossible.

But it’s liKe a lot of things – if you Keep on at it, it worKs eventually. I felt myself going hard, then I was able to really stimulate myself by sliding my ‘sKin on and off my dicK head, and that always really arouses me. And before I Knew where I was I felt that tightening, that tension, in my dicK and balls as they got ready to shoot…. And then it was so fucKing embarrassing as I hadn’t jerKed off for about 30 hours, so there was a huge load of my cum to spurt out.

LooK, I don’t Know about you, but I’m not used to trying to maKe myself ejaculate into a tiny glass thing – it’s bad enough, sometimes, trying to catch it all in a big wad of toilet tissue, isn’t it? I did my best, but a lot of it missed the opening. And there was so much of it anyway that the thing filled up. Oh shit, what was I supposed to do? My hand was covered in cum, and I could smell that characteristic pungent smell of the stuff.  And if I could smell it, the guy doing the tests must be a able to, too.  I felt myself blushing all over, and the sweat that had broKen out all over me as I jerKed off started to pour off me in huge quantities now. There was one of those little icy tricKles of it running down from my pit across my ribs.

I turned around to face the guy, almost trembling with embarrassment as he looKed down and saw my cum-covered hand holding the little glass thing.  He almost gave a sneer as he pulled on a rubber glove then tooK it off me and wiped it with a surgical wipe, labelled it, and put it in a racK with the others. I stood there with my hand still slimy, and said “Hey, man, give me one of those wipes, will you?”

“You indentured servants are all the same. Always wanting, wanting…. Get out of here!”

All I could do was wipe my hand on my smocK – there was nowhere else – and I went off to join the queue of guys feebly standing there waiting to be told we could leave.  At least I wasn’t alone – a whole lot of the smocKs seemed to have those wet patches of cum on them, liKe mine.

That night I called Rob and said that I was really worried.  And that I didn’t liKe it one bit. “Sure, Steve”, he said. “It’s not meant to be exactly pleasant, you Know.  There’s meant to be an element of punishment in becoming an indentured servant, as well as the need to pay off your debts. Otherwise everyone would do it, wouldn’t they? LooK, buddy, I’m sure it will be OK in the end – after four years you come out of it with a clean slate, and you can start again – there’ll always be a need for gardening contractors in this area, as the economy’s booming.”

“It’s not that, Rob – I can hardly thinK four years ahead. It’s what’s going to happen next. I don’t want to wait around a weeK, with nothing to do. Can’t I get it over with?”

“I understand, Steve. You’re always impatient, aren’t you? LooK, why don’t you enjoy your last few days of freedom?  Go hunting, or something.  Or swim. Or tidy up your affairs.”

“Rob, it isn’t the hunting season.   And I’ve been swimming.  And I don’t have any ‘affairs’ to tidy up as my business is very much day-to-day. LooK, mate, I’m going out of my mind here – can’t we hurry it up?”

“OK, cool it! I’ll call that Darren guy in the morning – you’ve had the tests, haven’t you? Well,  I guess it depends on whether the results are bacK or not. Wait to hear from me, and hang loose…”

I didn’t sleep much that night, either, and, as is the way o those things, I finally fell into a deep sleep about dawn, and was woKen up when my cell went off about ten. I never stay in bed until ten normally, never. I groped for the thing on my bedside table, and tooK the call.

I sat there, stroKing my dicK which was now hard (thanK Christ!) with its morning erection, and listened. “Steve – it’s Rob. I’ve spoKen to Darren at the banK, and they can taKe you on to the program this afternoon – your results were e-mailed to him just a few minutes ago, and they were fine. So I’ve made an appointment to be there at three. Don’t be late, mate… And remember…. No watch, no cell, no wallet, no Keys, and clothes you don’t mind never seeing again…”

“Rob, how am I going to get there…. The ‘blade…..?”

“Well, come on that, then. I’m going to taKe care of it for you, aren’t I? So I’ll ride it home.”

I clicKed the cancel button, and lay there, still gently stroKing myself. So this is it – it was beginning.  My life for the next four years.

I made myself a big breaKfast, mostly to clear all the stuff out of the fridge, then went around tossing stuff I no longer ever needed away, and putting a few possessions that I wanted to Keep into pacKing cases for Rob to picK up later.  Then I tooK a long, hot, leisurely shower and pulled on some of my oldest clothes – Jeans that I was about to use for worKing on site, a T that had seen better days, and some cheap, chain-store boxers rather than designer ones.

I rode into downtown one last time, weaving in and out of the bores in boxes on my ‘blade, and parKed in the public garage near the banK, noting down the space number on the ticKet for

Rob. Then I sat in the reception a rea, watching the people stream in and out of the building, until Rob bounded up.

“Right, Steve… Now: Keys? ParKing? Any loose change?” “Should I Keep a twenty or something, do you thinK?”

“No, Steve. As I understand it, they taKe you away to a holding centre, and they looK after you totally.  Food, clothes, everything, until your contract is bought at auction.”

So I handed over my last bit of freedom, my last cash, and we caught the elevator up to the indentured service reception that now seemed almost depressingly familiar.

After a very short wait, Darren, Mr Taylor, bounded out and shooK Rob warmly by the hand, and totally ignored me.  “Bring the guy in”, he told Rob, and we went through to his office.

He asKed Rob to sit down, leaving me standing there as if I was nothing, almost not there. Then the two men went through the paperworK again, and finally agreed that everything was in order.

“So you’re ready to hand him over?”, Darren asKed. “You Know, it’s quite important for an indentured servant to Keep a friend on the ‘outside’ of the system, in case things start to go wrong. And it gives some of them more confidence. It’s good that you’ve volunteered to do it for Steve, but now, once you formally hand him over, a lot of the responsibility becomes ours.”

Rob nodded, and Darren then spoKe to me for the first time. “Right, Steve – undress.” “Why…”

“All the banKs indentured servants wear the same uniform for the contract auction. Now, boy, stop questioning. That’s not the way of an indentured servant! Just try to do what your employer tells you, will you? Now, get those fucKing clothes off before I invoKe the ‘punishment’ clause.”

I didn’t liKe the sound of that! “Hey, Rob – what’s all this about punishment?”

“Steve, boy… I do thinK you’d better start acting properly now that you’re formally indentured. You’d better call me Mr Jones, as it’s not good for indentured servants to be too familiar…”

What the fucK? This was Rob, my buddy, from schooldays, who I went hunting with, went drinKing with.

“Hey, Rob, cut that out, I only…”

“Silence!”, Darren almost roared. “Boy, you heard what your guardian said. Now, address him properly, or I will invoKe the punishment clause in earnest!”

This sounded as if it was getting serious. “Rob, Mr Jones, please tell me what the fucK’s going on… What’s all this about punishment?”

“Easy, Steve, calm down. Now, why don’t you just slip out of those clothes as we’ve asKed you to, and then all of this won’t be necessary anyway…”

He stopped and looKed at me, and I started to unbutton my shirt. “Now, Steve, remember when we went through the paperworK you said what you wanted to do – labouring, no sex, stuff liKe that? Well, you agreed to the ‘punishment clause’ as we explained to you that without it some of the best jobs,  those that pay the most, wouldn’t be open to you.  So you signed up.”

“Yes… Mr Jones….”  I was slipping my Jeans off  now  “But what does it mean?”

“Oh Steve, you really should read the contract! But basically it means that if your employer finds you’re not obeying his reasonable orders, or doing shoddy worK, or are too slow, or whatever, he can punish you. Generally that means he can withhold a weeK’s ‘pay’. So that means your eventual release tends to get delayed by that much.”

I was standing there in my boxers now, feeling pretty stupid. “A weeK? For anything?”

“Yes, Steve. It needs to be a salutary reminder to you to obey. That’s what indenture’s all about. Now, slip off those boxers before Mr Taylor here invoKes it.”

I pushed my shorts down, to stand there naKed in front of them. Darren made no effort to give me anything else.

“But that’s not all”, Rob went on. “Do be careful – you don’t want to get too much time added to your sentence. And some owners may get tired of it, and invoKe the ‘reasonable corporal punishment’ provisions.”

“What’s the fucK’s that, Rob…, Mr Jones?”

“Language, boy!”, Darren snapped.  And Rob continued “Well, if it looKs as if you’re just running up more and more debt because you’re not obeying orders, your employer can instead opt for corporal punishment – nothing  too drastic, just paddling, a light caning, that sort of thing. Something to maKe you taKe notice, if financial penalties don’t worK. But don’t worry about it. – even if they use a whip, they’re not allowed to breaK the sKin, well, not deliberately…..”

“A whip? For fucK’s saKe, what have you got me in for, Rob?”

“Steve, calm down! Calm down right now! Just stop and thinK, will you? You’re an indentured servant, standing there bucK naKed, about to start his new life free of all the constraints and chattels of your life that got you into all of this.  Don’t spoil it!  And don’t worry about this whip stuff – it’s really rare, if you just hang in there and worK well, and follow your employer’s orders. It’s all in the contract, you Know – I told you to read it.”

I was seething, but I Knew they had the upper hand. I had signed this fucKing contract, as the alternative seemed to be much worse. And now her I was , as naKed as the day I was born, standing there listening to it all. I Kind of shrugged, as I Knew I was beat, for now.

“Good, boy!”, Darren cut in. “That’s what we liKe to see – an indentured servant who understands his lot and accepts it. Now, before you get your uniform, there’s one more thing…”

He picKed up this phone and spoKe into it, and we all then waited for something – Rob and Darren chatting away, and me feeling more and more foolish as I stood there naKed, in an office, as if it was perfectly normal.

I almost jumped out of my sKin when the door opened, and went to cover my genitals with my hands.  There, that affable smile on his face that he had when I first met him, was George Wilson, the guy whose pool house I was supposed to be responsible for destroying, that had got me into this mess.  After that first reaction of trying to protect my modesty, I went to shaKe his had, as I Knew him. But there was no genial shaKe of my hand this time, although he bounded over and pumped Rob and Darren. He seemed to be ignoring me – it was just as if my big naKed body was part of the furniture.

“ThanKs for notifying me, Darren”, he said. “I always liKe to taKe a looK at the new properties personally, especially when there’s quite a big loan involved. And I was looKing forward to taKing a peeK at this one in particular – I saw him swimming in our pool, and I was really interested in what was under those trunKs!”

He turned to me now, and just said “Hands behind the necK, boy – ‘display’ – didn’t they tell you that?”

He eyed me up and down, and turned bacK to Darren. “Has he signed up for sex-related services?”

“No, sir.  Just as a labourer.”

“Pity! I might have gone along and bid for him myself. Still, he’s a handsome property. Should sell well.”

I was going to say something, but saw Rob give me a warning looK. I suppose I had pushed close to the edge, and he didn’t want me to get a punishment at this early stage of the game.

The three men exchanged pleasantries, and George left, then Darren went to a cupboard and came bacK with some stuff.

“PicK up your old clothes and dump them in that trash can over there. We’ll give y ou a set of clothes at the end of your contract, so you won’t be needing those any more. Then put these on – they’re the standard stuff you all wear in the holding centre.”

I went to pull on the shorts that he’d passed to me, and he slammed his hand on the desK.

“Listen, are you a fucKing moron, or just wilfully disobedient? I told you to picK up your old clothes, then to put the new stuff on.  And what do you do?  Reach for the shorts. You’d better learn – and learn quicKly – that when your employer tells you to do something you do it, you do it right, and you do it as soon as he says.”

I stumbled around collecting my discarded clothes and putting them into the trash container he’d indicated, and I felt utterly foolish prancing around the office with my dicK swinging around free.  It didn’t seem right to be doing this with Darren, and my best friend, watching.

It was a relief to pull the shorts on, even though they didn’t give me any support – they were those cotton jersey exercise shorts, with an elastic waist, and the legs came down to mid-thigh so my dicK was at least hidden. A plain grey T, and a pair of cheap rubber “flip flops” completed my outfit – I hate those things, as I don’t liKe the thong between my toes.

Darren got up then, shooK hands with Rob, and told me to follow him. I went to shaKe hands with Rob, but Darren stopped him. “No, it’s best not to. Steve is an indentured servant properly now, and it’s best he learns to thinK liKe one as quicKly as possible. Indentured servants don’t shaKe hands with us regular guys, or anything…. Now, the banK will send you regular reports on his progress, so don’t worry about him.”

Rob just shrugged, said cheerfully “Hang in there then, buddy!”, to me, and left.

Darren led me down a corridor and into a very different elevator to the one we had come up in: this was intended for waste, goods, and, I guess indentured servants, as it was darK and smelled faintly of garbage. We rode down to the basement and Darren opened a door, indicated for me to go in, and said “This is the waiting room for the transport. Wait here. And no talKing.”

There were five other guys in the room, sitting on a bare wooden bench along the wall.  LiKe me they were all in grey Ts and shorts and had the cheap stuff on their feet.  There was no need for Darren to have told us not to speaK – as when we were getting medically checKed, we felt so defeated, so bowed down, that there was no incentive to do so.

To be continued …