A kinky story written by Pete Brown.
Chapter 10 of 12 –> here you find the other chapters of the story
Illustration by Theo Blaze


A week after Billy’s friends went home, it came time for him to go back to school. The day before he was due to leave, Carl had had to go in to Little Rock to discuss a permit he needed for a project he was going to work on, so Billy and I were alone in the cabin. He hadn’t wanted to accompany his father , and Carl had decided that I should stay to keep Billy company. “Anyway”, he said, “They’re a bit funny in the capital. Even though they all voted for the Programme, they don’t like to see naked slaves on their streets, so I would have had to leave you in the pickup in the parking lot all day.”

Billy seemed strangely listless that day. We went to the creek and swam in the morning, but instead of lying and enjoying the hot sun on our bodies afterwards, as soon as he was dry Billy pulled his shorts back on and we returned to the cabin. In fact, he seemed to be in so much of a hurry that he had had me plane most of the water off his body by running my hands over his chest, back, ass and thighs, before I did the same thing to myself, to try to speed up the drying – we obviously didn’t take towels or anything with us, as we swam nude and normally just let the sun dry us.

It was only lunch time when we got back, but as soon as we were inside the cabin’s cool shade, Billy dropped his shorts and got into the bed, gesturing with his arm for me to join him. Instead of fucking me hard and quick, as he usually did, Billy took a long time over it – and instead of taking me “doggy fashion”, which was his favourite position, he did it face to face for a change. He didn’t even pull out of me immediately he had cum, either, but lay forward along my body.

He cupped my left nipple gently in one hand, and told me to cross my legs over behind his, as he wanted to feel the warmth of my body all around him, then he just lay there with his ear pressed into my shoulders. He was sort of looking up into my face, and after a few minutes of this companionable closeness, he started to say, “Steve… This is the last time I shall ever fuck you. You know I’m going back to school tomorrow, and I want to spend the night alone with dad as we’ll miss each other very much until Thanksgiving. And when I get back then, I’m afraid you won’t be here.”

“He’s said he’ll buy me another slave for next vacation, and we’re both pretending that this is what I want…. But really I would prefer to keep you here as I’ve got to know and love your body and the way you respond almost instinctively to my needs.  Training another slave will be a pain! But dad can’t afford your monthly rental to the Auction House – at least not now Autumn is coming on. There’s a lot less work around, and some days you can’t work at all because of the weather when there’s a storm. You’re at a particular disadvantage, being naked, as you’ll spend a lot of time trying to keep yourself warm, time that you should be working.”

So although I know dad would like to keep you, and I wish he could so that you’d be here for me at Thanksgiving, he’s going to trade you back to the Auction House as soon as I have left. He really is short of cash with my school fees and everything, and although your monthly rentalv is cheap as Jeff got you at a bargain price, it’s still more than he can afford to pay out when you both can’t work flat out, full time.”

“He doesn’t want to even borrow from the family Trust funds, let alone spend any of it, and does try to do everything for me on the money he makes in the business. I’m really proud of him, and even when there’s not enough for the little pleasures in life, such as you, I back him up and don’t complain.”

“So it’s ‘goodbye’, I’m afraid. I don’t think dad will tell you he can’t afford you – he’s too proud. I don’t think he’s planning to say anything, in fact, just to turn you in. But I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.”

“Of course, I guess this time at the auction you will be snapped up by one of the sex parlours, or the pain palace – you’ve avoided it until now, but with a body like yours it’s inevitable you’ll pass through those places some time. Maybe I can get Jase to give me an evening at the sex parlour or pain palace as a Thanksgiving gift, so I can see you again – although I’m not sure I’ll want to go up your ass after it’s been used by half the men in the State: I expect you’ll have lost that wonderful muscle tone that grips my cock like it’s in a vice. Most of the slaves in the sex parlours get fucked so many times that they go all loose and flabby down there – Ok for the old and fat clients they usually get, but not so good for a stud like me!”

Although he had been tender and caressing, he suddenly closed his thumb and forefinger on my nipple and gave it a tweak. As you know, I’ve got sensitive nipples, and I yelped involuntarily, and arched my back with the shock.

“See”, said Billy, “You won’t do so good in the pain palace either! If that’s what you do just for a little tweak at a nip, how are you going to be if one of your clients chooses to whip your nipples? I don’t think you’ll last long, and that’s probably a good thing.  That ‘friend’ of yours, the marine, he was too brave for his own good.  He was there for months, and the best strategy is to ‘break’ quickly so they trade you out after a few weeks.”

I had been listening to Billy intently, and as he spoke of my possible future my dread of being auctioned again and bought by one of these places came back. In spite of it not being seemly to interrupt a master, I couldn’t help myself after hearing about Mitch, and said:

“Master, after you had broken the marine when you went to the pain palace, do you know what happened to him?”

“When he had finished screaming from my treatment, they took him out. Because he was so famous for not having broken in weeks and weeks, they put him on display for all the clients to see. I almost felt sorry for him – he was left in the entrance foyer hanging by his cuffed wrists from a ceiling chain, in the middle of the huge area.”

“His feet were still on the floor, so everyone knew his discomfort wasn’t caused by the agony of trying to breathe whilst you’re suspended by your hands when totally in the air. But they’d hung a placard around his neck, saying ‘The broken marine’, and with his old price underneath crossed through in red, and the word ‘Sale’ written across it, and his new price underneath – and it we only a tenth of what it had been. He knew he had totally devalued himself by giving in to me.  He wasn’t a proud slave any more, he was just a slave now.”

“After about an hour he was taken down. I was offered first fuck as his conqueror of course, but it was late and I was tired so I auctioned it off for charity – I raised over 3k for the local dogs’ home from the patrons who were queuing to use him.  I guess he was probably fucked and fucked all night, with suitable punishments, by all those guys who wanted to know what it was like to have a formerly big, tough buck of an ex-marine bend to their will. After all, they would only have to threaten to repeat the lesson I taught him in room 4, and he’d be crying for mercy.”

“I shouldn’t think he’ll last long in the pain palace, though – they tire of the slaves very quickly once they break. He’ll be sold on – probably to a sex parlour next, and then, who knows? I might give Calvin a call before I leave, though, and suggest he looks out for him for the Stud Farm – there are some couples, I’d think, who’d be prepared to pay a premium price for marine semen.”

As usual Billy had spoken about Mitch just as if he were an animal, with no views on the subject. Even if Mitch hated it all, though, there was nothing he could do about it, so what did his opinions matter? I could understand the humiliation he would feel standing there with a “sale” sign around his neck and the men lining up to buy time up his ass. But I could only imagine how he would feel if he did go to the Stud Farm and knew that his proud marine background was being used as a sales aid for his semen!

Billy’s mood had changed now, though. “Once more, to wish me luck, Steve!”, he commanded, as he pulled out of me, grabbed my balls to guide me to turn me over on to my front, slapped my ass roughly to indicate he wanted it up in the air, and fucked me in his usual quick, hard manner.

Carl came back from Little Rock, and we had dinner together as usual. Straight after dinner he and Billy went to bed, and I was told to wrap myself in a blanket and sleep on the floor, like in the old days. As I lay there I could hear Carl and Billy murmuring, laughing, becoming serious, then laughing again, all interspersed with the constant sounds of sex – the little kissing noises, the slap of one piece of male flesh on another, that special noise that two sweaty bodies make as they pull apart from each other, and the grunts, groans, and sighs of extreme sexual arousal and fulfilment.

We ate breakfast in silence that morning, and Billy then changed into a T-shirt and jeans, zipped up his bags, and we all went out and got into the pickup to go into town to drop Billy at the Bus Station. This wasn’t like the ride just those few weeks ago when we had collected him and he was thrilling at the thought of being on vacation and having a slave to use for his pleasure.

He was quiet and subdued, and Carl didn’t say much either.

I we left alone in the pickup whilst Carl and Billy went off into the bus station, but a couple of minutes Billy was back. He climbed in, sat next to me and raised my arm to bury his nose into my sweaty arm pit – even though I had showered that morning ,the sun was up and I was sweating in the heat of the cab. I felt his tongue flicking over the moist hairy depths of my pit, and squirmed slightly. Billy’s hand was down at my groin, and as he continued to breathe in my man smell, he jerked me off so my cum flew and covered my thighs. He came out from my pit, rubbed his fingers in my cum, and held them under his nose.

“I just wanted to get one last scent of you, and one last feel of your cock”, he said. “They say you always remember the first time you fuck, and you were my first. I really want to fix everything about you in my memory, Steve – your scent, the shape of your cock in my hand, the viscosity of your cum – everything.  But I’ve got to go – the bus was loading when I came back to say goodbye.”

And with that, he ran back in to the Bus Station.

Carl came out about five minutes later, and there was something strange about him – it was only when I looked closely and saw his eyes were kind of puffy that I realised he must have been crying, and had gone into the men’s room to wash his face before he came out to me.

“Ok, off we go!”, he said.

I thought we would drive out to the site, but instead he crossed town and about ten minutes later we drove into the loading bay area at the back of the Auction House.

Getting out of the pickup, he went to the goods-inwards clerk standing there and I heard him say “I’m turning in the contract on this slave. He’s performed well, and there’s no problem with him.  But he’s surplus to my requirements now”.

Then coming over to the pickup, he opened the door for me to get out. He looked at me, up and down, taking in my whole body, and said “Sorry, Steve. I don’t need you any more.”, and turned to go.

I was about to walk over to the goods-inwards clerk, as there was nothing else I could do, when he turned, came back to me and said “No, that’s not right. I do need you. I need you next to me in bed at night, I need your body around the place to give me something to look at. I need you to help me work.   If things were different, we wouldn’t be here and you and I would be looking forward to another night’s passion. But the thing is, Steve, I just can’t afford you – owning a slave just isn’t for the ordinary working guy. You need to be rich, like Jase and my brothers.  So it has to be goodbye.”

I could see it had cost him a lot to say this, and he then amazed me by throwing his arms around me, and hugging me tight, before getting back into his pickup and driving off with a squeal of tyres.


There was nothing for it, so I turned, mounted the steps at the end of the loading platform, and presented myself to the goods-inwards supervisor. He read my Programme number from the tattoo on my arm, keyed it into a PC, read a few of my details, then motioned me over towards the wall.

I stood there wondering what was going to happen, when he took my left wrist and cuffed it to a chain coming out of a slot in the wall. Returning to his PC, he keyed something in, and the next moment the chain started to pull me forwards. “Since you were here last, we’ve mechanised”, he shouted.  “This new system takes you through all the processing stages without us needing to involve guards.”

Held helplessly by my wrist, I had no option but to move along. I felt just like a side of meat moving through a meat packing plant totally automatically- and, I suppose, to those who ran the Programme, that’s just what I was – a side of man meat, to be processed quickly and efficiently. But perhaps it was another way of enforcing our humiliation, too: it’s one thing to be ordered around by guards – although you may not like the feeling of servitude, at least it’s one guy ordering you what to do. But this was totally impersonal – they really had reduced the slaves coming in to the Centre into mere pieces of meat in their processing machine.

The chain led me on, off the loading bay, and into the building. I started to move between two high walls, and suddenly there was water spraying down on me from shower heads in the ceiling, and up at me from jets in the floor. The spray obviously contained soap and some powerful detergent, because my skin started to foam and itch a little. The ingenuity of the builders of the processing facility was at work, too, because as I moved down along the passage, the chain went high up on the wall so my body was stretched to its fullest to let the cleansing foam penetrate to all parts, and then it plunged down to the floor so that in order to keep moving along, my body had to bend double and my ass crack was exposed to cleaning.

The soapy fluid eventually turned to clear water as I neared the end of the passage, so that my body was rinsed clean.

There was a strange metal chair in the next room, that was otherwise completely tiled – walls and floor – and the chain’s passage dragged me over to it, then as the chain went down into the floor, my wrist was pulled down onto the tiles so that the only comfortable thing to do was to sit on the chair.  In front of me an illuminated sign said “Stage l : Restraint. Slave will put his free wrist on the chair arm and his legs against the chair legs.”

I did nothing, and the sign started to flash, and a klaxon sounded in time t the pulse of the sign, to give additional emphasis to it. I still did nothing, and the next moment a jolt of electricity through the chain and chair caused me to scream with pain. The klaxon, which had stopped momentarily, started to pulse again, and I knew that if I did not obey the sign, I’d be shocked again. So I did as the sign said, and at once clamps came out of the chair to hold my remaining free wrist, and my ankles. I was almost completely immobile.

The klaxon stopped, and the sign changed to “Stage 2: Penetration”.

Under my backside something moved – a thing was emerging from the seat of the chair, and trying to go up my ass. I moved up as best I could, as I was restrained, and there between my legs I could just glimpse a shiny stainless steel tube, with a rounded end, rising slowly from the seat of the chair. Desperately I tried to force my body upwards, but it was no good – eventually the pipe touched my ass hole, and continued on upwards. The tip was cold at first, but as it went slowly into me, it warmed. I could see there was no escape, and it was a strain pushing out of the chair with my muscles in spasm, so I slowly sank back into the seat letting the tube up into my ass as I went. After all, it was much smaller than either Seb’s, Carl’s or Billy’s cock, so it was very easy to accommodate.

After a couple of minutes, the sign blinked out and came on again with “Stage 3:  Flush l”

I felt water flowing from the tube up into my guts. It went on and on, and I could not of course stop it. I could see my stomach distending, and started to be in mild pain. A mild pain that soon turned to quite severe pain. Then the tube retracted, and the sign now read “Stage 4: Evacuate l”.

I was desperate, my guts were on fire, and I simply couldn’t hold the contents of my bowels in. Still sitting, and desperately afraid of what would happen if I crapped in that position, I anyway could do nothing to prevent from the contents of my ass being forced out under incredible pressure.  Then I realised that here was a hole in the seat of the chair, and the noisome mixture of water and my crap simply went down a drain underneath it.

“Stage 5: Flush 2” was a repeat of the tube rising again, topump more water inside me, followed of course by “Stage 6: Evacuate 2”.

And so it went on, until I had been flushed out four times in all. This was an automatic giver of enemas! How many slaves did they have to process to make it worth while to invest in this automatic machine, I wondered, rather than just do it the conventional way with a slave pushing the tube up your ass? Again, though, perhaps it we just designed to add to the feeling of total helplessness and humiliation, as your body was processed totally impersonally.

After the fourth evacuation, when I could tell from the smell that I must be clean inside, the clamps holding me to the chair sprang open, the chain started moving, again, and I was led into the next room.

There actually was a man in here! The chain went up the wall and across the ceiling, and I wa s led into the centre of the room, stretched upright by my cuffed wrist. The man came over, wheeling a little trolley behind him containing a number of instruments and jars, and I saw he had a stethoscope around his neck, which he proceeded to use to listen to my breathing. Then he took a blood pressure kit off the trolley and took my blood pressure.

Holding a small bottle to my cock, he said his first word: “Piss”.

I couldn’t start immediately, because, I’m ashamed to relate, whilst I’d been in the showers I had used the opportunity of being alone and covered in sheets of water to relieve myself- I had almost nothing left to give.

“Look, slave”, the doctor said, “I have to do a lot of you today and I only get three minutes per body on average, and I don’t like being held up. Either you piss right this instant, or I’ll simply catheterise you”.

Faced with that, I strained as hard as I could, and I just managed to fill his little bottle. This was a new level of degradation for me – the last time I was in the Auction House I had had to give a urine sample but at least I had been able to hold the bottle myself – having a doctor hold your cock whilst you piss really takes away every shred of humanity from you.

“The sooner they get the new devices, the sooner I’ll like it”, the doctor muttered under his breath. “Once they have perfected the automatic catheteriser, I can do the rest of the stuff whilst the machine takes the piss out of them!”.

Without saying a word, without even asking, the doctor had now thumbed my foreskin back and was inspecting my cock head and the flange minutely.

“Good.  No signs of problems here.”

He went over to a PC, and came back, saying “And according to your processing instructions, I don’t have to circumcise you – at least not at this stage.”

He continued to examine the shaft of my cock, and finally grunted “I see your master was lenient and you did not have to wear the cock bar – the piercing through your cock has completely sealed up. We’re both lucky – up until two weeks ago I would have had to waste time drilling another hole through you, but they’ve just changed the rules: slaves no longer get fitted with cock bars automatically, only if their buyers order it as part of post-sales delivery options. And most of them these days seem to be following the fashion for a big chunky PA, rather than a cock bar.”

He then started to run his hand up and down my cock, and I realised he was jerking me off. It was completely impersonal, and he simply carried on until I had shot a load into another of his small bottles.

He wiped my cock head – rather roughly – with a surgical wipe, then rolled each of my nipples between his fingers, looking at them closely, and examined my ear lobes in detail. He went back to his PC, looked at something on the screen, and said “You’re just as you should be – no nipple piercing or ear rings.  The records are up to date.”

He keyed something in, and the chain again started into motion and led me out of the room – this surely was automating medical exams to the highest degree:  I guessed he could do all of that in three minutes if he had to, providing the slave didn’t have a problem, and took a long time to cum!.

On we went, down corridors in the Auction House, until I was led in through another door with another chair in the middle of the room. I sat on this, as I was led over to it by my wrist, but there was no flashing sign here – instead, a naked slave came in and proceeded to give me a proper slave haircut – very short, with hard edged around my neck and ears.  He said “Arms up, mate”, and clipped my armpit hair down to the regulation half inch (Carl had allowed it to grow, as he thought it was sexier to have proper hair in your pits as it holds the male scent better).

Then “Bend over, mate, and grip your ankles – you know what I need to do now”, and I soon felt the cold edges of a clipper and a razor trim the stubble from around my ass (Carl did of course require me to shave my ass normally, as he didn’t like fucking trough a forest of hair).

The slave then dispassionately hefted my balls, and rolled them around in his hand as he made sure they were completely smooth and devoid of hair. A final quick trip with the clippers restored my pubic hair, which again Carl had allowed me to grow, back to a small, neatly clipped triangle just above my cock.

“That’s you done, mate”, the slave said. “Another slave back into show room condition, trimmed properly to conform to the house rules!”

It was just as if I was a poodle or some other pet dog, being prepared for a show by its handler. Neatly trimmed and clipped, to “the regulations.”

He went out, and the chain started up to drag me on through the building.

The last room we carpeted – I was surprised to feel it under my toes – and the walls were padded. After the chain had led me in, the door swung closed and a voice from a loudspeaker said “Automated test of the tracking device and embedded pain controller. Brace yourself, slave – pain test will commence in five seconds.”

None of my masters had used the pain device on me, and I had almost forgotten about the thing embedded in my gut. But the next moment I was writhing on the floor, shrieking with pain, as it hit me.

The loudspeaker said “Test concluded satisfactorily.”

My journey ended outside the large circular “viewing cage” that I remembered, about l0 metres in diameter, made of floor to ceiling bars. It was quite full of naked slaves already, and the guard at the door read my Programme number, entered it into his PC, then unlocked my manacle, opened the door, and pushed me in.


The last time I had been auctioned there had only been about 20 slaves for sale, and most of these were “renewals” for slaves whose monthly hire was up being sold on to new contracts. Only a few had been “novices”, newly brought here from the prison system. But this time it was different – looking around and counting the heavily tanned bodies like my own, I could only see about eight of us “renewals”, and there must have been at least 30 “novices”.

One of the other renewals must have recognised me as a fellow old-timer, as he came up and said “This new crop get it cushy, don’t they?”

Starting to look more closely at the naked bodies of the “novices”, I could see what he meant. They had all been branded on their asses with the US Prison Department seal, of course, and all their arms were tattooed with their Programme serial number. But unlike us, their backs, their pecs, and their bellies did not carry the enormous tattoos proclaiming “Arkansas” and this year’s date, or their name after the word “slave”.  I’d already heard that cock bars were now no longer fitted (thank goodness!), but I now also saw that only us old-timers had the big nose rings – the novices all had septums that were not even pierced.

The other slave continued “This is all in response to the popularity of the Programme. When you and I were put on it, it was for something serious – mine’s armed robbery.  But now they’re sentencing men to short terms on the Programme for quite ordinary things – drunk and disorderly, possession of drugs, non-payment of parking fines, and so on: they saw that it worked in preventing repeat offences for us hard cases, and they thought it would be a good idea to start to make an inroad into less serious crimes, too”.

“Most of these guys are only here for a ‘short sharp shock’ – three months as a slave is common, I believe.  Although they’ll carry the brand on their ass for life, most people won’t ever see it as these guys will wear shorts and so on, even when they’re swimming, and they’ll be careful when using communal changing rooms at the gym. And they can have their Programme number incorporated into some sort of new tattoo on their arms – after all, those ‘bands’ around the biceps are getting quite popular.  But there were a lot of complaints about the big tattoos across the back, and the ones on the pecs and belly: girlfriends, parents, and so on, were up in arms when their loved ones came back scarred for life like that. If you’re a man, after all, your mom isn’t going to see a brand on your ass, but she may notice a tattoo across your back when you sunbathe! .”

He glanced down at my belly, and said “So, Steve, what do you think you’ll have next?”

I glanced at his name, there on his flat stomach just above his nice, proportioned cock that was carried high on his balls, an replied “Well, Tony, I’m afraid it’s a sex parlour or pain palace for me this time – I’ve avoided it until now, but I don’t think I can escape one or the other again.”

“Never mind, Steve. I’ve just done three months in a sex parlour. Providing you close your eyes and don’t look at the clients’ bodies, it’s not too bad! At least you get to be fucked regularly, and to fuck quite a lot. There’s one guy I met in here before he was auctioned last week who was part of a pony team on some rich guy’s plantation, and he was totally denied sex: he was never even allowed to jerk off, as the master used to enjoy seeing his ponies hard most of the time, and monitored how many times a month they had wet dreams!”

We carried on discussing our lives as slaves, and then there was a sort of disturbance near the door. Three very young guys came in, and they were obviously all together.  They couldn’t have been more than l9, and all had reasonably athletic bodies. They were all quite white, and were standing their trying to cover their cocks with their hands. A lot of us laughed when we saw their efforts, as we knew how futile it would be at the pre-auction inspection!

Remembering how I had felt when I was a novice and it was all new to me, I went over to them to try to reassure them. But the sight of my massive body, darkly tanned, with my nose ring glinting in the overhead lights and my tattoos all over my torso, made them cower even more.

“Hey, guys, what are you in for?”, I asked.

Hearing a friendly tone in my voice, one said “Under age drinking on campus, sir! We’ve all got three months on this special Programme.”

I laughed, told them not to cll me “sir”, then explained what was likely to be in store for them on “the Programme”!

“Well, at least you won’t get any alcohol”, I said, “But I think you’ll get to drink a lot of stuff you have probably never tasted before. Do you all suck cock?”

They looked amazed. “No, of course not! We’re not faggots!”, one said.

“Look, bud, let me put you wise to one thing. Most of the men that buy you here want you for one thing only – sex. Especially young lads like you, with firm bodies.  So whether you’re ‘faggots’ or not doesn’t come into it – you’ll be drinking a lot of cum, and getting shafted a lot up your asses. Still, it might show you college boys what the real world’s like – I bet your parents voted to introduce ‘the Programme’ and thought it was a jolly good idea to turn criminals into slaves!”

We chatted a bit more, and I told them some of the things that had been done to me, and to my friends, and of the things I was expecting to happen on my next contract. They ultimately went away and sat down against the bars of the cage, and their ‘leader’ sat in the middle and put his arms protectively around his companions on either side. I wondered if anyone would buy them all together – if they were lucky, they might all get initiated properly into sex at the same time, and would have a bond that would last them for the rest of their lives after their three months slavery. Such a shared experience at l9 would tend to make them friends for life.

But we couldn’t just go on talking all day – prospective buyers were constantly prowling around outside the cage, and the guards called for one or other of us to go up to the bars for a closer inspection.  I was frequently “at the bar”, because a lot of the “suits” could see that I was an experienced slave, with a magnificent body. Accessing the PC near the gate, they soon ascertained that I hadn’t been in a sex parlour or a pain palace yet, and so would be “fresh meat” for their clients who liked a steady turnover of fresh bodies for their pleasures.

Consequently my cock was fondled, my balls hefted, my nipples tweaked, and my ass hole examined as I bent down ass to the bars, many times. As if having these intimate examinations made by “the suits” wasn’t humiliating enough, a lot of the “novice” slaves tended to cluster around and try to understand what was going on.

There were so many naked bodies crowded into the cage, that big though it was it wasn’t for a couple of hours that I saw another “old timer” on the other side. I went over, and saw a body sitting with his back to the bars, his shoulders hunched up with his head on his drawn-up knees, and a large cock and big balls hanging down between long, muscular thighs. Even before I got there, I felt I recognised the cock and balls – and when I was kneeling in front of him and saw the black, wiry hair and the shading of hair over most of his body, I knew it was Mitch!

“Hey, Mitch, old buddy!”, I exclaimed, dropping to one knew and shaking him by the shoulder. There we no response, so I nudged him again “Mitch – it’s Steve, from the Road Gang!”

Mitch raised his head and looked at me, but he didn’t seem to recognise me. He just let his head sag forward again, on to his knees.

“Mitch!  What’s the matter, buddy?”

But I really couldn’t get a response.  It’s as if his mind was no longer functioning properly.

Just then a “suit” came up and shouted at Mitch to “display”. When there was absolutely no response from Mitch, he repeated the order, saying “Experienced slaves like you should know what ‘display’ means!  Guard….!”

The guard came over and prodded Mitch with his cattle prod.  The effect of the stunning current on Mitch was amazing – he leapt to his feet, like a spring uncoiling, grabbed the bars and shook them violently, as if trying to escape from the cage, whilst screaming absolutely unintelligible things at he guard and the prospective buyer.

The buyer went off, saying “Over the edge”, and marking his auction paper.

The only thing that seemed reasonable to do was to put my arms around Mitch and hug him to me, rubbing the back of his head and trying to calm him. His cock was rock hard, and was ramming into my belly as I held him – although I’m sure there was nothing sexual in it.

He calmed down, and I felt hot tears on my naked shoulder as he rested his head against me. “Mitch – what’s wrong, buddy?”, I asked in as quiet a voice as I could.

“Mitch – come on. Tell me about it. A trouble shared is a trouble halved.” “Mitch – what can I do to help you?”

But Mitch was silent, although he continued to cling to me, and our two magnificent muscular bodies were pressed close as both of us gripped the other in his arms.

We sank to the floor, and I sat with my back against the cage wall. Mitch half lay across my chest, his arms around my neck, and his body pressed along mine. After about fifteen minutes, he said “Steve….. I can’t bear it.  I can’t go on.”

“Yes, you can, Mitch. You must. Surely an ex-marine can bear anything. Did you ever give up when you were in the service?”

“No. In basic training they break you, to get rid of your civilian inhibitions and to get you to operate as a proper part of your platoon. But this is different. I’m no longer a man. I have no choice. I’ve been fucked and fucked and fucked so many times that I have lost count of the men who have been up my ass. I never even had one of my marine buddies, who I loved dearly in a proper, marine, way, up my ass.”

And I can’t bear pain any longer – me, who always held out when we did the battle manoeuvres and who never gave in to the ‘enemy’ interrogators.   And it was a l6 year old lad who did it. A mere boy took away my pride, took away my manhood… took away…. me!”

He was crying again, and I held him close. I felt tears well up inside me, for to see what Billy’s night f fun had done to this proud marine was truly dreadful.

We both slept – to the extent that sleep was possible in that crowded cage, with the snorts, moans, and occasional crying noises coming from the other slaves – holding each other close.

When we did wake, Mitch was still snuggled up close to me, and we were lying so that our bellies were together and our cocks touching. Mitch had a huge erection, and as I shifted slightly to prevent it jabbing into me painfully, I realised I was hard, too. He looked into my eyes.

“Steve…. “, he said hesitantly. “Steve…. I’ve never had anything other than forced sex. In the pain palace, once I had been broken, they raped me constantly, and I was even forced to fuck clients who wanted fucking: they tied me to a frame, jerked me until I was stiff, then the guy would back his ass onto my cock, or even sit on it if I was tied down on my back.”

“Does the fact that your cock is hard mean you fancy me?”, he went on. “Are you a faggot?”

“No, Mitch. I’m not a ‘faggot’. I’m just an ordinary guy. When two guys who like each other, when they both admire each other’s bodies, when they know each other as you and I do following those months on the road gang, it’s perfectly natural for them to want to have sex together. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with two buddies wanting to experience each other fully. Part of the problem with modern society is probably caused by the unnatural restraints that are placed on men bonding together, in ways that thousands of years of evolution have fitted our bodies to.”

“I used to laugh at men who went with each other, but I have come to realise that the physical affection that men can feel for each other is one of the best things in life – I only wish I had discovered the pleasure of my buddies, before I was seduced into an early marriage in order just to satisfy my craving for sex. knowing what I do now, I would have bonded with my buddies for life, then taken a wife when I was older and more mature just so that we could have kids.”

“Surely you wanted to go with some of the guys in your platoon? You must have had these feelings?”

“Yes, Steve, I did.  But I was a ‘regular guy’, and I had always been taught that you respected your buddies, you worked with them, you’d even lay down your life for them in battle. But you didn’t touch them. I can’t believe that you and I are lying here naked, having this sort of a conversation.”

“You’ve had a really rough time, Mitch. Those old, fat bastards who stuffed their cocks up your ass just used you as a sexual object. That wasn’t the sort of feelings I’m talki ng about. That wasn’t proper sex between men – the sort where each partner gets from it exactly what he wants. They may have been satisfied, but you hated it. You’re blaming yourself for being ‘broken’ by a l6 year old lad in the pain palace, but that’s nothing to be ashamed of – I heard that you had been there for longer than any of the other slaves they had ever had before, before you broke. And breaking was inevitable, you know – if it wasn’t that lad, it would have been someone else, sooner or later – we all have our thresholds of intolerable pain, however high some of them may be. In your case, being an ex-marine, that threshold was so high that when you did cross it – especially with the marine’s ethos of ‘holding out even when all hope is lost’ – you had absolutely nothing left in reserve. And that breaking was the start of all those degrading and humiliating sexual experiences from the men who had only just been waiting for you to be broken. No wonder you’re all mixed up!”

“But Steve, I can’t tolerate even the slightest pain now. I had that cattle prod a couple of times before when we were last here, and as you know I was whipped almost constantly on the road gang – especially when I took the whippings for young Dave.  And basically although they hurt like hell at the time, I just forgot them.  But now the mildest whipping, the gentlest squeeze of my balls, a finger nail pressed into my nipple – they all bring that terrible night flooding back ; and you saw what happened when they used the cattle prod on me – I expect to be felled by the shock, but not to howl like an animal with the pain and then to cry like a kid!”

“Mitch, don’t do yourself down. We all hurt when we’re whipped and beaten, and we certainly scream when the cattle prod is used on us. Try to think of yourself as a normal guy, not as some superman.”

I put my hand under his chin, lifted his face slowly towards mine, and kissed him gently on the lips. He turned his face away, and I thought he was still trying to reconcile his lifelon g views of what was “right” between buddies and his natural inclinations, so I didn’t force it. Instead, I nuzzled his ear, and kissed that incredibly warm, sensitive space on the neck just underneath the ear. I reached down to make my own erect cock more comfortable between our bodies, and accidentally, without planning it, I also touched Mitch’s.

He gave a little moan of pleasure, and turned his face back towards me, so I kissed him again. This time he didn’t turn away, so I probed at his lips with my tongue, and eventually he parted his lips slightly so my tongue could slide in. I probed all around his lips, on the inside and outside, then thrust deeper, letting my tongue slide over his and then, as  he started to respond, I pushed deeper so his mouth opened fully and our breaths intermingled as we had an orgy of deep tongue play.

I could feel his cock jerking against my belly, and I knew mine was doing the same from the exquisite sensations I was receiving from my cock head as my foreskin had long since retracted. I reached down, and did something that all guys like when they’re together – I pushed our cocks side to side so that the tips were in each others’ clipped pubic hair, then circled both with my hand and started a side-by-side, mutual jerk-off.

Mitch stated to move his body up and down, as if he was trying to escape the rhythm of my hand as it stroked his cock, but his mouth remained glued to mine. I put my other arm around his back, and moved my legs across his thighs – none of this would restrain him if he wanted to move, of course, but it makes a guy feel good to be held close to his lover’s body when they’re having sex. That’s why being fucked on your back is so much better than having your buddy do you “doggy fashion” – you can grip his body and ass with your thighs and feet as he pushes in and out: I think the experience is heightened for both of you.

Mitch had started to make little moaning noises above the in and out sounds of our deep breathing, and I thought he was about to cum. So I broke contact with his mouth and whispered gently into his ear:

“Is this Ok, Mitch?”

He didn’t answer – just pushed his mouth back on to mine. Then suddenly my hand was covered in cum as he shot all over me, and my crotch. I continued to jerk us, and a couple of strokes later his cum was intermingled with mine as I climaxed too.

We lay glued together for several minutes whilst we recovered, then I gently pushed him away from me and rolled him over so he was lying on his back. I knelt beside him, and slowly and sensuously cleaned his cock and his clipped pubic hairs of our cum with the tip of my tongue, sucking it up into my mouth as I went.

I moved my position so I was over his head, and kissed him again. As his tongue came into my mouth, he tasted the cum still nestling there, and pulled away. He sat up, and looked at me.

“What’s the matter, Mitch?”, I asked gently. “Surely you’ve tasted cum before? Like almo st every guy I know, you’ve surely lapped up your own when you didn’t have access to a jerk-off cloth, or to toilet tissue?  So what’s wrong with tasting the wonderful intermingling of our juices following that fantastic jerk off? When you and another guy have just jerked off together, sharing each other’s cum in a hot, wet kiss is one of the most beautiful things you can do.

Come on – try again – kiss me.”

To my astonishment, Mitch didn’t kiss me immediately, but pushed me to the floor, knelt over and licked the cum from my cock and from my pubes. Then he came up, and kissed me.

It seemed to me that introducing Mitch to gentle, loving sex had “tamed the beast” in him. It was almost like he was a new man, so calm and confident after the empty shell he had been an hour ago. It’s a pity that more men don’t learn at an early age what joyous, sensual sex with a man can do for you – I’m sure there would be a lot less problems in the world. And a lot less criminals. And far fewer guys on the Arkansas Programme!

We were both covered in sweat after all of this, and stank of male pleasure, but there was nothing we could do about it as there were no showers or any means of washing at all in the bare cage – if only Mitch and I could have showered together, and felt each other’s hard bodies as our soapy hands glided over them and explored all our private cracks and crevices: that’s another part of sex with a buddy that’s often overlooked – all too often you just get up and go home.

As we looked around, we could tell that most of the other guys in the cage had been watching us, mostly enviously when they saw how much pleasure we had both had. But I heard one of the young college lads say to the others “Gross!”.

In a flash, Mitch had leapt to his feet, took two steps across the cage, and slapped the young guy on the side of his head so hard that he fell over on to his back.  Mitch is a big, powerful guy, and an open handed slap with his arm extended and all the power of his shoulders behind it is enough to fell any man, let alone a relatively puny college kid.

The lad there, feebly kicking his legs. Mitch stood over him and was about to stomp down with his work-hardened foot into the guy’s crotch, but I had seen this and had leapt, too.

Although too late to stop the slap, I did manage to restrain Mitch from stomping the lad. “Either of you two others got any comment?”, Mitch snapped to the two other college boys.

“Come on, Mitch, leave them alone!”, I whispered as I tugged at his arm to move him back. “Remember what you were like at that age – if you’d seen two naked studs having public sex, what would you have thought? Take pity on these poor guys – here they are, all naked, in a cage of other naked men, about to be sold. They can see that they’re weak and inadequate compared to most of us guys, whereas with their clothes on, at college, they’re used to feeling superior to most of the rest of the world. And they’re scared!

We at least know what’s likely to be in store for us, and they must be imagining all sorts of disasters for themselves- they’re probably so scared they’re overwrought. Just leave it. I don’t think the lad meant anything by it. If he was in a bar, drinking, and in his clothes, and you and I had been made to perform as some sort of cabaret, he would probably have cheered and whistled encouragement. He’s probably only tying to appear disapproving in order to try to bolster his confidence – stripped naked like that, with his balls shaved, it’s probably all disappeared.”

I could feel almost stop straining as I held on to him, and I thought he was going to calm down and the incident would pass – I thought we might even try to make amends to the guy later, and perhaps introduce them all to man sex in a non-threatening way, so that their subsequent rapes and forced milkings wouldn’t put them off it for life..

But the guard had seen this incident, and a few moments later several of them burst into the area around the cage. Shouting commands they isolated Mitch against the bars, then pushed him around towards the door with their cattle prods.

“Leave him alone! He we provoked!”, I shouted, and tried to stop him being herded along.

The next minute I was writhing on the floor as one of the guards discharged his cattle prod into the small of my back. Spit was drooling from my mouth. I had lost control of my bladder with the shock and the pain, and I was lying in a big puddle of my own piss.

The guards by then had got Mitch to the gate, and had pulled his arms behind his back and cuffed him. They then came into the cage, motioning all the other naked slaves back with their cattle prods, hauled me to my feet, and cuffed my hands behind my back, too. “Take that one along with the very feisty one. He looks like a trouble maker as well”, the guards leader commanded.

Mitch and I were taken into another room, where there was a smaller cage in the corner. The guards unlocked the gate, and pushed us both in. The cage was only about five feet square, and with two big muscular men in it there was absolutely no spare room – we were almost pressed up against each other when we were both standing up, and when the guards turned out the lights and closed the door to the room so we were in total darkness and it was apparent that that was where we were going to spend the night, we had a big problem: neither one of us could lie down properly stretched out, and both of us certainly couldn’t!

We did manage to curl our bodies around each other at last, and I had the delicious sensation of Mitch “spooned” warmly against my back, with his cock lying in my ass crack. We decided that making two slaves crush into this tiny space was another way of humiliating us – there was no way that we could avoid being acutely aware of the sex organs of the other as we were forced into such intimate contact. Their plan misfired in our case, though, as we were desperate to feel each other’s bodies.

I felt down for Mitch’s cock with my cuffed hands, and by wriggling around, managed to cradle it in my palm. Mitch “mmmddd” with pleasure as he responded to my touch. I would have gladly had him up my ass there and then, but in the small confines of the cage it was just not possible. For the rest of the night we had to move and turn, to try to get as comfortable as possible, with sometimes me being able to hold Mitch’s cock, and sometimes him being able to hold mine.

“It’s a fucking crime, Steve”, Mitch said towards morning.     “Just as I discover what joy there is in the body of a real buddy, they’re going to tear us apart. You’ll be sold to a sex parlour or pain palace, and I’ll be out working in the fields on some farm, or pulling a delivery cart, or something.  We may never meet again….      They shouldn’t have the right to make men bend to their will in this way, to break up couples and spoil perfect friendships.”

“Mitch, don’t worry.  I’m sure we’re going to meet again one day. Promise me you’ll be calm and won’t lose your temper again – ever – whether with a master or a slave. You know, don’t you, that on the Programme, as the ultimate sanction, they can take a slave’s balls if a judge decides that that’s the only way the slave can be calmed sufficiently to enable him to continue in servitude?  I’d hate you to end up as a eunuch!”

“Look – even if we are separated and we never bump into each other again at the Auction House or working for the same master, our sentences will end one day. Mine’s l5 years, how long’s yours?”

“The Marines put me into the Programme for eight years, following my insubordination.  When I get off the Programme, I still have to serve out the remainder of my time in the corps – I have another two years to go.  So I’ll be totally free in l0”.

“Promise me this, then, Mitch: keep your cool, so you survive slavery with your balls still on you. Then just be a normal soldier so they don’t have the excuse to put you back in the Programme, and they have to discharge you – honourably – at the end of your time. You’ve then got five years to make some money and come and buy my contract. Or, if you can’t do that, you can at least be waiting here for me in l5 years time!”

I think we both knew these plans were unrealistic – neither of us expected to survive the Programme, because we would either be worked to death, or we would lose our minds and really become the mindless animals that slave training tried to turn you into, simply working away without reason and totally obeying every order given to us without question. After all, what did the Government imagine could possibly happen to a slave after l5 years of servitude, that normally involved both extreme physical and sexual abuse? Could such a slave ever return to normal society?    My guess is that the “short-termers” went back after a few months, having well and truly learned their lesson, but us “long-termers” would never emerge from the Programme at all. Some task would be found in a mine, or a dangerous factory, or whatever, where the work itself, or work-related accidents, would conveniently release us from our slavery.

We lay there, and we did sleep a bit, but we had no idea of what time it was in the totally dark room. But we both knew that the day was moving on, because Mitch needed to piss desperately – I had already done so, involuntarily, in the big cage and I could still smell my stale piss were it had dried on my body. Mitch said it must be morning, as he always needed a good long piss first thing, and usually woke with a raging piss hard. But no one came – we were just left there. After what seemed like hours, Mitch groaned “Sorry, Steve”, and I felt a warm stream jet into the middle of my back and trickle over my ass, as Mitch simply had to let go.

He cut himself off in mid flow – a painful thing to do, as we all know – to try to be considerate but I told him to carry on and empty himself completely.  We were both lying in his piss anyway now, and what difference would it make if there was a whole lot more? I think this was another “planned” degradation for slaves: the guards must have been watching with a concealed I-R camera, because almost as soon as Mitch had finished they came in and unlocked the cage. It wasn’t so bad, with Mitch and I together in his piss, but imagine how it would have been if two slaves had been thrown together in that cage who did not know each other.

The guards wrinkled their noses, and said “Disgusting animals! They not only piss on the floor, they lie in it and get it all over themselves!”.

I felt Mitch tense, and he was about to shout at them to ask them what they expected us to do, but I stepped backwards onto his foot, which caused him to “start” suddenly, and look at me. I gave a shake of my head, and he remembered that he wasn’t to be provoked.

“It’s time for the Auction, boys”, the guards said with relish.

We were led out into the auction hall, and through all the other slaves who were chained in place waiting for the buyer’s inspection before they were taken to the block.  All were chained in the way I remembered from last time – their hands behind their heads, fastened with cuffs to a neck collar, and one ankle cuffed to a short chain that was held by a concealed bolt in the luxurious carpet. The slaves were dotted around the room, so that buyers could walk freely around between them, examine them with plenty of room for manoeuvre, and discuss their fine points and possible prices with colleagues without fear of being overheard by other traders.

Naked slaves from the Auction House, “dressed” as waiters with just a black bow tie around their necks as an adornment, were circulating holding trays of drinks and canapés.

As we walked through, I saw the three college boys had, unusually, been chained in a tight group. The guards commented that as usual, rich college kids got special treatment – they were going to be auctioned as one lot, so they would serve out their time together. His friend stopped us, went over, and gave each in turn a humiliating inspection of their cocks, balls, and asses. He cupped their balls in his hands and rolled the balls together in their sacs until the guy gasped with pain, and then jerked their cocks until they almost climaxed, and were left standing there with drops of pre-cum coming out of their piss slits. And of course he made them bend over in turn, and fingered their asses, making each of the boys lick his fingers clean after it had been up his companion’s ass.

The boys had started to protest when he began to feel the first one, but a quick slap on the boy’s naked ass had soon silenced him. After that, they had just stood there and taken it – almost as a real man would – after all, it’s not so bad to have another guy explore your body if you’re reasonably well hung with at least a moderately sized cock. But they were all blushing furiously by the end of his little “inspection”, and I thought that at least one of them might start crying.

“At least they’ve had one good inspection”, the guard said. “So even if their families’ and rich friends have got tame dealers in here to buy them, they’ll at least have had a taste of what it’s like to be a slave, and have your physique examined properly by a real judge of man flesh.”

I thought Mitch and I would have been showered before being taken to be tethered, and seeing all these clean slave bodies around us made us each acutely aware of the fact that we were streaked with dried piss, and stank. I know that good male sweat is one of the sweetest smells in the world, and taking deep draughts from your buddy’s pits, or his crotch, when he’s been labouring hard is a real turn-on: nature didn’t put all those pheromone-producing glands there for nothing, after all. I particularly like the extra powerfully strong male smell when you first push your nose into your buddy’s crotch, where the scent glands are most concentrated, and this area often has a piss-stink to it, too – even the most fastidious guy sometimes leaves a few drops to leak from his cock because he doesn’t spend the time he should to shake himself fully after pissing, and it gets trapped in his pubic hair and dries.

However this was different – the sweat from our over night exertions had dried on us and was becoming rank and stale, my piss was 24 hours old, and there weren’t just a few drops of Mitch’s – we had both been covered in it. Although our smell was intoxicating to each of us as we had generated it and revelled in it, I knew that to others we must appear to be foul-smelling, dirty animals.

However we were not to be chained in the centre of the room, like the others. Instead, we were taken to a corner of the room where there was a large wooden object.

It was a double pillory, with two hand holes and a neck hole for each of two slaves. The cross beam was fixed securely on two large 6” x 6” posts at either end, about four feet from the ground. The guards raised the top part of the cross beam, then using their cattle prods to ensure we caused no trouble, uncuffed us each in turn and gestured for us to place our wrists and necks on the cross bar. They put us on opposite sides of the beam, so that I could see Mitch’s body and he could see mine if we raised out heads from the “straight forward” position we were held in, looking down at the floor.

“Spread your legs”, the guard commanded. “No, Wider!” he snapped when I only moved them about a metre apart, and slapped at the inside of my thighs with the cattle prod (mercifully, not powered on, but I got his meaning). He then went down on his knees and a wooden spacer pole was cuffed to each of my ankles.

I was completely helpless and felt more naked and humiliated than I had ever done before during my time as a slave – at a normal auction, even though your hands are cuffed to your collar, you can at least move your body freely and could, for example, shake your head if a fly landed on you. But my head and arms were completely immobile. The height of the cross bar meant my body was bent almost horizontal, and the stretcher bar kept my legs painfully far apart. It was actually extremely uncomfortable to stand there like that for any length of time – not that the guards or anyone else cared, of course, as we were only slaves.

I knew that my cock and balls were hanging down, completely exposed, between my spread thighs, and that my ass hole was conveniently placed for an easy inspection. With the spacer bar in place I could not even close my legs and clench my ass cheeks together if I found the attention to my asshole unwelcome.

The guards reappeared with small signs on gold chains, and they hung them around each of our necks so that they swung just below the cross beam. “It says you’re dangerous, have attacked other slaves and guards, and are not recommended for purchase by those who require any kind of personal service”, the guard explained.

My spirits began to rise – with that notice, surely no one would buy me for a sex parlour or pain palace! The guard continued, however, “But here’s the sting in the tail for you two buckos… It also sets out the special offer we make to all new owners of slaves like you: Castration for an additional fee of only 200 dollars, and full penectomy for l00 dollars on top of that. Or, as an , alternative, prosthetic balls following castration fitted for l50 dollars, with the buyer’s choice of size and shape of testicle!”.

“Whistle you were sleeping last night we got the local circuit judge to sign ‘dangerous slave’ orders on you, so your master can have your balls taken at any time he chooses. You’d better pray that you’re not bought by someone who likes having eunuchs in his service!”

He chortled to his friend “The last of these dangerous slaves I saw auctioned here made a lot of money for his master. He hired the auction room from us, and those that wanted to stay on saw the castration being done publicly, without anaesthetic. Tickets were 50 bucks a time, and he easily covered his costs. And he even got a better looking slave at the end of it – he had the slave’s quite low hanging balls replaced with prosthetics of stainless steel, about the size of squash balls. The slave was a big guy like these two, and hadn’t been bad looking before – but those two enormous balls swinging between his legs made him something else – especially as the sheer weight of that much steel stretched his sac paper thin, and made them hang down almost to mid thigh! You still see him around – losing his balls did calmed him down just like it does stallions when they become geldings, or bulls when they become bullocks, but I think his master pays for hormone shots as his body is still tough and muscular – it didn’t go all soft and flabby like those gross fat eunuchs you read about in ‘Arabian Nights’ tales. I suppose it’s easy to keep him totally shaved, as his beard and cock hair doesn’t grow any more”.

I could see Mitch’s body moving restlessly as he listened to this fate that probably waited for us, and of course I was desperately worried, too. Could we really be gelded? Was it sanctioned under the law – how could a judge agree to it?  Could they really do this to a man? “No” was of course the answer – they no longer castrate men anywhere in the civilised world, even in Arkansas. But of course we were not men – we were slaves, and different rules applied.

Arkansas farmers routinely castrated their bulls, so why shouldn’t Arkansas slave owners castrate unruly slaves?

The doors of the Auction Hall opened, and the buyers started to flow in. As usual, there was a mixture of “suits”, women in expensive dresses, and a few stylishly but casually dressed guys.

They took their time walking around the chained naked slaves, pausing to examine any man that took their fancy – there were the casual examinations of muscles in the chest and thighs by the running of hands over the naked body, and the more detailed examinations of cocks, balls, and ass holes. It was clear that all these buyers were experienced handlers of slaves, as they never hesitated to touch the male flesh displayed so enticingly in front of them: the masters were not at all concerned about performing these intimate manoeuvres with the bodies of men they had never seen before. Occasionally one of the masters would summon over one of the slaves who belonged to the Auction House and were roaming free around the hall, to jerk off a slave to see how he performed when cumming – was he a real shooter, or a man who dribbled a long, steady stream? The slaves were used to do this jerking off as the masters did not want to have the possibility of getting cum on their hands, or their clothes – it was another example of how everything was set in the Auction House to make it easy for masters to inspect and buy slaves without inconveniencing themselves.

Mitch and I, off in one corner, were largely ignored. And as the inspection proceeded, only a few potential buyers came past us.  When they read the placard, most of these  were put off and simply moved on – I guess 95% of the slaves were required for “personal services” of some kind, so having two wild renegades was a distinct turn off for them. After all, even if you are buying a slave as a field hand, or to work in your factory or quarry, you may as well have one you would feel safe in fucking if you happened to be horny and he was close at hand. But some masters were clearly interested in the possibility of men with “spirit”, and we had a number of examinations of our bodies.

With my body almost horizontal and my legs stretched wide apart, it was easy for a potential buyer to be able to inspect my ass hole, and to see the size and shape of my cock and balls. Several of them took the opportunity of feeling the tension in my ass hole by inserting a finger, or two, or three, as I stood there unable to move. Then with my head largely immobile, it was easy for my potential new master to be able to inspect my mouth, and he could have me clean his fingers of my ass juices at the same time.

The buyers also liked seeing how I reacted to a little mild pain, and my exposed, bent-over ass was slapped on numerous occasions, often quite hard.  I could see that Mitch we taking this very badly, and his body spasmed and he shuffled his legs as best he could if the was spanked. I knew it wasn’t only the pain that we doing this to Mitch – it was the humiliation, on top of everything else, and the thought that there we a strong possibility that we would both be losing our manhood.  All of this was combining to make his situation even more intolerable than it was usually.

One particular owner summoned one of the Auction House slaves over and told him to fuck me – he wanted to make sure my ass was fully experienced, before contemplating purchase. This was probably the lowest point to which I had ever been taken in my life of slavery -normally when you’re being fucked against your will as s slave, you have a small feeling deep inside you that you could make it stop; if you dared to strike your master, he would probably stop fucking you, even though worse punishments would then await you.  But held in the pillory, my legs spread wide, there was absolutely nothing I could do: there was no way I could break free, and all the shouting and swearing would not stop the slave whose cock was penetrating my ass. He in turn knew that he had to do it, whatever I might want, if he was to avoid punishment himself. Because the slave was around behind me, I did not even get to see the face of the man that was fucking me – surely that’s the ultimate in being “used”? How degraded could we get – one slave fucking another, to avoid punishment, to satisfy the curiosity of a master who might not even choose to bid for the slave subsequently.

This same master summoned another slave to carry out the same test on Mitch, and I could see from the way that Mitch’s body responded with twitching and the motions of his restrained legs that the experience was not going well. There was a film of sweat all over his back that I could see in front of my head, and after it was over I thought I could hear Mitch making tiny sobbing noises.  But worse was yet to come – as the potential master began to walk away, he turned and slapped Mitch’s balls as they hung exposed between his thighs.  It was vicious, hard slap – the sound of it was like a pistol shot, and it was followed by a roar of sheer animal pain from Mitch.  I also heard that unmistakable sound of a stomach being voided, and I guessed that Mitch must have vomited following this attack on his balls – you know how it is if you’ve been accidentally kicked in the balls during a game of football, or if a partner in bed inadvertently traps your balls under his leg or something: the pain is almost indescribable, and is enough to make you spew up your guts.

Following the noise, and the mess ,there we as lot of activity as slaves came to clean up, and I think the whole experience was so off-putting that the buyers then stayed firmly away from our corner – all except one couple, that it, who I realised were re-visiting us, having carried out a thorough inspection of our tackle earlier.

They stood there looking at us again, and one said to the other “See, I told you. They’ve both got a really good-sized sac, and there’s already permission to have them gelded as they have attacked guards in here. So I can carry out my plan, and not be too much out of profit.”

“Following the incident here, I doubt that they’ll fetch much in the auction, so I’ll buy them, have them gelded, and then put them straight back into the auction for next week’s sale – someone will buy them, as field hands, or to drag a delivery cart, or something – they’re both big strong bucks, and the lack of their balls won’t matter for those type of jobs.”

“That new blond slave boy I bought last week has such a fair body and such pale blond hair that I want to show it off by some sort of contrast – I had thought of having some chains fixed around him permanently, but the idea of having him wear a tiny G-string is even more erotic: the thought of him peeling it off, and the string rolling down his tight ass, is a real turn-on. I would have done it before, but I couldn’t decide on whether to go for translucent white silk for the pouch, or a fine fish net, or just the conventional black leather. They all have their advantages and disadvantages, and some of them are a bit hackneyed: almost every slave boy you see who’s allowed a G has a silk or leather pouch, after all!”

“But having his pouch made out of the dressed and dyed skins of slaves’ balls sacs is so novel – every time he pulls it on and tucks his cock and balls in, the feel of these slaves discarded sacs against his own will remind him of his vulnerability. He will be constantly reminded of how easy it would be to have him castrated and his sac used in the same way! That would stop him becoming uppity with me.”

“I think we’ll need both sacs, and they can be sewn together. The slave’s got a surprisingly big cock and balls for his general physique, and even using these two sacs, it’ll be a tight fit to get them into a pouch. Still, if they peep out a bit at he sides, it’s just that bit more erotic. And I’ll have him totally shaved, so the top of the pouch can start at the top of his cock without any unsightly pubic hair curling over the edge.”

“Who knows, we may set a new fashion! I think that with proper treatment, the leather from these slaves’ sacs will be smoother and finer than the finest Moroccan leather. There should be an interesting surface texture, too, as the folds of the sac skin and the hair follicles will tend to show up even after tanning and polishing.”

I listened in astonishment – this was more than I had ever contemplated. Not only were we going to be castrated, but this was going to be done to fulfil an erotic whim of our new owner. He didn’t even want to own us – just trade us, having had our balls taken along the way. Our balls sacs were going to be made into the tiny scrap of clothing that he allowed his boy sex toy to wear. I was beyond despair, I was beyond shock. I now knew that my body was nothing to these slave owners, it was just something to give them value for their money, in whatever way they chose. I had been totally downgraded in the chain now, from man, to slave, to sex object, to a mere provider of superior fine grade leather to make erotic clothes for other slaves.

I knew I would never survive the Programme, never regain my freedom  a system that could use a slave in this way. It was never going to let that slave go free out into the streets again.

Mitch had been listening to this conversation too, of course, and he started to scream and rage at the two men about how they were never going to have his balls. He was a marine, marines were real men, and real men had balls.

Poor Mitch needed my support, so I started to abuse the men, too, calling them inhuman bastards and every foul word I had ever used in my life. As our noise continued, two slaves came over and simply fitted cock gags deep down into our throats, securing them in with elastic straps around our heads. With our heads immobilised it was easy to get the gags in against our will – they simply held our noses until we had to open our mouths slightly, then inserted the end of the cock between our teeth, and hit it hard, to ram it home. We had to let it in, to avoid breaking our teeth. Without the ability to move your hands or use your body to defend yourself, it’s surprising how easy it is to do anything you want to a man’s head. All we could do was buck and squirm, to the best of our ability, as much as our total restraints allowed.  It showed the total futility and helplessness of our plight.

We both did quieten eventually, of course, as it’s too much of an effort to try to keep shouting through a big cock gag, and when you’re in the stocks it’s a real effort anyway just to keep your head pointing upwards, rather than looking down at the floor. I felt the sweat that had been pouring off me drying in the air conditioning, and I was chilled as my water-drenched body was cooled by the evaporation.

Then I sensed someone standing in front of me, and strong fingers went under my chin and lifted my head up.  “Hhhmmm…                                  Handsome face”, the man said to his companion.  Let’s go and look at his body.”, and they went around to the other side of the stocks and I felt my tackle and ass being examined thoroughly in the way to which I was well accustomed.

The two men standing there were both dressed in incredibly fine, subtle black leather – tight leather trousers clearly showed the outline of their cocks, and leather waistcoats totally open revealed muscular, tanned, hairy chests. Studded belts around their waists, and black leather boots completed their outfits, and made them look especially menacing. Each of them had three whips hanging from their belts, and so I knew they must be whip masters or slave trainers, or some other specialised form of slave handler.

Whilst they were on that side, I heard them looking at Mitch’s face, too, and commenting favourably. Then they came around to the side I could see and examined Mitch’s body, and were highly impressed by his musculature and tone as everyone who sees him is. He of course was past all caring by now, and bucked and wriggled to the best of his ability as they did the normal cupping of balls and examination of his cock.

They ungagged Mitch to carry out an inspection of his teeth, but he simply swore at them and tried to bite them, so they had him re-gagged. Coming around to my side, the first man said “Are you going to be like that other slave?”, as he undid my gag.

“You’re damned right, fucker!” I spat as soon as my mouth was free – after all, what had I to lose now? My balls were already going to be taken!

So I was re-gagged, too, and the two men stated to discuss us. “They’re obviously both spirited – highly spirited.”

“Yes, that’s what we need. So many of the prey recently have been disappointing – they haven’t had the will to make good sport.”

“Shall we take the black haired one, then? He seems to have the most fire in his belly – look at the way he’s still bucking after you tried to heft his balls. The blond one was verbally abusive, too, but he seems to be generally quieter.”

“You’re right, I suppose. But after all the upset his morning I would think they’ll both be really cheap – we could always take them both.”

“No – we’ve only got one day planned in the near future, and we don’t need the other one eating his head off without any possibility of a payback to us.”

“On the other hand, as you said, our clients have been a bit disappointed recently: let’s try to get their interest back by putting on something special- a sort of ‘twins’ event. Although they have different coloured hair, they’re alike enough in other ways – same general body shape, same heights, and so on.  We could call them ‘cousins’!”

When the auction finally started, it seemed to go on for ever and the pain in my thighs, back and neck from being confined in the unnatural position got worse and worse. But eventually guards came – several of them, with their cattle prods – and released us one at a time from the stocks.

My hands were cuffed behind me, as were Mitch’s, and then the two sets of cuffs were joine d together so that Mitch and I were standing back to back. We were then made to half walk, half stumble, sideways into the Auction Room itself – as ever, a solution had been found to the problem of “unruly” slaves – you just can’t try to run, or kick, or escape when you’re chained to another slave in that way. Mitch and I got a bit of comfort from the feel of each other’s bodies as we were forced along, and I briefly enjoyed the sensation of feeling the warmth his strong muscular ass rubbing against mine as we stumbled and tumbled.

Utterly humiliated, bound and gagged, we were awkwardly thrust up the steps on to the auction platform – at least the last time I was here I had had some shred of dignity, and had been able to climb those steps myself.  We stood there under the bright lights, with the audience in their raked seats around three sides of us, whilst the Auctioneer recited our history – our crimes, our sentence in the Programme, and our previous experience on the other contracts we had been on. He then went on to give the audience a severe warning about our temperament – he pointed out we had attacked guards, and that most of the audience would be aware of our totally wild behaviour  in the inspection hall.

He first of all asked if there were any bids for Mitch, and there was no response, then for me, and again no response. “Very well then, ladies sand gentlemen, I will now accept bids for the pair of them,”

I had expected that the two sets of people who had examined us so closely would be bidding, but mercifully the guy who had wanted to make leather out of our sacs seemed to have dropped out: I was so thankful that I almost fainted after my anxiety about being bought to be used in that way was lifted.  We were sold for a token five dollars (the pair!) to the two buyers in black leather.

Five dollars- the price of two human lives! This, then, was all the value the system now put on the bodies of Mitch and me. I had been a hard worker, a husband and father. Mitch had served his country well.  Five dollars for these two pieces of man flesh – we truly were worthless now.

We were bundled of the platform, and out he back down the long concrete corridors leading to the loading bay. The guards again clustered around as we were uncuffed from each other, and consulted a PC to determine that we were to be put into a transport cage.

A fork lift truck delivered a cage onto the loading bay – of the usual stainless steel bars, and about the size of a domestic chest freezer, the lid was raised, and Mitch was made to get in, with a little encouragement from the guards who waved their cattle prods near his balls. He sat there against one end of the cage, and his long legs had to bend at the knee so that his feet could fit in. The guards had to push down hard on the lid to cause Mitch to bend his back as his body was too tall for the height of the cage, and his head was now pressed between his knees. His cock, that had frequent erections as he was a normal guy in his sexual prime, hung limply down between his thighs. He looked a picture of abject submission and misery.

I we expecting a cage to be brought for me, too, but after some consultation Mitch’s cage was opened and I was told to get in as well – I had to sit at the other end, between Mitch’s feet, and push my legs alongside his so my feet ended up next to his ass. Poor Mitch had been crushed and cramped before, but now with two of us in it, there was absolutely no spare room at all in the cage. When the guards forced the lid closed and I to had to bend my back and push my head right down, I had to wriggle my ass forward a bit, too, to make it possible at all.  Mitch had done the same thing, so our cocks were nestling together, and our heads were looking down at them.

I wanted to say something to Mitch, but his experiences of having his balls slapped and then “losing it” so completely whilst we were in the stocks seemed to have sent him back into the same state of total resignation and withdrawal as he had been in the previous night – he just didn’t respond to me, and said absolutely nothing.

The guards fussed around at their PC again, and a printer whirred into life, printing a “despatch note”, which they neatly fixed to a holder on the side of our cage. Truly the whole process of processing and selling slaves was now a proper “business”, complete with automated mechanised handling systems, and supporting IT operations! I felt just like an object that was being processed dispassionately and methodically – they had managed to dehumanise me even more by their automatic processes.

As if being bundled into a cage like an animal was not enough, the final indignity was having that cage simply loaded onto a pickup by a fork-lift truck: when we had been sold before we had at least been driven away like men, now we were just caged animals, and animals could be caged and shifted around like so many packing cases. But in fact we were worse than animals – no farmer would treat his stock this way, and the ASPCA would prosecute any that caged and transported animals packed as closely together as were Mitch and me.

Where were we going, I wondered. Could our humiliation as slaves be any worse than that which we had already experienced?  I was comforted by the warmth of Mitch’s body pressed into such intimate contact with mine, and our close confinement had one consolation: his cock was gently rubbing mine, sending thrills of pleasure up from my cock head. In spite of our inhuman plight I had a massive erection. But I was desperately worried about Mithch’s mind – it was as if the Mitch I knew had gone away, to be replaced by a strange, wild, unknowing creature. How would Mitch survive even “routine” slavery if his personality could not be restored?

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