Always Read the Contract (3)

I don’t Know how long I was in there for. With no clocK on the wall in a windowless, featureless room, and no watch, it’s really hard to judge time especially when you’ve got absolutely nothing to do. I ended up liKe most of the others, just sitting there with my head in my hands, wondering what the fucK I’d let myself in for.

When the door did eventually open there was one of those overweight flabby guys in some sort of delivery company uniform, and he led us up and to and into a bus, well, small van with rows of seats, actually. He hardly spoKe a word, and as we sped through the city I looKed out at all the people going about their business, happy, carefree, and wondered why it had all seemed to go wrong for me. Why couldn’t I be liKe them shopping, going bacK to worK, going home…. When would I be able to live my life normally again – fucKing hell, four years seems a long time, and I thought that I needed to be really careful not to get it extended by getting any of those punishments.

We arrived at what looKed liKe an old run-down motel right on the edge of the industrial area. The driver muttered at us gruffly to get out, and we went into the main reception area.

Another out of shape guy was there, and he read our names off a list, and we had to identify ourselves.

“Right, guys”, he told us. “This is the holding centre ,where we Keep you until the next contract auction, that’s in four days time.  We don’t want any trouble here, so just relax – you’ll get three meals a day, there’s a TV in every room, and you can use the gym and the pool. What you’re not allowed to do is leave, or go into the women’s half of the centre: personally, I don’t care if you want to fucK away liKe bunny rabbits if you can find a compliant woman. But the Christian League For Decency has been on to the banK about the conditions here and they’ve tightened up: no matter that lots and lots of guys must have had it away here when it was a motel, now that it’s a holding centre those do-gooders thinK that you ought to behave properly. So don’t blame me – blame the fucKing Christians or spoiling everyone’s fun as usual.”

“Now, line up…”

We did, and as we moved past him in turn he slipped a small metal band around our right wrists and clicKed them closed. “Those are locators”, he told us. “Step outside the centre, or go into the half reserved for the females, and an alarm will sound.  And then we will punish you

• one weeK on your sentence for each infraction. Is that clear?”

Yes, it was. But the act of putting that steel band around my wrist had brought home to me more completely than anything else so far  that my life, and my world, had changed.

Completely. I was now marKed, marKed as something not liKe an ordinary man, and my life was not now my own to do with it as I would – my movements were circumscribed and monitored.

He allocated rooms to us, and I went along the corridors to find mine. It looKed as if the original motel rooms had been divided into three by cheap stud walling, as it was incredibly tidy:  just room for a single bed, no wardrobe, no dresser, nothing – but then I didn’t have any

possessions to put in or on them, did I?  The TV was on one of those bracKet things on the wall, and there was no remote – just an on/off switch. I soon realised why – it only showed one channel, and that was exclusively devoted to instructional videos about the life as an indentured servant – how to greet your employer, how to behave with others in the room, health and hygiene tips, and so on. Fortunately this was interspersed at random intervals by some pretty hard-core porn: I guess they wanted you to leave the TV on so all the instructional stuff was being pumped into you all the time, for fear of missing the fucKing.

In many ways the days I spent in this centre were a good thing, I suppose – it helped me forget my old life. Lying in my tiny room with nothing to do, confined to the area of the motel, it became almost easy to thinK of myself as someone who no longer existed as far as the world outside was concerned. I heard one of the guys in there with me asK the guard if he could use the phone to call his wife, but he was told “no”, as indentured servants needed to focus their whole mind on their new status, and forget about the things that must have caused an upset in their old lives.

There was one thing I couldn’t forget about, though – women! There must have been about fifteen of them in the female half of the centre, and they too were not allowed to cross the line that divided the place in half. That didn’t stop them coming right up to it, though, and smiling at us,  and we of course lined up and started chatting to them.  I’m not sure what’s worse, actually

• being totally deprived of female company, as I would have been if I was in prison, or having it here, in front of me, but with an absolute “do not touch” provision. A whole lot of our talK got to be quite raunchy, and I always went bacK to my room with a raging hard-on.

Almost the only thing that Kept me sane, I suppose, was the pool, and the weights room. I was able to worK out – almost encouraged, actually, and I could swim as much as I liKed. The guards saw me at this and told me it was a good thing, as if I was used to manual labour then I’d find I couldn’t sleep or anything without some sort of exercise, and then I’d get irritable, and that would inevitably lead to punishment. “You young guys, in particular”, the nicest of the guards told me one day “You can get into a lot of trouble here if you get verbal with us or, even worse, hit someone, or something in frustration.  The standard punishment’s one weeK extra for each infraction, but if you’re a real pain, we can add months to your sentence.  And we don’t liKe doing that – me and the guys on the staff liKe a nice, quiet life with all you boys and girls waiting for contracts just Keeping it cool. So you get in there, pound away on those machines, swim until you’re ready to drop, and you’ll find life is a lot easier for you.”

There was a huge advantage to swimming, actually – the dividing line between the two halves of the centre ran along one edge of it – fortunately the pool itself was for men – but that meant that the women could come along and line up on their side and watch. I was very embarrassed at first when I got out of the water – nothing was provided for us so I had to wear the grey jersey shorts that were our only garments, and of course when it was wet it really clung to me. The women started to catcall about my butt, and when I turned around to give them a smile and a wave, they positively shrieKed, and I suddenly realised they could see my cocK and balls clearly outlined through the thin, wet fabric. I was so embarrassed I had to jump bacK in to the water and swim and climb out the other side, Keeping my bacK to them! After that, though, when all the guys were on one side of the line and all the girls on the other, I never had anylacK of people to chat to. The only guy who seemed to have more lucK with the ladies was this young one – he was eighteen and still only a Kid, really. Mind you, he had a nicely muscled body, piercing blue eyes, and a mop of blond hair that Kind of fell forwards and which he had to Keep pushing bacK with a casual flicK of his wrist. I thinK the women all fancied him as he looKed so young and innocent, but as we stood and talKed I found out the reverse.

“So, what you here for?”, he asKed me. “Debt, basically, I had this contract…”

“Oh. Boring. Couldn’t you have done something exciting?” “LiKe what…. What are you here for, then?”

He grinned at me. “Lewd behaviour liKely to deprave and corrupt.” “What the fucK’s that?”

“Well, it’s a bit of a catch-all. Basically, if you’re doing something the police don’t liKe, they can taKe you in for that if there’s no precise offence.”

“So what exactly were you doing?”

“Well my girl friend’s parents were out of town, and I’d moved in so I could have a couple of days of uninhibited, and undisturbed, sex. Then some of her girl friends came around, as they always did on a Tuesday… And, well, one thing led to another…. Some of them had never really seen a guy’s cocK before, well, not an uncut one. And when they started talKing about circumcision, I offered to show the mine.  First I stood there and got it out, then I showed them how to ‘sKin it bacK, and then what it looKed liKe hard. My girl friend started to show them how I liKed to be blown…. And some of them wanted to try it! Well, her parents came in just as I was about to shoot down the throat of one of these obliging girls and almost freaKed out when they saw me totally naKed. And, of course, they called the cops. I’ve got to pay them all bacK for ‘distress’, and it’s recKoned to taKe two years as I’m not qualified yet as I hadn’t graduated. Still, it might be fun – I’ve contracted for sex as well as hard worK, and two years spent fucKing can’t be all that bad.”

“Was that a good idea…?”

“Good idea? Hey, are you a queer or something? Fancy having your contract sold to some rich bitch who’s going to screw the balls off me every night. Beats college, I thinK! And with my looKs I’ll be certain to get a good employer.”

He went on and on about the possibilities of him being bought and used for sex of some Kind, and I began to thinK I’d made a mistaKe in ticKing the “body not to be used sexually” option in the contract – seeing all the unattainable women on the other side of the line had really got my juices running. I thought about asKing if I could change, but somehow I never got around to it –

I thinK it was the general air of weariness and detachment from the world that had come over me.

All in all I stayed in the centre four days, and on the morning of the fifth day we were all lined up, the mini-vans arrived, and, separately, men and women, we were loaded in to be driven off to the auction hall. Somehow, as we sat there in the van going through the city streets it looKed even more remote than it had when we were driven in.

The auction itself was being held at one of the big city-centre hotels – in those cavernous empty spaces they use for big dinners, receptions, and the liKe. Our van unloaded us the courtyard at the bacK usually used for deliveries, and we trooped in, all dressed in fresh Ts and shorts, along the “service corridors” until we went through into a small room that was obviously an anti-chamber to a larger one. An official there had a big list of all our names on it, and as he checKed us off, he allocated us to different parts of the room – I soon realised that the guys going for sKilled jobs – the lawyers, accountants, IT people, all that sort of crap – were in one corner, Those judged fit for clerical and domestic duties went in another, and the third group – with me in it – were going to be hired out just as grunt labourers.

After he’d done checKing, he went around again and this time each of us got a Kind of plaque hung around our necK. Mine gave my name and age, said, starKly, “class: UnsKilled Labourer”, and underneath that, “Offence:  Civil, non-violent”.

The guy then came over to us labourers and said “OK, guys, shucK those shorts and Ts – here’s what you wear whilst they’re inspecting you.”

He tossed each of us a little tiny scrap of something white, and as I examined it as it lay in my hand, I saw it was a tiny G-string liKe you see those women strippers wearing in review bars – a small triangle of thin white fabric, with a string attached to each corner.

We all stood there, almost in shocK. “Come on, hurry up….. “

“Hey”, one guy called out “I can’t wear this…. My ass will be all exposed.”

“That’s the idea, dumbo! LooK, when an employer is thinKing of taKing you on for a year as a hard worKing labourer, he needs to get a good looK at your body and maKe sure you’ve got muscles in all the right places. That includes those big muscles in your arse – they give you men a lot of your worKing power, don’t they. Now, strip, and put them on….”

“You don’t Know how lucKy you all are”, he went on. “Up until last year labourers were always displayed totally naKed. After all, you’re mostly going to be bought by men from big construction companies, and you’re going to be worKing with other men, so where’s the harm in it?  But it was recently decided that that was a bit undignified, so these pouches were specially devised – you guys all Keep your modesty, and the prospective purchasers get to see what they need to. Now…. Get a move on…. Anyone that doesn’t want to go ahead can still drop out, and go to Court tomorrow, after all…”

Well, I guess we all thought the same about that idea, as we pulled off our Ts and dropped our shorts.  The other two groups in the room all gave us a clap and a cheer as we stood there starK naKed, and then I tried to put the fucKing thinK on. After I’d struggled for a coup le of minutes I saw how the other guys were managing – you passed two of the strings around your hips and tied them with a bow. Then the third string went underneath you so and up your ass cracK to be tied on to the strings already around you. Actually, I almost wish I had been totall y naKed – at least then you’re a proud man, unashamed of your sex. These tiny pouches made us looK ridiculous, I thinK. I’m really hairy, as I’ve told you, and I’ve got a nice thatch on my pecs and a lot on my belly, and a positive forest in my pubes. There was no way that all this stuff would go inside the pouch, and so it Kind of sprayed out around the edges. And the pouches were clearly designed for “average” Kind of guys, as it bulged obscenely away from me as it struggled to hold in my big dicK and generous balls.

It was horrible to have to walK past all the other men in the room in these obscene pouches, as I felt sure they were looKing first at my tacKle outlined through the thin material, and then at my naKed ass as I strode along. It was downright uncomfortable, too, because the string Kind of cut into my asshole and made me itch: there was nothing to be done about it, though, as you can hardly reach down and scratch yourself there, can you?

The hall itself was just a bare room with thicK carpet on the floor. It felt so odd to be next to naKed in such a bare, public, space. And even odder to feel the carpet under my naKed feet. Each of us was just allocated to a place on the floor, then the guy came along to maKe sure that the placard thing was hanging around my necK – I could just feel the edge of it on my pecs. The “professional” guys were in a line behind us, and the “administrative and domestic servants” in a line behind that. I suppose I was getting used to standing there, when the women were led in – and, to my horror, directly opposite me in my near-naKed state was a line of women also in these tiny G-strings and with minuscule brassiere things made of much the same material.  To my shame, I felt myself starting to have an erection, and the already desperately tight pouch was now really straining to Keep me in – I thought my dicK head might pop out of the top at any moment.

The young college Kid who’d been telling me he’d ticKed the “OK for sex” box was standing next to me, and in his tiny pouch I had to admit he did looK good – really nicely proportioned for a young guy, with that promise of a really fantastic body as he worKed away and filled out with a man’s mature muscles. He was smiling and Kind of preening himself, and putting on a little show for the ladies opposite. Still, with his blond hair his ass didn’t looK too bad as the hair was barely visible on it – just a faint down over his smooth muscles.

The organising dude came bacK along the row of us and stopped next to him. He checKed his list, and said “OK, loose the modesty bag,”

“What?”

“The pouch thing – taKe it off. You are the guy who’s up for sex, aren’t you?” “Yes, but…”

“No buts, bud! WorKers offering themselves with the sex option appear nude here. You can hardly expect a potential purchaser to buy your contract unless he’s seen the goods, can you?”

As he said this, the man reached down and jerKed at the bow holding the string around the lad’s waist, then simply yanKed the thing off. The neat, nicely proportioned uncut cocK was revealed nestling in a little crown of blond pubic hair, and all the women opposite whistled and clapped. The poor guy was blushing bright scarlet, and put his hands down to try to cover himself.

“No point in that”, the organiser told him. “The buyers will want a good looK, and most of them will want to feel you, too!”

Actually, although I’d felt a bit exposed and embarrassed, now I had this totally naKed guy next to me it didn’t seem so bad.  And after I’d been liKe it for an hour or so, and the first buyers had come along to taKe a looK at me, I’d almost ceased to notice it at all. Most of the men who came to looK at me were from the big city construction companies, and they only seemed vaguely interested in my body once they’d seen that I was, basically, a big strong guy.  They were far more interested in my experience, and I answered lots of questions about the type of worK my contracting business did. One of them explained to me, though, that it was unliKely that he’d bid on my contract as they wanted men who were used to worKing on major construction sites and who Knew all the Health & Safety rules – guys worKing for themselves, liKe me, would need a lot of retraining.

It was a very different crowd who looKed at the blond lad next to me, though. None of the women he expected! Just a lot of sleeK, middle-aged Kind of guys who stood there and tooK a close looK at him, then reached out and started to feel his muscles, and finally to sometimes even picK up his cocK and Kind of heft his balls, as if weighting them.  One guy even stood by the side of him, rested one hand on his ass to prevent him from moving bacKwards, and then proceeded to jerK him off – well, not to a climax, of course, but enough to get his dicK hard, so that he could delicately squeeze at the sides of the cocK head to ‘sKin him bacK and get the head to peaK out.          I did really feel for the guy- when that had been done to me as part of the medical inspection I’d hated it, but somehow it wasn’t too bad with a medical orderly doing it. But here, in public, to have to show your dicK head to anyone that wanted a looK seemed just gross. LooK, I Know that cut guys just go around liKe that as a matter of course.  But to us uncut guys the dicK head is private and a bit, well, special. It’s usually only seen by yourself, and someone with whom you’re going to have a really intimate relationship.

I thinK it was a bit much of Rob, actually – he was one of the guys who came along to taKe a looK at us. “Hey, it was the lunch breaK, Steve”, he said jovially, “So I thought I’d come along and see how you’re getting on. And, let me say, if I had the money, I wouldn’t hesitate to buy you – you’ve got absolutely the best body here. And if I’d Known years ago that you had a butt liKe that….”

“Rob, that’s not funny!”

“OK, Steve, boy. Don’t worry – I’m sure it’s going to be all OK. LooK, in four years, when you’re free, I’ll still be waiting. Call, and then come and collect all your stuff, and it will be just liKe old times…”

I didn’t liKe the way he gave me a playful slap on my naKed ass as he left- what an asshole he was turning out to be. And I didn’t thinK he needed to go and stroKe the butt of the naKed blond guy, either. Still, I needed someone to looK after my stuff, and he was probably the only one I could have asKed.

My annoyance seeped away, and I just stood there a bit longer. And then it was over. The buyers drifted away to the auction itself, which we did not attend.  Then after about an hour, an hour during which we were allowed to sit on the carpet, the organiser came bacK, checKed our labels against the list he carried, and stucK big sticKers on saying “Sold”, and with a buyer’s name. I looKed at the name printed on my label, didn’t recognise it, and so just shrugged and waited to see what was going to happen.

One by one the organiser came in and led us out.  In the small room where we had stripped we were “matched up” with the buyers who’d bought our contracts for the next year, and I saw the young blond guy almost in tears a two very Italian looKing guys continued to run their hands over his body as he stood there naKed still. Then they gave him a jocK strap, which he pulled on gratefully, but that was all – he looKed dismayed again as the two men led him out so sKimpily clad. I wondered why two men would buy the blond boy, but I guess I was not destined to find out.

Standing there, in neatly pressed chinos, a discrete polo short and polished brown shoes was a guy of about my age. The organiser led me over to him, and checKed for the last time the details on the placard around my necK with those on his clipboard. He nodded at the guy, and said “This is the servant whose contract you’ve bought, right? We tooK all your details, and your banK bond before the auction began, so if you’ll just sign here….”

He proffered the clipboard, and the guy scribbled a signature. “Yes, this is the one. Steve, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Boy, you’d better learn! Don’t they still show you those videos in the holding centre about how indentured servants behave? One of the reasons we buy stocK from the banK is that they usually have superior servants with a modicum of common sense…. Some employers would order a punishment for an infraction of respect liKe that, you Know. But I’m prepared to maKe allowances, as it’s your first day.  Now, let’s try again.  It’s Steve, isn’t it?”

I swallowed, because this Kind of subservient stuff doesn’t come easy to me. I’m a young guy who had his own business, after all. Courtesy is one thing, and I was always courteous to my customers. But subservience is something else. But things had changed, so I’d better play the game, I thought.

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“Good! Now, Steve, we’d better get you properly dressed as we have a bit of a drive in front of us. Strip off that ridiculous pouch, and put on this….” He handed me a standard servant’s shorts and a T, both in grey.

I was going to pull the shorts up then slip the pouch out, but I remembered Darren’s anger in the banK’s offices when I hadn’t done exactly as I was told. So I undid the strings holding the pouch around my waist, and slipped the hateful thing off. The organiser paid no attention, but I couldn’t help noticing my employer’s eyes flicKing up and down as he tooK in my dicK and my balls, and he carried on staring as I bent to pull the shorts over my feet, then pull them up. My dicK Kind of got caught on the elastic waistband as I pulled them into position, and my dicK head slapped against my belly before I managed to get it stowed safely away.

“Follow me”, he said, and I trailed after him across the carpet, still feeling it on my naKed feet. It seemed I wasn’t going to get any sneaKers or anything to wear. I felt a bit foolish, act ually – a big, tall, strapping guy liKe me in thin jersey shorts and a tight T following this slighter, shorter but immaculately dressed guy.

We went out of the hotel and across the car parK, and I needed to picK my way a bit as I usually wear proper safety worK boots and my feet are normally tender. He had a neat,

late-model sports saloon, and as the automatic locKing clicKed open he said “We’ve got a long drive, Steve.  So I’m going to let you ride up front with me.  Get in.”

Well, where the fucK else would he expect me to ride? In the trunK? Later on of course, I was to find out that that’s where many employers did maKe their indentured servants travel!

He handled the powerful car well, and didn’t play the radio, so there was a lot of silence as we made our way out of town towards the Interstate.

“Sir, please, sir, might I asK where my new home is to be, and what your line of business is, sir? What Kind of worK are you going to have me do – I used to run my own business doing general building worK for home owners….”

“Yes, I Know all that. I researched your bacKground before I even went to the sale of contracts.  And you won’t be worKing for me – I’m just an agent.  I buy the contracts of guys liKe you on commission, for men who have not got the time. Your actual employer lives near Raleigh – he’s something big in research, or electronics, or something – and he’s got an estate, well, a mini-estate, of about thirty acres. He liKes it Kept neat and tidy, and he has two other indentured servants besides you worKing on the grounds, and he Keeps a number of others for indoor worK.

“He wouldn’t have time to travel around buying contracts liKe yours, so he asKs me to do it. I scour the details of upcoming contract sales with the needs of my clients in mind, then, if there’s something that looKs promising, I go along. I’ve got quite a nice little business, as I’m considered to have a good eye.”

“Sir, a good eye, for what?”

“For men that will maKe good servants, of course! Do you thinK that every man that stands there in an auction hall would maKe a good servant? Some of them can’t be trained at all – they’re just too stupid, really low-level intelligences. And the odd one or two are so violent that you wouldn’t dare have them around your home. So I have to weed both of those types out. Then, for the rest, well, that’s where the real sKill comes in – I can spot the guy that will be really easy on the eye during his servitude, the guy who’ll be pleasant to have around.”

“Sir, I don’t understand…”

“LooK, Steve, do you see magazine photos advertising stuff with guys in? Well, thinK about it – don’t you thinK those guys looK great? Well, they’re models, and they’ve got that ‘something’ that maKes you want to looK at them.  It’s the same with servants – there’s just something about some men’s bodies and faces that maKes them easier on the eye, better to looK at all the time…. And, bear in mind, an indentured servant is going to have a lot of contact with his employer, so he’d better looK good.        No one has ever been able to say exactly what it is – you can gave two guys the same height, weight, waist, chest and hip measurements, but one will be appealing, and the other won’t. It’s all to do with tiny things that the human eye sees and the brain interpreters – the precise set of the shoulders, the curve of your butt, the way your tits sticK out of your aureoles, the Kind of dicK you have and the way it’s set off by your balls, and so on.”

“Sir, so you go looKing for men who are… well, handsome?”

“No, Steve. Not necessarily handsome in the conventional sense. But men whose bodies have that ‘something’, that little extra that gives them a ‘wow factor’. And, incidentally, I can tell you that you’re one of them.”

“Sir, buy why….”

“Well it might be your eyes – they’re wide open, and that appealing greeny-grey. Or your chest

• I liKe the way your pecs are carried, and your big, darK tits (although I’d have you plucKed or shaved to maKe the most of them). Or your belly – nicely muscled, but not a bodybuilder’s bulK – just enough to show the general tone, and your navel’s nice, too – properly set in, and that treasure trail of yours rounds the whole thing off nicely. It might be that butt of yours – properly rounded, but more the way it joins your big strong thighs, and, although I didn’t see your dicK properly before I bid, in that pouch, when you were naKed as you changed afterwards it was pleasing generally: thicK, and long, and with well-matched balls swinging free underneath. All in all, a good, interesting body that your employer will enjoy seeing ”

“But sir, surely he’s getting me to worK…”

“Yes, Steve. But it’s hot in Raleigh in the summer. When you taKe off your T, don’t you thinK your employer would rather see good pecs, nice big tits, a properly chiselled belly….”

“I never thought about it, sir. I guess one guy’s much liKe another to me. When I use someone to worK on a project with me, I’m only concerned with whether they do a full day’s worK for a full day’s pay.”

“Typical reaction from a breeder. You never find it possible to taKe an objective looK at a man. Still, it’s your loss.”

“Sir, a breeder, sir?”

“Oh, you’re so fucKing naive, aren’t you? A breeder is a guy who does sex with women. LiKe you, I suppose.”

“Yes, sir, of course, sir. But I don’t have any Kids. I was thinKing about it, and when I get free of all this, I’m going to settle down…”

The guy just laughed, and settled down to navigate us through some heavy traffic. After a bit I started conversation again.

“Sir, so I suppose you’re on the road a fair bit?”

“Yes – most weeKs I do two or three buying trips. It’s a nice little earner, and I enjoy the life.” “Sir, if you don’t mind me asKing, how does it pay?”

“Oh, it’s all on commission. If I don’t find any contracts of interest to my clients, I get nothing. But in a good weeK…. well…. Someone liKe that banK that holds your debt has a sale to sell off your worK contract for the next year. They want to get as high a price as possible- that way they get paid off sooner, you’re free again sooner, everyone wins. But the employers who are willing to pay top dollar for an exceptional man, liKe you, are few and far between, and almost certainly don’t attend contract auctions in small towns liKe yours.  So they’re glad to have buying agents liKe me come along, and they send me e-mail every day with upcoming bargains. And of course they pay me a commission – ten percent of the year’s contract.  I only have to do one purchase for a client a weeK, on average, and I’m earning five times as much as you!”

“Sir, that sounds very generous for a banK. That’s not normally liKe they are…” “You really are naive, aren’t you? It’s not the banK that pays – it’s you.”

“Me, sir?”

“Yes, you. The banK adds my commission to the amount you owe them. So, at ten percent, it’s equivalent to just over another five weeKs worK you have to do in your indenture.”

“But that’s terrible. It’s outrageous. I didn’t want an agent, and yet I’m paying to get the banK’s money bacK quicKer… I’ll protest, I’ll….”

“Steve! Shut up! Remember that you’re a servant, and, at least until we get to Raleigh, I’m your employer. It’s not seemly for servants to rant on liKe that, so shut it before I impose a penalty.  And protesting won’t do you any good – you agreed to it.”

“No, I didn’t, sir.”

“Yes, you did. The standard contract you signed – ‘The servant agrees to pay all reasonable selling and dealing costs connected with the period of indenture.’ Well, the Courts have long since ruled that agent’s fees are ‘reasonable’, so you pay them. Just as you paid the costs of the auction – that’s another couple of weeKs, I suppose. It’s all in there, Steve – next time, read the contract!”

To be continued …