Comments will be gladly received by white_collar@hotmail.com Note: Any resemblance to real people is strictly coincidental. No real people are depicted in this piece of fiction. This story contains explicit male to male sex, domination and bondage. If you don't enjoy reading this sort of material or are under the age of 21, DO NOT CONTINUE READING. If you regard this type of material as depraved then flee from here and don't look back! And be sure that you practice safer sex. Don't become another statistic in the rising HIV/STD rates. Don't be barebacking: it's your LIFE you're playing with. This story is STRICTLY fantasy and I DO NOT espouse or endorse unprotected anal or oral sex!

Be careful and be alive - White Collar

Executive Slave - Chapter 1

God I was fed up with it! I'd been at it for fifteen years and what did I have to show for it? A bitchy ex-wife and two spoiled kids who thought Dad owed them everything. I had a boss who demeaned me in front of my own people and insisted that I do the same to them. "Trickle-down shitonomics" we called it.

"We've got to increase productivity!" he'd rant. "The Gross Product Authority demands it! Now get on those people and get them working!"

So I'd crawl out of the meeting and go "motivate" my people. I had eighteen direct reports, each of whom had their own staffs. Day after day; on it went in a never-ending cycle of abuse, false praise, exhortation, corporate rah-rah, followed by more abuse. On and on: I just wanted to do something else, to be somewhere else.

But in the mid 21st century, finding something else was out of the question.

You are slotted by the Vocation Authority while still in Basic school, almost before you learn to read and write. The Authority knows what you're going to do and they make sure you do it. Laws were passed decades ago to ensure an orderly, secure society. Having people do what they pleased was impossible in such a crowded, technologically advanced world. What if everyone decided to be a painter? (If you've forgotten, painters were people who used to put colors on pieces of stretched canvas and made what they called "paintings": representations of people and things. No one does that anymore -- it doesn't contribute to Productivity). Anyway, if everyone decided to become a painter, the society would grind to a halt. So the Authority stepped in to "assist" people find the jobs for which they're best suited.

Well, I may have been suited to the job, but the job wasn't suited to me and I wanted out! In fact, I was secretly putting away a bit of a nest egg for the future to enable me to leave this hole and go do what I really wanted to do, which was to open a small restaurant out West, like Idaho maybe. I've always loved to cook but the Authority doesn't ask what you want; they tell you what they want. So once again, I sighed, murmured my "Yes sir," and left my bosses office to urge my reports on to higher levels of productivity, looking toward the day when I'd have enough money to bring my dream to life.

The only problem with this dream was that I was shorting my ex-wife and kids on their living expenses. Hell, I don't know why they deserved to live better than I did anyway? God knows it's hard enough to make ends meet without having to support two residences and two teenaged girls. So I skimmed some off each paycheck and socked it away. It was tricky when the Tax Authority practices complete surveillance of banking records but I'd managed it: at least I thought I had.

I arrived back at my office, sat behind my desk and rang my assistant. "Terry, would you call the team together? I need to meet with them in five minutes. Thanks."

I disconnected and there was a knock at my door.

"Come in," I called out, sorting some papers.

The door opened, revealing two Labor Enforcement Authority officials in uniform.

"Is there a problem officers?" I asked, startled by their presence. Our company doesn't make use of LEA units so I had no idea as to why they might be there.

"Clifford Swainton?" one of the officers asked, pulling a piece of paper from his jacket pocket.

"Yes," I answered, rising. "How can I help you? We've never used LEA resources here. What can I do for you?" I felt a hot flush spreading through my body as I experienced a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"We're here take you in for processing Mr. Swainton," the officer said breezily but looking at me with cold eyes.

"P-p-processing?" I stammered. "What do you mean, processing?"

"Mr. Swainton; we have a warrant for your arrest and processing. The Tax Authority has investigated you and found that you are misappropriating funds to be directed to the support of your family. That's a violation of Code 1350.07, Article 8 of the Tax Code."

"Wh-what?" I said, my voice rising. "You must be mistaken. I--I--I never..."

"Mr. Swainton!" he said, cutting me off. "There's no mistake! You will come with us now. Please don't make this difficult for us."

"No, no no," I cried. "Please, there must be a mistake. You have the wrong man. I didn't, I never, I wouldn't..."

As I was babbling, the second officer came around the desk and took my arm.

"Please Mr. Swainton. Just come quietly."

With that, he took a cuff unit and locked it onto my left wrist.

"No!" I screamed. "No, please!"

With that, the officer deftly twisted my arm behind my back and threw me down across my desk. He pulled my wrists together behind my back and cuffed my left. Then he lifted my legs and pushed me forward so that my body was completely supported by the desk and my legs and feet were dangling in the air. He rolled me onto my back and while his partner held my shoulders down on the desk, he put his hand to my belt buckle. Knowing what was coming next, I cried out.

"Noooooooo! Pleeeeez don't do this to me. Pleeeeeez!"

#

Congress had "passed" laws three decades before in an effort to gain control over a society that had lost control. The Authority sent legislation to Congress which, in desperation, voted to accept whatever was put before them. Thus, new and more powerful Authorities were created under The Authority to monitor and control behavior, as well as to enforce the Society's will for those who refused to comply.

One of those laws had created the LEA, the Labor Enforcement Authority. The LEA was the new penal system's face to the world. They took those who couldn't or wouldn't obey the laws and brought them forcefully under control. Society had also grown tired of what used to be quaintly known as "recidivism" and had even done away with the "three strikes" laws. The new way was "one strike": make a mistake and you're sentenced to a life of hard labor under the gracious sponsorship of the Authority. While LEA units frequently worked in Authority and corporate jobs, along side free citizens, no one was really sure of what the LEA did to ensure the compliance of its units. Certainly, the units didn't talk about it and it was dangerous to ask because such questions could be viewed as disloyal and the questioner might find himself receiving first-hand experience of the LEA's practices. LEA units were not free; that much was certain. The LEA kept careful tabs on them and housed them in dormitories (read prisons) in and around the cities. There were also units that they "sub-let" to local Authority organizations or businesses. Such an organization could, if they could afford it, pick up a unit's "option", take him or her into their custody, as long as they pledged not to lose them. What became of the unit then was at the pleasure of his or her "sponsor". It's well known that this practice was strongly encouraged and widely engaged in throughout Society. It helped to alleviate the burden of having too many units dependent on the Authority's resources.

I hadn't had a lot of exposure to LEA units and was only vaguely aware of LEA units working in the City. Generally, people at my level and in my business didn't associate with them. I was about to learn a great deal in a very short time.

Executive Slave -- Chapter 2

Sprawled there across my desk, the officer's hand on my belt, I knew my life was over. Oh, I don't mean I'd be executed: my offense wasn't worthy of an execution. No, I was about to disappear into the machine of the Labor Enforcement Authority; my identity and selfhood was evaporating just like a pool of water in a desert.

"You are no longer Cliffort Swainton. I have the obligation to inform you that you are now a unit under the authority of the Labor Enforcement Authority. Your identifying number is 082012-035. You'll recognize the first digits as your birth date. The last three are your serial number. Remember it: that's what you'll answer to from now on. Either that or `boy'. Do you understand 082012-035?"

"I understand," I whispered, hardly able to believe what was happening to me.

He slapped me across the face with the back of his hand.

"The correct form is Yes sir!' or No sir!' when you're asked a question. Do you understand boy?"

"Yes sir!" I answered quickly, cringing in fear that he might strike me again.

"Good!" he said and then looked up at his partner. "Let's get started."

With that, he unbuckled my belt and pulled it off me. While he unhooked and unzipped my trousers, his partner knelt and slipped off my shoes and socks. The officer at my feet stood and lifted my feet while the second officer pulled my pants and shorts off me, exposing me. I flushed a deep scarlet because from where I lay, I could look over my head and see my colleagues and staff staring at my body, exposed for their view through the open door of my office. My subordinates, whom I'd just ordered to a meeting were congregating outside my office and had a clear view of my degradation.

"The LEA has learned that taking a unit into custody in public helps to reinforce their authority," one of the officers mentioned as he threw my pants into the wastebasket. How courteous of him to give me an explanation!

"Stand up!" he ordered, pulling me to my feet, using my penis as a handle.

That enhanced my humiliation and my color. I'd never had a man touch my penis. Even doctor's used remote tools for examining men's privates in the modern world, and I certainly wasn't a "bent". Earlier in the century, homosexuals had taken to using the term "bent" to refer to themselves and everyone else followed suit. But I'd never been with a man and never had the desire. Yet here was this officer handling my genitals as casually as he'd take a dog's leash.

As I stood there, vainly trying to cover my swinging genitals, the first officer undid my tie and took it off over my head. He looked at it and then looked at me and smirked. He looped the tie around my cock and balls and tightened it, making my organs stand out from my body. My cock was, for some reason, reacting to the humiliation and was becoming erect. I didn't understand it and I was filled with shame: shame to be treated this way in front of others, especially people who'd been my subordinates, and was humiliated that I was being stripped in public. Lastly, I was horrified and ashamed that my dick was hardening and rising in response to my degradation.

I wished I could have crawled under my desk. Perhaps if I'd known what my future was to be, I might not have wished for that.

After he'd removed my tie and bound me with it, the officer grabbed the top of my shirt and ripped it open, sending buttons flying. He pushed the torn shirt off of my shoulders so that it hung from my cuffed wrists. Then he ripped my undershirt down the middle and pushed it down. I was so embarrassed I began to cry. Tears rolled down my cheeks and I hung my head, causing the tears to fall from my eyes onto my hard cock from which they dribbled onto the floor.

The officers took me, one holding my cuffed wrists, the other pulling me by my tie, and led me to the door of what had been my office. There we stopped and the first officer spoke after stepping aside so that everyone had a clear view of the naked prisoner.

"Citizens, listen up! The LEA is taking custody of this unit because of his dishonesty and family support evasion. Take note and beware. You know your responsibilities as citizens of the Society. This is the penalty for those who would seek to evade their responsibilities!" he called out as heads turned to stare directly at my shamed, exposed body.

We paused for several moments, I suppose to let the affect sink in, and they led me from the office. I prayed they'd take me downstairs in a service elevator but that would have lessened the impact, both on me and on my former co-workers. No, they summoned a regular lift and took me down in full view of anyone who happened to be walking around the building. We went through the crowded lobby as people parted before us and pointed at me, whispering to one another. As we walked across the open floor, one woman spat out "pig!" and stared at me in disgust.

They led me out of the building, took me to a car marked with the insignia of the Labor Enforcement Authority that was parked at the curb and opening the door, pushed me into the back seat. They put a seat belt around my waist and one of the officers had to push my cock down to get the belt around it.

"I have an idea you're going to be right at home inside the Authority!" he said, smirking and rubbing the nail of his thumb across the helmet of my penis, making me shiver in spite of the heat in the car.

The officers buckled a collar around my neck and attached it to a hook in the window ledge, forcing me into an upright position. Certainly, I would like to have been able to lean forward and hide myself but the collar made that impossible. The car windows were not tinted so as they drove me to what they called "The Processing Center", pedestrians, cycle riders and drivers could all see me riding in my back seat cage, naked as the day I was born. To attract even more attention, adding to my humiliation, they turned on the flashers on the roof of the car.

They drove up to the front of the Center and stopped the car. After unhooking my collar and unfastening my seat belt, they pulled me from the car. Again, I was led across the busy sidewalk as people stopped and stared and through the front doors. The doors opened automatically, absorbing me into the machine of the Authority and when they closed behind me, my life effectively ended.

Executive Slave -- Chapter 3

The officers took me to a high desk, behind which sat another uniformed officer. They handed him the papers. Swatting my bare behind, one of them said:

"Remember boy: Yes sir,' and no sir'"

Then they walked away. The officer behind the desk read through the information on the papers.

"Unit 082012-035?" he asked me, glancing down at me over the top of the papers.

"That's right," I muttered and then caught myself. "I mean Yes sir."

"Good. You learn fast. That'll be a big help to you in the future." Then he began reading aloud in a flat voice from a card that had been lying on his desk, although it was apparent he knew the text from memory.

"Unit 082012-035, you have, under the laws of the State, been in violation of Code 1350.07, Article 8 of the Tax Code. In doing so, you have forfeited you privileges as a citizen. Under the orders of the Authority, you have been stripped of your rights as a member of Society. You are hereby remanded to the custody of the Labor Enforcement Authority for the remainder of your life to serve the Society's lawful requirements. Take him down!"

Two officers standing behind me took my cuffed arms and dragged me through a barred gate that clanged behind us. We went down a hallway and through another gate, which slid open to permit us to pass and then slid back into place once we were through. The officers walked close to me, the fabric from their shirts and trousers brushing against my naked body as a constant reminder that I was unclothed. We entered a large open room with several ranks of open cells on all four walls. Many of these cells held units like me. All were naked; some paced, others just lay on pads on the floor, awaiting what I didn't know. The guards led me up a stairway and onto the landing in front of the second rank of cells. I could see an empty cell down the walkway directly in front of us and, indeed, that's where the guards directed me. They pushed me into the cell and with a remote control, caused the door to slide closed and lock.

"Someone will be back to continue your processing," one of them said and they walked back down the walkway and out of the cellblock. I stood leaning against the bars, trying to comprehend what had just happened to me when I heard a shout from across the block.

"Hey sweet thing!"

I looked around, trying to discern who was shouting. Then I saw a large man cross the room, leaning against the bars.

"Hey sweet thing!"

"What? Who me?" I said, suddenly afraid.

"Yeah, you. You've just been taken in haven't you?"

"Uh, yeah," I answered, unsure whether or not I really wanted to talk to this guy. He looked to be about six three and must have weighed about 220 pounds, every bit of it muscle. He might have been a professional athlete. Before he was "taken in", I reminded myself.

"Yeah, I can tell," he smirked. "That's why your dick is poking through the bars like that!"

I must have gone scarlet as I looked down and realized that my dick was indeed sticking through the bars and standing at attention. I'd been so hard the last hour or so that my foreskin had rolled back from the head of my penis and my plum was completely exposed. I pulled back and went to sit on the mat that was apparently my only "furniture" as the big man laughed, joined by others around the cell block.

"Don't worry sweet thing," he chuckled. "We'll take care of that soon enough. We'll help you get over your modesty."

He gave me a wicked grin, turned around and went back to sit on his own mat.

In case you've never tried it, sitting down on the floor while your hands are cuffed behind you is difficult at best. I attempted it a couple of times and then decided that kneeling was the safest method. Once on my knees, I could turn and flop down. Unfortunately, what I'd failed to realize was that I would be sitting on my braceletted wrists, which is rather painful. I shifted my body around, hoping to find a reasonably comfortable position and finally ended up lying on my belly on the mat. Oh well; I was exhausted anyway and soon, I dozed off.

I was awakened by the sound of the gate into the cellblock opening. Looking up at the skylight, I judged it to be late afternoon or early evening. I struggled to my feet and tried to move my arms some to restore the circulation. My hands felt like pins and needles, alternating with the pain in my shoulders of having my arms pinned behind my back as well as the pain of the cuffs digging into my flesh. Below, a line of men dressed in slacks, shirts and ties walked through the gate into the cellblock before the gate shut behind them. Then I noticed that they were all dressed alike: black trousers and shoes, white shirt and black and white striped ties. The line halted part way across the floor and waited. A guard who'd been following the line moved forward to stand beside the line.

"Right face!" he barked and, as one, the men turned to face him.

"Strip off!" he ordered and each man began to remove his shoes and socks.

Now I thought I understood: these were units who worked in offices around the City. Their shift had ended and they were returning to their "home" to spend the night. As I watched them removing their pants, ties and shirts, I felt the sharpness of the humiliation. Even the clothes on their backs weren't their own. Another guard walked down the line with laundry bags, collecting the clothing. I also noticed that none of the units had underwear on. I thought that curious but the implications of that didn't enter my mind. I'd discover that later, to my embarrassment and chagrin.

Soon, the entire line was standing at attention, completely naked. There was a variety of men there. Tall, short, thin, husky, furred, smooth, African, Latino, white, Asian. I noticed that all were relatively trim: at least I didn't notice that any were obese. Then again, the Authority frowned on obesity and those who had trouble controlling their weight could be subjected to enforced diets until they slimmed down. Those laws had been passed in the second decade of the century when the number of chronically obese reached epidemic levels. But these men were all well-muscled. Some were really built but even those whose bodies didn't bulk up had hard muscled arms, legs and torsos. I gathered that training workouts as well as a restricted diet would be a regular part of a unit's regime here at the Center.

"Inspection!" the guard called as several guards moved toward the line.

Each man spread his feet, raised his arms and laced his fingers behind his head. The guards then moved down the line, two guards to a man. The one in front pulled the prisoner's mouth open and thrust his hand inside, apparently feeling for any hidden objects and making some of the men gag and choke. Then he inspected the front of the man's body, tweaking his nipples and pulling on the hair in his pits. The guard lifted the man's cock and balls and those that were uncut he ordered to skin back their foreskins so that he could check there as well. Most men were uncut these days since circumcision had become thought of as a somewhat medieval practice. Usually the only men who were cut were Jews and Muslims. The guard in back ran his hands over the prisoner's body, feeling it up and down. When the guard in front had finished his oral inspection, he pulled the prisoner forward, bending him at the waist and the "rear guard" pulled his ass cheeks apart and slid his hand up and down the ass crack presented to him. Then he knelt and spreading the prisoner's cheeks as wide as possible, examined his hole. I could see that he also pushed a couple of fingers into the man's anus, making each of them grunt as he was penetrated. When he was finished, the guard walked around in front of the prisoner and ordered him to clean the muck off his hand, licking it clean.

Suddenly, there was a commotion down the line. One of the guards, inspecting a prisoner's mouth was yelling.

"What the hell is this?" he yelled at the man whose jaws were stretched wide around his hand. The prisoner looked to be in his mid-thirties, medium height and build with a mat of dark hair on his chest. The guard was apparently holding onto the prisoner's tongue because the naked man tried to respond but couldn't do anything but yell incoherently. "Did you think you'd get away with this? Do you think we're stupid?" the guard yelled, shaking his hand up and down, carrying the poor prisoner's head with it. The man made guttural pleas that rose and fell in pitch as the guard shook his head. The guard was furious and pulled the man out of line, still holding his tongue.

"We could have that ripped out if we like. You want that? You want to lose your tongue? Are you an idiot?" he yelled, jerking the crying man around and finally throwing him to the floor. Fortunately, he let go of the wretch's tongue or it might have been ripped out. The prisoner writhed on the floor moaning and weeping.

The other guards just stood there, watching this brutality and did nothing. The lesson was obvious: don't try anything or you'll pay for it.

"Get back in line," the guard yelled, kicking the man who tried to rise. He half walked, half crawled back to his place and, with great effort, stood and resumed his position.

"Two days in stocks!" the guard shouted and the prisoner began to weep.

"Please Sir, p-p-please don't," he blubbered. "Please Sir. I'll give you whatever you want. Please!" he pleaded pitifully.

"This isn't a barter!" the guard said. "You'll give me what I want anyway. Two days and if I hear any more, it'll be two more days!"

The prisoner worked to control himself and stifled his cries. I wondered what the stocks were that they were so upsetting. I can say I hoped I never found out.

When the guards had finished inspecting the men, they were ordered to their cells. They marched off, each in the direction of his cell, and, once they were all behind bars again, the doors slid closed, creating a cacophony of clanging throughout the cellblock. It was then I noticed that some prisoners were housed two to a cell. I wondered why some were doubled-up but figured it was just the way it was.

Executive Slave -- Chapter 4

I was about to try to lie down again when I saw several pairs of guards coming into the cellblock and heading for different cells. Thinking the pair that were headed in the general direction of my cell might be coming for me, I waited, standing in the middle of my cell. Sure enough, they came to my cell and opened the door.

The guards entered my cell, ordering me to spread my legs slightly farther than shoulder width. As I complied, one of them moved behind me and removed the cuffs from my wrists. I rubbed my dented flesh and shook my hands, trying to restore the circulation. They gave me a few seconds and ordered me to place my hands behind my head, fingers interlaced. Having observed the inspection of the units just minutes before, I quickly assumed the position.

"Good boy," one said. He was a tall man, probably six two, with blonde hair and blue eyes. His nameplate said "Malloy".

"Now listen carefully," Malloy said. "We're taking you down to complete your initial intake processing. You won't be cuffed unless you give us trouble, and there's no point in doing that because there's no way out of here for you and there's no where to hide. Believe me, we know the place from top to bottom and we know all the hiding places, which you don't. So don't try anything. The sooner you get used to your position, the better off you'll be. Understand?"

"Yes sir," I answered smartly. I was determined to be a "good boy" in hopes that it would be taken into consideration in my future, whatever that might be.

"OK. Keep your hands behind your head and come with us," Malloy said and started off down the catwalk.

I followed him and his partner followed me, I suppose to ensure that I didn't make a run for it. Walking with your hands behind your head isn't easy, especially on a mesh catwalk where you can see through it to the floor one story below. I had a little trouble navigating as a bit of vertigo came over me. I had to work to keep from losing my balance but I did manage. They took me down the stairs and out onto the floor of the cellblock where we joined two other groups of guards with their prisoners. Together we walked down the hall and into what appeared to be an examination room. The examination room contained five tables, each with a stainless steal surface and various brackets.

"Up on the table," my guard, Malloy ordered, tapping a metal table.

I climbed up and sat on the edge.

"Lie down on your back, hands over your head. Grab hold of the bar at the end," Officer Malloy said and, naturally, I obeyed.

I turned my head and saw the two other prisoners similarly obeying their guards' instructions. Obviously, these men had been taken in today. Malloy wheeled a tray over with several items on it. He picked up a cordless hair trimmer and switched it on before applying it to my chest. I let go of the bar and started to sit up.

"Hey, what're you doing?" I said sharply, forgetting where I was and why.

Malloy pushed me down and slapped my face, though not as hard as he might have, I'm sure.

"Look boy! I told you: don't give us any trouble. You're here to be processed. If we have to, we'll tie you down. It's up to you: you want to cooperate or you want to be difficult?"

The sinking feeling in my belly told me that I would be one to cooperate. I took another step down the road to slavery by surrendering my desire to protest. The Authority had me and I had no choice but to submit. I placed my hands back on the bar and sighed as Malloy began to shear the hair from my chest. As the clippers moved around my nipples, I shuddered and felt a surging in my groin and my eyes filled with tears. The last vestige of my manhood was being stripped from me.

One of the other prisoners wasn't so cooperative and tried to get off the table, yelling his protests as his guards held him down. He looked to be in his mid to late twenties and strong. The language coming out of his mouth marked him as a laborer.

"Stay put!" Malloy said and he and his partner went to help their colleagues.

While two of them held the prisoner down, my guards took their cuffs and ratcheted them down around the man's wrists and ankles before fastening them to the brackets on the table. The man continued to yell, yanking vainly against the cuffs in hopes of freeing himself. His guards took straps to his exposed body and began to whip him into submission, striking blow after blow, each of which made me wince in sympathy. Finally the prisoner's yells turned to cries and then weeping until he stopped resisting.

One of his guards took the man's wet face in his hand and spoke sharply to him, his face just inches from the prisoner's.

"You'd better learn one thing fast and well. We're in charge here and you will do what you're told. There is no way out of here for you! You belong to the Authority now. Do you understand boy?"

"Y-y-yes sir," the prisoner wept. His body was covered with bright red welts marking where he'd been struck.

The third prisoner in the group and I were silent. The object lesson was clear, unequivocal and not lost on us: obey or be severely punished. We would do as we were told.

Malloy had come back to my table to continue my denuding. The warmth and vibration of the shears made my cock lift off my belly and begin to throb. Malloy finished with my chest and moved down the love trail on my belly, stripping that away as well. Then he went to my underarms and trimmed the hair away from my pits. He brushed the shorn fur away with his hands and checked his work. His next destination was my groin. He pushed my stiff cock out of the way, chuckling as he began on my pubes. I'd always been fairly hairy so my cock looked like a pale pole in a sea of dense, dark fur.

It took him a while to clean away all of the hair surrounding my dick and balls but finally he was finished. Then he lifted my ball sac and trimmed the wiry hair away from it and lastly, ran the trimmer up the shaft of my penis to clean it. Fortunately, he stayed away from the head or he would have had a mess to contend with. He switched the clippers off and replaced them on the tray. Then he picked up some other items before coming back.

Looking down at my prostrate form, he smiled.

"You don't look too bad for a guy in his forties. We don't often get prisoners your age: more like that one over there," he said, jerking his head in the direction of the table where the beaten prisoner now lay, quietly weeping as his body was stripped. "I don't know what they have in mind for you but, judging from your response, you might be alright here."

Saying this, he rubbed his fingers into the puddle of pre-cum that had been collecting below my navel and rubbed it around the aureoles of my nipples, sending a thrill down my spine and making me arch my back and groan as he pinched and twisted my tits. No man had ever touched me like this; no man had ever handled my penis like this; no man had ever twisted my nipples; no man had ever made me hard. He placed the flat of his hand on my hard dick, pressing it against my belly and rolling it back and forth. I nearly came. I was mystified. What was going on here?

"Yes," he chuckled. "You may do very well indeed."

What was he talking about, I wondered?

Malloy's partner, whose nameplate said "Whitfield" took a can of shaving cream and filled his hand with gel, which he spread over my body. Malloy took a razor and shaved away any stubble that remained on my pits and chest, belly and groin. When he'd finished, Whitfield took a damp towel and wiped me down to remove any traces of the gel. The feel of the towel on my naked skin was strange and somehow erotic. I knew I wasn't bent; why did I respond this way to this humiliation?

Malloy ordered me to turn over and get on my hands and knees.

"Now, lower your head to the table so that you can reach back and spread your butt," he said.

With my forehead resting on the cold metal, I reached back with both hands and pulled my cheeks apart. Once again, I heard the clippers and he sheared the hair that covered my ass crack, anal lips and perineum. He brushed the hair away and again applied gel, shaving me smooth and wiping me off with the towel. It was demeaning to have a man wiping my ass. Only doctors had touched me like that before and I tended not to go to the doctor's because I found the anal exam embarrassing. But here I was, kneeling on a table with a prison guard wiping my butt after shaving me.

At the other tables, my fellow prisoners were at similar stages of processing. The one who'd caused such a ruckus was still weeping in humiliation. His guard was getting impatient with him. He pulled up a stool, pulled the prisoner off the table and turned him over his lap. Then he proceeded to give him a vigorous spanking with his open hand. Soon the burly prisoner was bawling like a kid, begging the guard to stop, swearing that he'd be a good boy.

"Please, please, please sir," he cried. "Please don't paddle me anymore. I'll be good; I promise. I can be good!"

The guard paused, his hand held above the man's flaming butt.

"Stop your whining?" he demanded.

"Yes sir. I'm sorry sir," the prisoner sniffed.

"Alright," the guard said. "I hope you've learned you lesson!" and pushed the prisoner off his lap onto the floor.

Apparently his treatment had awakened something inside the prisoner because he pulled himself onto all fours and crawled to the guard's feet. There, he bent down and began washing his guard's boots with his tongue. The guard was obviously enjoying this as the tent in his trousers clearly attested.

Malloy ordered me to get off the table and go to the seatless toilet nearby.

"Face the toilet and bend over," he ordered. "Put your hands on the rim and wait."

"Yes Sir," I answered and did as I was told. It amazed me that I had become so compliant. I suppose your brain can override and urge to fight when you realize that fighting is futile. Just do what you're told, I kept telling myself. Maybe that'll make it easier. I looked around and saw the guards wheel an upright stand over that had a bulging rubber bag hanging from it. The bag had a tube coming out the end. I began to shake and turned my head back toward the wall. Bent at the waist, resting my hands on the rim, I felt a cold finger at the opening of my anus and then inside. I gave a gasp and a cry and tried to push it out.

"Relax boy," Malloy said, slapping my butt hard. "This is going to happen one way or the other. It'll be easier if you relax and let us do our job."

"Yes sir," I grunted, as the finger wriggled inside me.

The finger was removed and almost immediately replaced with another long, thin object: the nozzle on the end of the tubing. Then the water began to fill my gut. Malloy stood beside me, squeezing the enema bag and rubbing my belly as it filled with warm liquid. I turned my head to the side and found myself looking right into the face of my fellow prisoner on the right. He had a look of shock and shame on his face and there were tears in his eyes. Both of us looked back down, unwilling to witness one another's degradation.

"That's a good boy," Malloy cooed, massaging my abdomen.

I began to feel a little dizzy and leaned against his hard thigh, seeking his warmth and the reinforcement of his strength. As the cramps began, I whimpered and raised my head to look back over my shoulder at him. All I wanted was a little comforting and he seemed to understand.

"That's my boy. You're doing fine. It won't be too much longer," he said, smiling and rubbing my distended belly.

The bag must have been empty; certainly, I wanted it to be empty. My guts felt like they were going to eject themselves out my ass.

"P-p-please sir," I whimpered. "Please let me go. Please!" I was close to crying. Here I was: I'd just lost my body hair, bent over a toilet with a tube up my ass, my belly filled with fluid and a guard handling me in a deeply intimate way. I was close to losing it.

"Hold on boy," he said, stroking my butt and back. "Just a few more seconds."

The seconds stretched on through repeated cramps. Finally, he pulled the tube out of my rectum.

"Keep those muscles clenched," he warned. "Don't lose any!"

He helped me turn around and lowered me toward the cold porcelain rim of the bowl.

"OK, you can let it go," he said.

Before my legs hit the rim, my sphincters had released and my abdominals began spasming to expel the liquid. I moaned and shook as powerful spurts of dirty water spewed out of my ass, accompanied by the sounds and smells of wet farting and my deep groans that originated with each contraction of my belly. The noise and odor increased as each prisoner in his own turn was permitted to relieve himself.

Finally, it was over. Malloy pulled me to my feet and examined the water in the bowl, squinching up his nose at the odor.

"Another," was all he said and I groaned, knowing that we would do this until the water was clean.

He flushed the toilet, turned me around and pushed me down onto the rim once more. Whitfield took the bag and filled it again. Once more, there was the finger lubing my anus and the hated nozzle invading my most private orifice.

The cramping wasn't quite as bad this time and when Malloy finally permitted me to relieve myself, the water seemed reasonably clean. I looked up at him hopefully. Would that be enough? He pulled me to my feet and examined the bowl.

"Good," he said, satisfied. "That's fine. Alright, bend again and grab your ankles."

I did so, not know what to expect this time but hoping it wouldn't be too degrading. Malloy took some paper from a roll and wiped my ass dry with it.

Once again, I flushed from the shame of it. Everything they did to me reminded me that I was without status. I refused to raise my head to avoid the chance of seeing one of the others being treated in the same humiliating way.

When he was finished wiping me, Malloy took a dollop of lube and pushed it into my rectum and then slapped my ass again.

"OK boy, c'mon. We've finished what we have to do. Time to see the administrator."

Executive Slave -- Chapter 5

They marched me down several halls and up a flight of stairs, stopping in front of an office door. Knocking on the door, we then stood and waited.

"Come in," someone called from inside.

"Sir, this is unit 082012-035," Malloy said, escorting me through the door.

Behind a large desk sat a man younger than I, I'd guess. He seemed to be in his mid-thirties or a young early forties. He had sandy brown hair and blue eyes. He motioned for me to come and stand in front of his desk as he opened a document on his Digital Assistant. Malloy moved beside him and whispered into his ear as the Administrator nodded and smiled, looking up at me.

"So, 082012-035, welcome to the Processing Center," he began, giving me a thin smile as the two guards left, closing the door behind them. I had turned to watch them go because I felt connected in some way with them, especially Malloy. I guess it's natural to develop an attachment to someone who has taken care of you as though you were a child. The administrator cleared his throat, reminding me that he was now the focus of my attention.

"Yes sir. Thank you sir," I answered hastily, hoping to appear cooperative.

"You're here because you disobeyed the Tax laws and tried to siphon off money that was designated for the support of your family," he went on, reading from the file. "Not a very good idea, but then, most of the men here tried something that wasn't a very good idea. Oh well, that's what keeps us in business, isn't it? Your own stupidity? Am I right 035?"

"Yes sir," I answered, hanging my head. Of course he was right. I don't know why I'd ever thought I could outsmart the Authority.

"Yes indeed. We took three of you into care today. I suppose it'll never stop."

He paused, looking into space, shaking his head slowly. Then his focus returned to me.

"So, we've taken you into our care and will have to assume your family responsibilities for you. An expensive proposition," he said, smiling wryly. "But then, somebody's got to do it. Right? Can't have your children on welfare can we?"

"Yes sir. I mean no sir," I mumbled, feeling more and more ashamed of myself.

"What the Authority sometimes does in cases like yours is try to make the best of a poor situation. Seems reasonable doesn't it 035?"

"Yes sir, it does," I said, becoming very anxious about where this might be headed.

"So what we will do, if it makes sense, is try to recover some of our costs.

Doesn't that make sense?"

"Yes sir," I answered. Perhaps they'd send me back to work and garnishee my wages? I began to feel hopeful. "Will you put me to work sir," I asked, thinking of the units I'd seen coming back from their day at the office.

"Indeed we will 035, indeed we will. You're a little old for it, but I'm sure we can find a good fit for someone with your talents. I understand that you are a fast learner and have fine responses so I'm sure we'll find a slot for you," he said with a wicked twinkle in his eye.

"Release!" he said, pushing back his chair.

The command startled me because I hadn't the vaguest idea what he was saying. Then he rose and I saw his large dick was hanging out of his pants, slick and shiny with what I assumed was saliva. My hope evaporated and once again, I began to tremble.

He moved around the desk, saying, "Assume the position 035."

It took me a moment to remember but I quickly laced my trembling fingers behind my head and spread my shaking legs. He ran his hands over my smooth body, pausing to twist my nipples and grab my pecs. He shook the muscles of my chest, looking into my face for my response. As he moved around me, I felt his wet dick brushing against my legs and butt. How long before it was in my butt, I didn't know. My eyes were cast down in shame so I could see his heavy, erect penis straining against gravity and surging toward my body, almost as though it knew that it would soon find a temporary haven there. When he grabbed hold of my nipples and squeezed, my knees nearly buckled and I had to catch myself to keep from collapsing.

"As I was saying, the result of your offenses, 035," the Administrator said, talking to me as if he were addressing a subordinate who wasn't performing up to par, all the while examining my body with his eyes and his hands, "is that you've been remanded to the Authority's custody permanently. You will be re-educated and trained for skills compliance. You will be trained to serve and when we feel you're competent to go on work release, we will sub-let you to a client to help cover the costs of supporting your children.

In fact, we already have a client who's interested in your option, which is quite amazing, don't you think, 035?"

"Yes sir," I responded automatically, not at all sure of what he was telling me. But something was niggling at the back of my mind. How would anyone, other than those in my company, know I'd been taken in by the LEA?

"It's a process that involves several steps and can take as much as a couple of months, but given your aptitude, you may `graduate' sooner than that. It all depends on how diligently you apply your natural talents and learn new skills," he continued, squeezing my buns and pulling my ass cheeks apart. "Bend over 035 and grab your ankles."

I swallowed hard, took a deep breath and bent double, taking hold of my ankles.

"Good," the Administrator said. "Now, stay in that position but reach back and part your buttocks," and I did as he ordered.

"Yes, Malloy was right; I can see that. You'll do well here, 035," he said and I could hear the smile in his voice. Somehow, that made me feel good. If he was pleased, my life might be easier so I was determined to please him.

I felt his first finger tickling my puckered lips and insinuating itself between them, slowly moving in until it encountered my sphincter. He paused, wiggling his finger around, stimulating the ring of muscle and coaxing it to relax and open. I breathed deeply and felt the finger break through the barrier.

"Good boy," he said. "That's a very good boy."

Although I'd never much liked experiencing digital exams, his words of praise filled me with warmth and a greater desire to make him happy. He pulled his finger out and I whimpered a little, feeling his absence. But the emptiness was only momentary, for in seconds, he inserted two fingers into my chute. I moaned in the depths of my throat as my ass was stretched beyond any previous experience. He wriggled his fingers around, moving them apart from one another to further stretch my inexperienced hole. It was like a fire in my ass but it was strangely satisfying. It told me that he was taking possession of me and I'd never have to be concerned about my future or my family again. It wasn't my dream but it did contain the sense of freedom and security of my dream. All I was being asked to do was to please him and I was confident I could do that.

"Please sir," I whispered, not even caring that I was speaking out of turn. "Please take me. Please take me over," I said, voicing my inmost yearnings.

"That's my good boy. Now you've accepted your position and I will take you boy," he said soothingly.

In a few moments, I felt the warmth of his hard penis pressing against my hole. Oh, how I wanted it. I wanted to be filled by the Authority and released from all my responsibilities and obligations. My sphincters clutched and pulled at the tool that sought to possess them. I groaned and gasped for breath as my body was opened to the Authority's agent of reconciliation. All my past sins were wiped away. I was reborn, fresh and new. I was Labor Enforcement Authority unit 082012-035 and I was born to serve; I was born to be fucked. I was born to be fucked by the Authority!

"Fuck me! Fuck me please!" I cried and felt his sword pierce my heart.

To be continued.