Three a.m. I stared at the time projected onto the ceiling and wondered why I was awake. Sure, it had been a challenging and exciting day as it was our end of period sale and I had naturally been concerned that our rich buyers would find everything to their satisfaction. But it had all gone well, and as usual we had sold all of the current crop of stock. I should have been elated as my profit from the last crop was now secure, and I should have been looking forward to my usual trip back to London that I take after each sale before the new stock arrives – living out here in the Gulf I find I need to make special efforts to keep up with all my old mates back home, and so I schedule a two-week vacation at the end of each cycle.
Things hadn’t quite worked out that way this time, though, as my suppliers had got a new batch of stock together earlier than anticipated and they were arriving tomorrow, the day after the last batch were off my hands. So was that why I was awake, fretting about what lay ahead? No, not really, as I’ve now done this so many times before it’s completely automatic and I can do it on autopilot! So why was I awake at this time in the morning? Who knows! Anyway, there’s a sure cure for sleeplessness – a good, hard shag.
I like to sleep completely naked, without even a sheet to cover me, but in spite of endless visits from the specialists they’ve never managed to get the air conditioning right in my bedroom – it’s always slightly too cool. I gave up, basically – you just can’t get really competent staff out here, and found my own solution. The young slave who was nestling against me gave me just that little extra warmth in the cool room, and as I started to think about sex my cock tried to tunnel itself deeper between the ass cheeks of his muscled body.
This slave was ideal for my purposes in bed – he was smaller than me, at about 5’10”, and had a trim, compact, but muscled, “swimmer’s body”. I’d spotted him in the new arrivals a couple of batches ago, and after basic training I’d held him back and not sold him on. He was a convenient size to lie next to me at night as I could easily get my arms around him and keep him pressed close to me, and he was of course a virgin before I had used him, so he had learned from the outset how I particularly like to take my pleasure. Keeping a slave just to keep me comfortable in bed would obviously be absurd, given the price good specimens like this one fetch, but he had proven useful in many other areas around my establishment – fetching and carrying for me, relaying messages, and in the entertainment of important clients paying visits.
Now I know that young guys need their sleep, and at 18 he wasn’t yet fully mature. But he was supposed to stay awake in bed in case I should need anything during the night, and to my annoyance I found he was fast asleep and even snoring very softly and quietly as his ribs rose and fell under my arm that was draped over him. I ran my hand down over his hard belly, noting with pleasure how the training programme had resulted in those ridges of muscle all buyers find so desirable in young slaves, and let it rest for a moment on his cock. I’d first been attracted to him because in addition to his pleasant physique he was well hung; and after his circumcision (all slaves are routinely circumcised, as I’m sure you are aware) his larger than average cock had been well complemented by the very meaty and pronounced flange around his cock head. I didn’t stop to play with his cock this time, though, as my own was straining hard and I wanted to move on. So I cupped his balls in my hand, feeling the silky smoothness of his shaved sack, and squeezed hard!
He woke at once, of course, and his body jerked forwards but my arms and legs wrapped around him stopped him getting away. I continued to squeeze, and, had he been able, I know he would have been squealing with pain.
“Lie still and take your punishment like a man!”, I hissed at him. “And just be glad that I’m in a good mood after the sale today – I told you that the next time I found you sleeping I’d have you whipped.”
His whole body tensed as he fought to get himself under control, and I relaxed the pressure on his balls. I thought about taking him “dry”, immediately, but then reflected that I really needed a little relaxation, so I went on “Wank yourself and slick your hole, as I want a fuck.”
He didn’t reply of course, but grunted to indicate he had heard my command, and I allowed him to roll away from me and lie on his back next to me. By the light of the moon streaming into the room I watched as he started to masturbate himself, and very quickly he shot a large load up on to his belly – it’s one of the advantages of being 18, I suppose- you’re very quickly aroused, can cum very quickly, and shoot a huge, copious load!
He’d been well trained, and almost without stopping he scooped some of his cum off his belly, raised his legs slightly in the air, and reached down to massaged his seed into his hole. Then he turned slightly towards me, and gently slid his slicked fingers up and down my cock to coat it and make me smooth and slippery.
I thought for a moment about taking him from the side, slowly and languorously as you can in that position, but my sexual craving was now very insistent. And thinking that I needed to be up early in the morning anyway, decided on a quick, workmanlike fuck. “On your knees”, I commanded, and he at once obeyed, pushing his shoulders and face down onto the bed so that his ass was stuck up as far as possible, in the way I had trained him.
I was still slightly cross at him for having slept, so as I knelt behind him I slapped his ass several times with my big hands, pulling my muscled arms well back before each stroke to strike him quite hard. The slaps ricocheted around the room, and actually increased my passion, and the slave obviously felt them to be very painful as, in spite of his training, he shouted out into the bed where his face was pushed (not that “shout” is exactly the right word, as like all the slaves who pass through my establishment he had been routinely muted – more a sort of loud grunt!).
It was a really quick shag once I did get started – I don’t think I thrust into him for more than four or five minutes – but it was hard work. I came almost right out, and thrust right in so that my wiry pubic hair crashed into his ass, on every stroke. But it was really satisfying – I felt my hot cum stream into him, and when I collapsed forwards on to him I felt my own sweat slicking his back as my muscular chest lay against it and I lay there breathing heavily.
It was just what I normally need to send me to sleep, and after I had pulled out of him I and rolled off him and onto my back. He tended to me, kneeling beside me to licked my cock clean of the cum, sweat and his ass juices that were coating it. Normally I would have drifted off into a peaceful sleep at this point and the slave should have watched and then nestled against me to keep me warm, ready to adjust his body to mine as I moved in my sleep. But I just could not make sleep come – my mind was full, for some reason, of my plans for later in the day.
After about half an hour, in desperation I reached out for the intercom by my bedside and called down to the stables for my pony to be sent up. I run a well organised and efficient establishment, and so the pony was in the room within a couple of minutes. I commanded him to come and lie beside me, and my nose was filled with the faint smell of the damp straw where his hard body had been lying, such a short time ago – the stables know that when I do summon him they should not delay and shower him.
My readers may find it slightly distasteful, I am afraid, to hear that I used my pony as a bedfellow occasionally, too. I know it’s now the fashion to keep ponies and litter bearers just for transport, field slaves just for working in the fields, and to reserve space in your bed just for trained sex slaves. I don’t have the need for full time bed slaves, though, and, frankly, I can’t afford them – so in my establishment any slave is likely to be taken if I choose.
My pony is anyway rather special – firstly, he’d been taken when he was quite old, and he’d not come to slavery young like the 18-year old who was still lying on the other side of me. I’d had him for about three years, and he was the same age as me, 36. Secondly, he wasn’t the fashionable size for a bed slave as, like me, he was 6’4″ and had a big, muscular body (“swimmers”, like the 18 year old, were more the norm). And thirdly, he wasn’t a compliant bottom, or even a happy versatile: no, he wash by nature, a hard, aggressive top.
He was like me in so many ways – age, size, and sexual preferences, that when we had sex it was more like two men mating as equals rather than as a master using a slave, and perhaps that’s what appealed to me. Of course we were not really equal, as I invariably fucked him. That gave an added twist to the excitement as I watched his face, seeing how his conditioning held and he remained a slave being fucked by me, even though every cell in his brain must have been telling him that it was his cock that ought to be thrusting up my ass. It was a risk, I suppose, as although we were of roughly equal size, his relentlessly hard work and constant exercise had given him a hugely powerful body, and had he chosen to attack me I knew he could have inflicted considerable damage.
We threw our arms around each other and our legs instinctively intertwined. I felt him raise his leg so that his hot thigh came up between mine and stopped against my asshole. Our cocks were thrust together, and even though I had only just fucked my young slave, I was erect again and felt myself thrusting against his belly as his own huge erection thrust against mine. We wriggled and squirmed so our bodies rubbed against each other as we half wrestled to find a comfortable position, relishing in the sexual ecstasy as our skin sent thousands of messages to our brains telling them of the excitement it was feeling.
Our faces were together and I could smell his hot, sweet breath, and then our mouths were clamped together and our tongues were beating up and down and hungrily exploring each other. He changed his grip slightly, and a delightful ripple of pain went through me as he playfully tweaked one of my nipples. I yelped slightly, and tried to move away, but he pulled me closer to him and reached for my other nipple to repeat the experience. This was very aggressive behaviour for a slave, who is normally trained to simply take whatever his master chooses to give, and not to initiate action.
I was moaning “No, No…..”, but he went on, then released his mouth from mine to bend his head down to start nibbling at my nipples with his strong white teeth. My body was jerking with spasms of pleasure, and one of my hands had pressed our two cocks together and was wanking them both – the feel of another hot cock against yours is, I think, one of the best ways that two men can pleasure each other.
Then…. Well, you don’t need to read about all the ways that two strong, virile men can bring pleasure, enjoyment, and satisfaction to each other – let me just say that I did, of course, ultimately call a halt to the foreplay and fucked him, hard. Unlike the 18-year old that I had taken doggy fashion, I always fucked the pony with him on his back and with him holding his ankles near his ears – I liked to look down at his face as I thrust into him, and see the restraint that I knew he must be exercising to allow his hole to be used like that. I don’t doubt that he himself used many men like that before he was enslaved, and it’s a tribute to our conditioning and training that the most basic instincts of men can be over ridden like this.
When I’d finished, we lay together and I ran my hands casually over his magnificent body. Unlike a lot of masters I rely on solely on training to control my pony, so he pulls my rickshaw totally nude – I don’t have a harness welded on him, or even a bridle and bit in his mouth. He just stands there, his body on full display for all to admire, then pulls away, jogs, races, stops and turns to simple verbal commands (augmented by my whip, of course, as you would expect – although I think he really does work no harder when whipped, as he puts all his efforts in all the time. But you can’t be seen driving a rickshaw without a whip can you?).
As I’ve said, I use my slaves for many purposes, and one advantage of this pony is his sexual preference – when I have a slave who needs “breaking”, I quite often use the pony to fuck him for the first time: there’s not many slaves with the power or physique to resist him, and I think it adds to the slave’s sense of hopelessness to know that I can order my pony to rape him, and have that order obeyed: one slave raping another, on command.
I think it must be the intense feeling of pleasure I get from the man to man sex play with the pony that made me drift off to sleep, because when I next looked at the clock it was six, and time to get up. The pony was grinning, and slapped my ass playfully as we headedfor the shower together – if it hadn’t been for his tattoos and brnad, the casual observer might have taken us for a couple of fuck buddies, we were so easy together. That’s another reason why the pony is such a pleasure – the other slaves, like the 18 year old, are somehow afraid of me and just won’t be “natural” (within limits, of course!) with me like that.
I dressed in my usual T-shirt, cut-off Jeans and desert boots, and went down to breakfast. The local army commander joined me as usual, and we discussed the news, and so on, as you do. On the first day, before they have had any training at all, I find it helpful to have a detachment of soldiers on hand in case of trouble with the new slaves – some establishments, I know, employ guards themselves, but that’s a huge expense all the time when you don’t really need it after the first couple of days – a good healthy “donation to your favourite charity, Major”, makes the local soldiery available to me at much less cost.
The container from England was sitting in the yard when we went out, with the refrigeration unit running and pushing out faint diesel fumes into the hot desert air. The journey takes five days, and you need to keep the merchandise cool if it’s to arrive in reasonable condition: my agents in London make sure there’s enough water and food, and a carbon dioxide scrubber and oxygen tank keep the air inside safe for them. When you pay as much as I do for stock, you don’t want them to arrive half dead – or even wholly dead!
The major ordered his soldiers to take up positions around the edge of my yard, and I commanded the container door to be opened. The men inside stood there blinking as the blinding light streamed in, and peered out nervously. I ordered them out, and, one by one, they stumbled down out of the trailer and stood there in the harsh desert sunlight, looking around them.
There’s not a lot to see, of course – me, a few of my training staff, the soldiers with rifles cocked, and the hot sun in the blue sky. You can’t actually see into the desert when the main gates are closed as my training yard is otherwise completely surrounded by the buildings of my offices, living quarters, the slave barracks, the punishment room, exercise room, and so on.
Some of the men had started shouting and moving towards the soldiers, who motioned them back into the middle of the yard with gestures from their guns. It was time I took charge.
“OK, you men. Strip. Everything. I want you all totally naked, NOW!”
The shouting continued, as it usually does – it’s remarkable how men behave so predictably. And as usual I ordered my own men to advance on one of them, and club him with their baseballs bats – not so much as to cause permanent damage as this is expensive stock, but enough to hurt him a lot, and to let the others see that he’s hurting.
That usually quietens them and gets them to start obeying, and, as on this occasion, it’s rare to have to strike more than two or three of them before the others wise up and obey.
I usually buy in a lot of 40 slaves for training, and this was the batch size my London agents had sent on this occasion. Looking at the shipping manifest e-mailed to me when my container had left, I’d seen it was the usual mixture – young runaways to London from elsewhere in England, Australian and New Zealand tourists in London on a protracted trip, a few released criminals, and the odd one or two petty criminals who’d upset their Mafia bosses and who were enslaved on their orders. In short, men who would not be missed or who, if they were, could not be traced and would just be numbered in those thousands who disappear every year from every big city. Lately, too, the loads had started to include illegal immigrants to the country – mostly Eastern Europeans who were not so much asylum seekers, as “economic migrants” – well, at least they’d be getting work, although not perhaps the kind they were expecting! And their general Slavic good looks – either very dark and brooding, or palely golden and long legged, make a good addition to the slaves I am able to offer for sale.
I’m a specialist trainer, and my clients have very exacting requirements. I deal only with men, of course – much the hardest work, as women break more easily to slavery. And I only deal with men in the range 18-30 or so – men with a long life of useful work ahead of them.
My clients only want white men, and I don’t order blacks, Chinese, Asians, and so on, to be shipped. The actual physical condition of the men is not vital (although I don’t take the very short), but most of the men in the categories I take are reasonably fit anyway and my training will correct the rest (although, increasingly, they’re all a little over weight and all need slimming down!).
As I mused over this the men had started to strip, and were making neat piles of their clothes by the side of them. As I expected, they all stopped when they got down to their underwear, and I saw the usual mixture of boxers and briefs – with one or two still in trousers, probably because they had no underwear on! So, as usual, they had to be ordered to get totally naked, and a couple more had to be clubbed to emphasise the point.
I’ve found from long experience that the next step has an interesting effect on the men – my own people move amongst them and remove all the piles of clothes to one big rubbish skip in the corner – somehow, seeing their clothes being disposed of like that sends a message to the men that nothing is going to be the same again, ever. It’s amusing to see that as my men move around some of the naked slaves just stand there and watch defiantly, and some are standing there with their hands in front of their genitalia as if they’re ashamed of what they have, or don’t want other men to see it!
It’s a long first day for us all, as I’ve also learned over the years that you have to really emphasise to the slaves on day one that their world has changed, permanently. There are a lot of processes to go through, and with a group of 40, it takes a long time. But it makes for a better introduction to slavery, and in some ways it’s more humane for the slaves, to get it all over with on one day and not spin it out. If you can emphasise to the slaves that they really are now “different”, and no longer “men”, the remaining training is much easier. I’ve had a special processing facility installed in one of the buildings, and even though it is only used once every three months for a new batch of slaves, it’s proven to be invaluable: there’s something special about being able to take all the men through the whole business of turning them physically into slaves so quickly.
So we shouted commands, and, herded by the guards with guns, the naked men shuffled off across the yard to my facility. They go through the door and are immediately in a narrow corridor made with the concrete of the outer wall on one side and the other side made of floor to ceiling bars. It’s so narrow that there’s only room for one man across, and the slaves are pushed in to form a long line. The outer door is then bolted, and we can start.
At this point I can thank the Major and release the soldiers, so they can go back to their barracks – once inside my facility, there’s no escape, and the slaves are dealt with one at a time so there’s no risk of mass action.
My men start the conditioning process, that’s designed to do things both physically and mentally to the slaves – their bodies are changed irreversibly towards the “slave”, and the processes we use start to change the way they think about themselves. Firstly, we use a cattle prod to goad the men at the end of the corridor forwards, sliding separators down between the bars behind them to ensure they can’t move back. As they shuffle forward, they have to start to press into the slave in front, who then tries to move forward… It takes a little time, but soon all 40 are packed so close together that the front of one slave is in intimate contact with the back of the fellow in front of him. It’s clear that many men these days have never had their naked body in close contact with another man before, and this is a horrific and disturbing experience for them. We keep the air conditioning turned down at this stage so that the room is anyway reasonably hot, and as the men sweat, they can feel a sheen of moisture between them and the slaves on either side of them. We aim to pack them so tight in the corridor that the cock of each slave is more or less hard into the ass crack of the slave in front, and, after a few minutes, we know the inevitable happens – erections start, and the embarrassed men get even more so.
Four of my men can then take each slave in turn from the front of the “queue”, and simply manhandle him over to the first processing table – a simple stainless steel table that the slave is thrown on to, face up, and then held securely by universal clamps that swing up from under the table. I got the idea from seeing cattle held securely in pens in stock yards whilst veterinarians deal with them, and although the table mechanism cost a lot initially, it has paid for itself time and time again. There’s no way that one naked man can overcome four trained guards, so all the need for massive physical force is obviated and this whole facility can be operated most economically.
As the slave lies there his crotch and balls are stripped of hair – slaves are allowed only a small bar of pubic hair just above the cock, no more than one inch thick, and neatly clipped to half an inch. His pits are shaved totally, and his head cropped to a uniform quarter of an inch. I’ve tried having all the slaves totally smooth all over, as it’s a nuisance to have to keep clipping and shaving them and a depilatory in their daily shower water is easy to do, but sale prices went down – potential buyers like to see the natural colouring that will be achieved if the hair is allowed to grow, I have discovered.
This forcible cutting and shaving start to bring home to the slave that their body is no longer under their control, but the next steps are even more powerful. One guard presses the slave’s nostrils together so he has to open his mouth to breathe, and, as he does so, the second guard presses thumb and forefinger into the sides of his jaw to force it open enough to get in a wedge, that can then be forced home to ensure the slave’s mouth is held securely open. Clamps on the side of the table hold the slave’s head secure, and it’s then s simple matter to insert an electric cauteriser down his throat and burn out his vocal chords. We’re not arbitrarily cruel and don’t believe in using necessary pain like this as a punishment – punishment should always be deliberate, with whip, cane, or paddle in response to some deliberate infraction on the part of the slave, so we do of course spray in an anaesthetic first. By the time the slave realises he’s never going to speak again, it’s too late for his to shout and protest, and as the anaesthetic wears off and he only has a dull ache in his throat, he finds he can now only mumble and groan, and no longer make articulate words. We like to remove the ability to speak as the first process, as it stops the slave questioning and whining, and makes them “internalise” more what’s happening to them. Without the ability to speak and to question, the slaves are much less able to “gang up” and take mutual comfort from each other. It is easier for us therefore to complete their conditioning and processing.
We tattoo the slave’s identification number above his left nipple, and this is very quick – no more specialist tattoo artist painstakingly doing each number! Instead, we dial the number onto the pneumatic tattooer, and it fires hundreds of tiny needles simultaneously to write the whole number in one go. You can tell this is somewhat painful by the way the slave’s body tries to arch upwards as the needles hit, but it’s only momentary, and, at least, we’re spared the screams because of the prior muting.
For those that need it – and it’s the majority of our slaves as they are mostly Europeans, we also circumcise them as they’re lying there. Once you’ve got the knack of it, it takes literally only forty seconds or so to circumcise a slave – we don’t do any of the fancy cuts that try to reveal the piss slit only, just a standard “high and tight” to leave the cock head fully exposed at all times and no loose skin on the cock shaft. The new antiseptics and coagulants keep the wound safe and stop bleeding almost immediately, and reduce scarring and speed healing, and we spray the surface with anaesthetic, too – we want the slave to remember the pain of the circumcision itself, but don’t see the point of making him continue to suffer: the immediate pain he experiences is a further powerful reminder that he is no longer in control of his own body. I suppose we might get a higher price if we circumcision as a “buyer’s option” later, but I don’t like to think that some slaves have their cock heads hidden from view during training: slaves should understand that this fine feature of their bodies is always available for their masters to see.
The slave is usually dazed after these procedures, and so it’s easy to move them on to the next station – basically, a pillory that securely clamps their wrists and necks and holds their bodies bent at right angles.
With the slave held like this, my men quickly apply the pneumatic tattooer to the slave’s right biceps, and to the small of his back, just above the top of his ass crack. They then kick his legs apart, and clip and shave his ass crack to leave him totally smooth.
Finally, one of my men leaps astride the slave’s horizontal back to prevent him “bucking” (and to give the slave the feeling of having another man “riding” him as he stands there utterly powerless to prevent it), and they apply the electric brander to his left buttock. In spite of being muted, it’s amazing how much noise the slaves manage to make as their flesh singes and scars, but we do spray with anaesthetic almost immediately afterwards – again, we want the slave to remember being branded, but we don’t like unnecessary cruelty.
The slave is then marched off to a holding pen, and the guards fetch the next slave from the front of the queue.
As I said, it’s usually a long day – although I’ve made the process sound quick and easy, there are a lot of potential for hold ups and delays, and it usually takes the best part of the day to get all 40 done.
We deliberately make the holding pen very small so that the trimmed, tattooed, circumcised, branded slaves are forced into close proximity with each other – it’s another powerful lesson to them that they are now “different”. There’s a water spigot in there as we never keep slaves short of water (it’s bad for their kidneys!), and a crap and piss hole in the corner. Otherwise we leave them alone for the rest of the day, and all that night, to think about themselves and their new status.
For the next two days the slaves are not fed at all, and are kept in the holding cage – we need to give time for their scars to heal, but, more importantly, we want them to get used to being naked together, and to being watched in their nakedness by the guards. They are of course forced to piss and crap in front of each other in this very confined space, and this is another way of letting their brains know that they are no longer “men” as they used to think of themselves, but a new class of object, “slaves”.
It amuses me to watch the slaves during these two days – especially at night, when the lights are low and they think they are not observed. As young men, they feel powerful sexual urges, or course, but most of them would think of themselves as “straight” and would not wish to be seen erect in front of other men – especially not other naked men, who may also be on the point of erection. So they try all sorts of little subterfuges, like pressing themselves through the bars of the pen, and lying down with their cocks right underneath them, and try to masturbate themselves without their fellows realising it. It’s not possible, of course within the space we give them, and it’s the start of a new feeling about themselves and their bodies.
The morning of day three is when the harsh physical training we use to build proper muscle tone really begins, but they have first to undergo what we call their “initiation”.
All forty of them are herded by my men using their cattle prods out into the yard, where they are caged in a single cage. It’s surprisingly easy to do this – after two days without food or exercise, and with their minds already reeling from the processing they have already had, they are halfway obedient already. So different from when they defiantly refused to strip on the first day, and when I needed the presence of outside guards.
I usually arrive in the yard in my rickshaw, and the sight of my virile, muscular naked pony usually astounds them as they stand there – it has probably not occurred to them before that they are here for a purpose, and that that purpose might involve being trained to be draft animals!
We have four of the “pillories” set up in the yard, and four slaves are taken from the cage and securely fastened in. They then receive their first initiation into proper sex – well, for most of them, I assume it’s their first initiation. There must of course be some gay men in any group of 40 virile young men taken at random, but most of them are probably “straight”. As they stand there, totally unable to prevent it, their assholes are greased and then they are fucked. It’s another way of signalling to them quite clearly that they now have absolutely no free will, and are simply here to be used as we choose.
Again, you notice we are not unnecessarily cruel – we lubricate them properly (which anyway helps prevent injury to the valuable property). It’s a bit of a perk for my men, really, to be able to take young virgin asses like this – anyone can take part, and I do so myself. But with 40 to get through, it’s a bit of a problem – you really can’t manage more than three in a morning, even allowing for rests. My pony is allowed to take part, too, and it amazes me how he has the stamina to keep going – whilst he obviously can’t ejaculate inside each slave he’s presented with, he manages to stay erect the whole time and simply fucks away with enormous gusto – he usually manages at least seven slaves himself..
Seeing their fellows being fucked, and being fucked themselves, is the next step on the road to turning out the perfect slaves for which my establishment is famous.
These first few days are, I find, the most exciting The psychological changes that take place in these men as they are stripped, shaved, muted, marked, and fucked for the first time, are profound. They go from thinking of themselves as “men” to seeing themselves as “victims” almost immediately. It takes weeks more patient training to complete the process and produce “slaves”, obedient to their masters’ commands, but this is really rather routine: my system of totally overwhelming the men in these first days is the key to my success. And as I get much repeat business from my clientele, I know that my method works.
