Passing

PASSING

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Pete

A story by Pete Brown (petebrownuk@yahoo.com)

Part Thirteen More adventures in slavery. A threatened review, and a new job for Sam. A new job for me and a resignation.

Lessons for me, and for Dave.

...and, as you might expect, Sam was amongst them - poking his head around my door and saying cheerfully "Had a good time with Uncle Dave last night, sir?".

I panicked for a moment, wondering how the fuck Sammy would know that Dave and I had been to bed together, and had a three-way with Dave's young slave boy. But control is everything, and completely calmly I answered "Oh, yes. That local pub's quite good, and we had the steak pie."

Sammy nodded, and then asked about Jason, and I told him I was very pleased with the work Dave had done on him and that it had been well worth the money. "I'm glad, sir", he told me. "Uncle Dave is having quite a tough time, and he needs to move upmarket, with gentlemen like you, sir, prepared to pay more for good slaves and excellent service. But it's a bit of a chcken-and-egg situation: he can't really afford to buy top-class slaves as he hasn't got the capital, so the added value can't be all that high when he sells them. And not a lot of people go out to Leyton for work on their slaves as people like Scabbard & Drass do it when you buy them as part of the deal, even though it costs a whole lot more. If you were to spread the word around, sir, about the value Uncle Dave delivers... He might get more business, make more money, be able to afford one or two really good slaves. It would really help drive the business..."

"Quite. But I don't know many people with slaves, so it's unlikely I will be much use."

"You could invest in the business, sir. I reckon it would return more than most of the stuff we invest in here. Uncle Dave's a really good slave dealer, he has a natural talent for it, and..."

"Enough! Even if you haven't got work to do, I have." And I looked at my screen, and Sammy closed my door and went to the offices. Still, he had made me think. I don't need the money as you know so investing for profit was not of interest - I pay so much tax anyway, that any small additional income would hardly show up. But I had enjoyed seeing Dave at work, and I did need a hobby. And if I offered him money and became a partner in the business, perhaps we would have more sexual adventures. Or perhaps offering money would be insulting, and we'd not have sex again as there would be no way of me needing to go out to Leyton socially. Whenever I've got a problem I tend to "park it" and let it cook away in my brain, and there was plenty of opportunity for that as the day was endlessly dreary with all my regular reviews and meetings.

I soldiered on until the monthly Partners' meeting late in the afternoon, and there was a very unpleasant surprise waiting! The Financial Conduct Authority (FCA) had been concerned about the operations of organisations like ours and had decided to "review" the five biggest, including us, obviously. Their formal notice of their intent to begin the review in four weeks time had arrived, and there was endless discussion amongst the partners about what we were to do. One faction - let by my chief rival - was keen that we should conduct a thorough ongoing internal review of our own first, going through every scrap of paper, every e-mail, every recorded conversation so that we would at least know what we might be facing. It was a sensible suggestion, and one that I might have proposed myself, except that they then suggested that because of its importance to the company it ought to be headed by me! My first reaction was that I might agree with them in principle but say that my workload was already too high so I could not lead it. But then everyone knew that after the coup I had masterminded with Cyrus I really had not picked up any new projects of any significance, and was only doing "routine" executive management tasks. Equally I could not suggest that my rival should head the internal review, as he might uncover things that would give him more power.

You don't get to the top without being a quick thinker though, so I told the meeting that yes, the internal review was a good idea. "But it should not be headed by any of the partners, or me. We are all too involved in our projects, and might easily overlook things which, to an outsider, could appear to be suspicious." There were mutterings about my use of the word "suspicious" but I went on "I said APPEAR to be suspicious. Everyone here knows we apply the highest ethical standards, I'm certain. We could of course get in an external company - one of the big three accounting firms - but that in itself might prompt tongues to wag saying that we are worried we have something to hide. So instead we will do it internally, but get a junior member of staff to lead it - someone who has not really worked on most of our projects, but who `knows the ropes', someone who knows where to look for things that might appear to be out of line. My ex-PA, Sam, is known to all of you, and he's now doing good work as a professional. We will get him to lead the enquiry, backed up by my authority."

There was a lot of discussion then, but on-one could come up with any better name as anyone suggested had been on one or more of the projects, or was too closely associated with one or more of the partners, and so on. So finally I spoke again. "Enough. I have things to do, even if you all do not. We need to start, and start now before the FCA comes in next month. So no delay. And Sam can be spared. He will have my full authority, which you will make clear to all your people, and I expect total co-operation with him. Needless to say I will be taking the degree of co-operation into account as we enter this year's bonus discussions. And I will ask Sam to tell me of areas where he does not think he has sufficient access - these are, I suppose, most likely those with something to hide and which will then get my full personal attention." And with that I closed the meeting.

Although this external FCA review was serious I knew we were mostly "clean" - well, in terms of regulations and laws, that is. We employ too many lawyers and risk managers not to be. However I did have concerns about public opinion, which might not see the background to some of our activities quite in that light! Still, at least we would know what to expect, and could start a briefing and "propaganda" and public awareness campaign well ahead of any publication by the FCA of whatever it might find. In spite of all these thoughts, though, the idea of becoming a slave trader, or slave trader's assistant, or backer, or whatever, as a hobby keep coming to the surface.

When I got back to my flat later that evening it was clear that all had not gone particularly well between my two slaves - there was such tension in the air, which I didn't need at the end of my working day. I thought about fucking Greg, or Jason, but it was not yet eight and really a gentleman does not fuck so early in the evening - what would I do afterwards? So I had Greg serve my dinner, and afterwards wanted some entertainment.

It would have been easy to order Greg to fuck Jason as I watched, and perhaps a little harder to have Jason fuck Greg (although it would be more exciting, wondering how Greg would react!). But watching two guys fuck ought to be something of a shared pleasure, I thought, and if I ever did get Dave over it was something we could watch together. Remembering how interesting it had been to see Jason masturbate "properly" the evening before, that seemed something that would amuse me. And then it struck me how much more interesting it would be to have Greg do it as he would hate it - especially as I could have Jason show him the "proper" way a slave should do it!

I sprawled on one of the sofas with a drink in my hand, ordered Greg to stand in front of me, then told him to strip.

"Why?" he challenged instantly.

"Because I told you to, and you're my fucking slave, and slaves obey."

He still looked pretty rebellious so I added casually "Now I've got Jason of course I really don't have to put up with your constant challenges you know, Greg. It won't take me long to train him in how to run this place - indeed, he may even do it better than you. And he's so much younger than you and, dare I say it, has a more exciting body. So if you are not willing to obey me, perhaps I'll have Jason strip for me..."

I knew Greg would pick up on my implied threat to get rid of him, and I knew he was even more worried about this than about what he might be ordered to do. So I was pleased, and amused, to see him pull off his T, and then drop his shorts to the ground.

Jason stood there watching, which I knew added to Greg's discomfort, and I went on "You know Greg I've been fucking you rather a lot recently, and although you're a very competent cock sucker after all the practice you get from me...." Greg looked as if he might burst out in anger as, presumably, he'd been telling Jason how he was "straight" and now it was revealed that he took my cock. Things were turning out well, I was enjoying it, and went on "...but I haven't seen you cum for some time. So I think I'd like to see you wank. It will be good for me to be able to check on your cum, just to make sure everything's still in working order..."

"It is, sir!", Greg cut in.

"Well I know you would not dare lie to me, Greg, but, all the same, it would be good to see for myself. And I saw Jason do it at Dave's Slaves, and was impressed with the way he had been taught. So I think in future that will be the way it is done here - at least by you slaves: when I want to do it myself, I will continue to do it how I wish. But for now, start by kneeling in front of me."

Very reluctantly Greg got to his knees, and I said quietly "Feet together, knees spread wide apart - as wide as you can, so I can see you exposed in front of me."

Greg did as he said, and knelt there, head and shoulders down, looking miserable. "Now, I want a nice straight back with your bum resting on your heels, and your head up, looking straight ahead, looking at me - I want to watch your face as you wank."

It was interesting as he moved, as his expression was one of fear, contempt, anger, and bewilderment all mixed together. He clearly hated posing like this, even though I had seen him naked hundreds of times before. It must be because I was taking such complete control of him, giving him absolutely no freedom to do anything for himself. I smiled at him and said quietly "Now rest your hands, palms up, on your thighs."

"I was supposed to wank..."

"Shut the fuck up, and do as I say!"

He did, and it was amazing how much more exposed and humiliated he looked as he continued to stare at me with that strange expression on his face.

"Now I want to see a nice big, hard erection..." he reached out with his hand and I snapped "...did I give you permission to move your hand? I want to see an erection, Greg, your cock good and hard. Do it without manually stimulating yourself. You're always claiming to be `straight', so think about some of those women you fucked. Or perhaps you're too old, you can't get it up without wanking....? Getting worn out...? Not capable of acting like a man...? Perhaps I should get Jason to show you how a young guy can do it. Or perhaps I should get Jason to wank you..."

Greg was looking really worried now, and there was a little movement in his belly, chest and shoulder muscles as if he was trying to stifle a sob! Very satisfactory.

All three of us fell silent then as Greg knelt there, and he began to breather hard, and finally his cock started to thicken, and then twitch a bit, and finally to erect. Not a fantastic erection, not even really horizontal, but then Greg has got a big, heavy cock and he is not young and so I should hardly expect it to reach up to his belly button like a young guy's would.

"Right, Greg. You can wank now. But I want to see you do it with your left hand, as you're to hold your right hand in front of you as I want you to catch every single drop of cum as it comes out."

"Please, sir, I can't.... I'm right handed...."

"I don't care! I know you're right handed, and that's why you're going to do it with your left hand. It will be something different for you, make you think about it more, make it more interesting for me.... Now, get going....."

It was really amusing, as I know for myself how hard it is to wank with the "other" hand. I'm left handed, as are so many dynamic, creative, clever, driving men, and I know how hard it is for me to use my right hand on those occasions when I do.

As Greg worked away I thought about having Jason go and stand in front of him as the young slave boy had in front of Jason last night and have Greg suck his cock, but I decided that it might be too much for Greg - he hated sucking my cock, and to have to do Jason in front of me might trigger a reaction that I couldn't control. And I didn't want to then have to be forced to dispose of Greg, or even send him off for a very harsh punishment, as he was still good to have around.

His breathing went deeper and harder, and his hand was flying up and down along his cock. He started to sweat, with a nice sheen breaking out all over his shoulders, chest and belly and then he moaned and his whole body jerked as his cock spasm and his cum came out into his hand as I had ordered. Not a lot of it, and not with a great deal of pressure - it is, after all, unreasonable to expect a guy in is fifties to have the same force when he shoots, and the same volume of cum, as a guy in his teens or twenties.

He knelt there then, his breathing calming, and a look of near triumph on his face as he continued to stare at me. "Good, Greg. Now `present' it to me - stay still, but raise your hand up and outwards to me so I can inspect your cum."

He did, but he didn`t enjoy doing it. And, in truth, I wasn't all that interested in seeing a sweaty palm with his cum in it. But it seemed to me to be a good part of a ritual I might have the slaves adopt. After a few seconds I said quietly "So now lick it off your hand and swallow it - we don't want to risk a mess on the carpet!"

I was expecting a challenge, and was looking forward to telling Greg that I knew he'd tasted his own cum before - as all men do after all - and that therefore there was no reason why he shouldn't do it now. But instead he did as he was told, although his expression looked to me like one of contempt, rather than of anger, or resignation. I'd clearly still got some way to go in totally ensuring his complete unquestioning obedience to my commands.

After than I told Greg to go and shower as he was all sweaty, and spent some time telling Jason what his tasks were to be from now on. "You know how to dig for data, how to find out things how to look into a company and see how it all really ticks, and that's what you're going to be doing from now on as I will be engaged in a number of projects working from home. I will of course drive them, but you will do all the research, and get me everything I need to know in order to make good decisions. You were a hot-shot working for George, and you will do the same for me."

"But I had staff, others..."

"And now it's only you. But you have a lot more time. No more silly meetings, no commuting, no business lunches, no talking around the coffee machines... And you've got a real incentive, too: no need to make a good impression', and play office politics so that you look good for the annual bonus discussion. I will see your work at first hand, not after it has been discussed and massaged and made to look good' by others, and I will be the sole judge of how good it is. And I do not have bonuses to dish out - and even if I did, you have no way of spending them, as a slave. But I do have the power NOT to do things... Not to cane you, not to whip you.... I hope you see that I expect top-class work, done quickly, accurately and efficiently, on time... Even if that time is short, impossibly short, you may sometimes think."

I stopped for a moment and added "Perfection, or punishment. It's that simple for a slave that I own. Do I make myself clear?"

Jason said quietly "Yes, sir", and I then spent about an hour going through with him what he was to do before the next evening in giving me a full report on the financial viability of Dave's Slaves.

Greg came back whilst this was going on, and perhaps in an effort to appease me he had only pulled on one of the Ts that were rather like short tunics, so his cock was hanging out below the hem and when he turned his bum was nicely exposed. He stood there until I patted the sofa to indicate he could sit next to me, and I turned the TV on so we could watch the evening financial review - it always amused me to point out to him the slave price index. Jason stood there watching, until I told him he had no time to spare - he needed to get started on my project now, as I would tolerate no excuses tomorrow night if it was not finished to my satisfaction, and that he should expect to have very little sleep anyway.

Greg went to go into the slave room at bedtime but I told him to get in to my bed, and with less reluctance than usual he did, positioning himself to go down on to my cock, but I pushed him away. "No I don't want to cum tonight as I have something in mind for tomorrow and I want a good big load", I said. Then I had the pleasure of rubbing myself up and down Greg's hard muscles as I got ready for sleep. It was good during the night, too, when I woke, as I often do, and felt Greg's regular breathing, the warmth of his skin, and his nice ass crack in to which my cock nestled comfortingly.

At work the following day there was the usual tedium, and I was really glad I had pushed the internal review off to Sam as I saw him rushing around from meeting to meeting looking extraordinarily preoccupied and harassed. Mid morning I took out my "secret" phone - the one which would be destroyed if there was ever an investigation as I used it for calls that I did not want traced back to my office or personal phone - and called my old mate George and said we needed to meet. As usual there was no suitable place at Canary Wharf, as the risk of being "spotted" by someone was too great, and we ended up sitting at a table in the far corner of the food court at the big shopping centre in Stratford, eating something totally unsuitable.

I pushed a document across to George and said "Sign."

He read it, looked at me, and said calmly "You're joking."

"No, not at all. I am about to resign from the company as I have other more interesting things to do. But I want to keep some contact with the industry and so I am going to become a consultant for you. As you will see, two or three days a month, to a schedule to be agreed. And for that, a million a month. You will soon find out that I am worth it."

"Rubbish! We don't pay even our best people that much."

"That's as may be, George. But I'm going to do something for you that your best people cannot. I'm going to be your mentor and sounding board - it's lonely at the top sometimes, isn't it? And from time to time I will bring in small projects for you to work on that will return you a nice, if not spectacular, profit because I need the back-up and support services that a big organisation has at its disposal. And then, of course, I'm going to enable you to keep your job."

George looked so astonished that he didn't say anything, so I flipped my phone on and passed it to him as it played the video of Jason we had recorded all those weeks ago, where he confessed to being a slave even though he was one of George's top people.

"The FCA will be all over you next month, George, as they will be over my firm. I'd hate them to know you were illegally trading - that's what it is, isn't it, as slaves are not allowed any participation in major deals? I wonder how much it will cost to back out some of those transactions where one of the parties was not totally satisfied and will now ask the courts to set the deal aside? And then there will be the lawsuits, the criminal charges.... Still, it won't be your problem as you will be fired the day the news breaks."

He glared at me as I went on calmly "A piece of advice for you, George. If you don't want to employ me I'd get out of the country, if I were you. To somewhere like Brazil, where there isn't an extradition treaty. Those criminal charges can result in enslavement, and I can't quite see you naked and coffled with a lot of others, tilling the soil in East Anglia! But I suppose you can always get someone you trust - really trust, George, if there is someone like that - to agree to buy you, but you'd better transfer the money to them now before the FCA decides to seize all your personal money under the Proceeds Of Crime legislation...."

"But a million a month... Half that? You don't need the money - I can only imagine how much you got from that last deal with Cyrus Williams..."

"Oh but I do, George. I'm planning some substantial investments and I need a nice steady income in case it goes wrong. Now, sign - you know I'm cheap at the price."

"I ought to turn you in as a blackmailer...."

"You'd be laughed out of Court. Why would a wealthy man like me want to blackmail you? I haven't spent any of my cash yet from the Cyrus Williams deal, so this money could look trivial. Then there's the `whistle blower' legislation, where I can rightly say that I found evidence of wrongdoing and went to the FCA. And in any case, you'd be finished - there would be no way that Jason's clip could be kept secret, and you'd be fired."

George went to sign, but I pulled the document away. "No, George. It's not that I don't trust you.... But I think we need this to be properly witnessed. So let's go back to your office and you can get your head of Legal Affairs - she must be a qualified solicitor, I presume - to see you sign. After all, as I am about to become a `consultant' to your company there's no harm now in my being in your building."

"Conspiracy? Tongues wagging about you and me getting together...."

"Not a problem, George. As soon as I have the signed deal, I'm back to my own office to hand in my resignation. They won`t like it of course, and there will be all sorts of rumours about it being because of the FCA review - the FCA won't find anything, I'm certain of that, so I will probably make some money in future in suing the worst of those who publish stuff defaming me by alleging my leaving is because of that."

Surprisingly the whole thing took almost no time after that, and by four o'clock I was out of the office, probably for ever, and heading back to my flat, on "gardening leave" as they call it, whilst my period of notice ran out. I usually avoided the shops in the shopping mall at Canary Wharf as I went straight to the tube, but now, "at leisure", I strolled along looking at them. I wasn't interested in the clothes of course as mine are all custom made or bought in expensive shops in the West End, and I didn't want a coffee, or a sandwich in any of the numerous restaurants. But then I was intrigued to see that a shop that had been re-fitting for a couple of weeks had reopened, and not as a health food store as it had been: it now said "Slave Supplies. Purveyors of quality products for the management and control of gentlemen's slaves."

I went in and browsed the stock - there were a lot of interesting clothes - or "costumes" perhaps I should call them for slaves, and I couldn't help but smile inwardly at the thought of Greg in one of the tiny thongs - he'd have to shave all his pubes off. Some of the jewellery was interesting, too, and it made me wonder about having both Jason and Greg have their tits ringed so that they could wear some of the heavy items - or, perhaps, even get them a PA. I was looking at the interesting range of canes, whips, floggers, tawses, and so on when a salesman came over.

Even though I had no immediate intention of making a purchase I was tempted to engage in conversation with him after he'd said the usual "Can I help you, sir?" as he was a feast for the eye - early twenties, tall and lean, clean-cut, with very low-slung trousers revealing that he had a hard, flat belly and a very desirable bum.

"One of my slaves has been somewhat slow to react to my orders recently, and I was thinking of getting something to chastise him with - he's a big beefy guy, and I sometimes think it's harder on the palms of my hands than it is on his big tough backside!"

Clearly the man was impressed, and began to discuss with me the various merits and disadvantages of whips, canes, tawses, and the like. We agreed that canes left undesirable marks, that it was too difficult to control a whip so as not to break the skin, and so on. "Of course a gentleman like you could always use a belt - yours I notice is of fine calf, I see, sir. But perhaps I could recommend this - it's relatively new, but is finding favour with our connoisseur clients - we call it the `thrasher'."

Seeing me smile with amusement at his outrageous flattery, he continued "You'll no doubt be aware, sir, that using your belt can cause problems. It leaves a satisfactory temporary mark on the slave, and it certainly hurts. But the hard edge can lead to excess bruising, and even a break in the skin. And a fine calf belt is perhaps not heavy enough?" He looked at me for confirmation, and I nodded. "Not look at the thrasher', sir. The blade' is flexible so that it moulds to the shape of the buttock or shoulder, and it's heavy, being of thick rubber - something of this weight landing on the slave will be far more painful than a light belt. But the prime advantage is the edges - see, the rubber is moulded into a curve along the edges so hat there's no possibility of braking the flesh. And then there's the handle - feel it, sir, see how it moulds itself to your fingers so you can get a really firm grip and wield it with considerable force...."

I did as he said, and smiled again, slapping the rubber blade against my thigh. "You're right. It feels well designed."

"Of course, sir, it is expensive, as you might expect for such a design. Not everyone..."

I was tiring of this now so I didn't wait for the standard "not everyone can afford" pitch and said simply "I'll take it".

It was interesting to watch as he wrapped the thrasher in fine tissue paper and then put it in one of those expensive bags with rope handles, as he moved nicely. And he was impressed with my charge card and what that signified. Then as he handed me my receipt and bag he handed me his card and said quietly "If you need any help or advice, sir...."

"I may well take you up on that", I told him as I left, thinking I'd rather like to see his naked body on my "horse" and use the thrasher on his cute little bum.

Back at my flat I reviewed all the stuff Jason had pulled together on Dave's Slaves, then set him another task saying I wanted that by the next morning, and set out for Leyton.

The rest of the afternoon and early evening was considerably more exciting that any possible things I'd normally have been doing in the office as I "shadowed" Dave around as he showed slaves to customers - and I even helped him make a sale by pointing out some finance options to one wavering couple - and in-between times attended to his "service" business. There wasn't a real whipping scheduled which was initially disappointing, but he had three branding. They're are pretty disgusting if you don't like the smell of burned meat, and of shit (all the slaves lost control of their bowels as Dave pressed the red-hot iron home) - but which were otherwise interesting. The highlight of the afternoon though was when Dave had a `skinning to do.

Dave's big niggas hauled the slave out if his cage and he put up a fierce struggle as they dragged him in to what looked like a big old-fashioned dentist's chair and strapped him in. He was a really good-looking slave, and I could see why his owner had decided to have him `skinned as the look of his cock was spoiled by quite a long piece of foreskin hanging loose at the end, all shrivelled up as happens when the cock is not erect, as I'm sure you all know.

"This is going to be tricky", Dave told me as he pushed up a small table between the slave's outspread legs and flopped the slave's cock on to it. "Normally, most of the skinnings I do are the classic high and tight' so the cock head's always exposed afterwards, and all you need is a nice, neat job so that the cut line on the shaft is not pronounced. But this one's got to have the head mostly covered when the slave's not erect, with just the piss slit and a small piece around it kind of peeping out from the `skin. It's a good look on a thick, fat cock like this one, but difficult to achieve."

"How so?"

"It's judging how much to cut off. Too little and the piss slit isn't seen. Too much and it's almost a high and tight'. I usually err on the side of taking too little if there's any doubt, as I can always do a second skinning. But let's see...."

Dave began to pull at the slave's skin, using callipers to measure the length of the skin and the cock, then stroked the slave to full erection so he could pull back the skin and measure again. I could see why the slave's owner wanted it skinned as it had one of those very nicely dark plum-coloured heads with a pronounced "flange" between head and shaft - a pity to keep it covered up. Finally Dave appeared satisfied, and opened up a small box inside which were a couple of wicked-looking scalpels which he proceeded to drop into a bath of what I took to be antiseptic. He fussed around then tightening up all the straps around the slave's thighs and belly to make sure it was totally immobile, then offered up a bit gag to the slave, who tried to refuse. Dave casually pinched the tit of the slave who shouted out with the pain and Dave said calmly "Come on, you fucker! Open up so I can fit this - it's for your own good, as I find the noise of a slave screaming is really distracting as I'm trying to work."

Dave picked up the scalpel and was about to start when I interrupted him "Dave, the anaesthetic..."

"Oh no, no anaesthetic. I used to be able to give the slaves a numbing shot in their cocks but the RSPCS said that unqualified people treating slaves by giving them shots was cruel, and got legislation through Parliament requiring all stuff like that to be done only by a qualified vet. No one wants to pay the extra money to get a vet in here as I work, so no anaesthetic. It's the law of unintended consequences in action again!"

"But you're going to operate... That scalpel.... `Skinning... Don't you need a vet for that?"

"Well you can take a slave to a vet to be skinned but it costs a hell of lot. And it's easier and less hassle for the owner if it's all done at one time, so that the branding and skinning can heal before he takes delivery."

"No, I mean you will be operating..."

"Oh, there's an exception in the law, allowing skinning to be done by any appropriate person'. And I'm certainly an appropriate person! No one wanted to upset the Jews by forbidding `skinning...."

"But that's babies...."

"Sloppy legislators, then. It doesn't say that it's only babies. Did me a real favour, as I make money on this, and can offer a `full service' to customers."

Dave stopped talking then, and used the scalpel to delicately slice at that little triangle of skin underneath the cock head that kind of "tethers" part of the skin. I watched as the slave's body desperately tried to break free by thrashing and tensing, all to no avail, and he tried to scream and shout but was mostly prevented by the gag. Dave then slipped a small metal cylinder over the cock head - it must have really hurt as it went over where he had already cut judging by the slave's reactions - pulled the skin up over the cylinder and used a circular metal spring to hold it in place, then briefly stopped. I watched in fascination as he used the callipers to measure the length of `skin on the cylinder and then a "magic marker" to draw a neat circle all around it.

He gave me a grin and said casually "Right, now for the cut...." and before I was really aware of it used the scalpel to slice through the `skin all along the line he'd marked. The slave's body seemed to be in a frenzy then, and sweat was pouring off him.

There was a lot of tidying up then as Dave pulled the cylinder off and used a fine needle and thread to sew along the cut ends of the `skin - he showed me the difference between the surface layer and the underneath one which he was joining. Then as the slave strained and tossed uselessly again and again and tried to scream, he rubbed some sort of dry powder into the bleeding ends, which seemed to staunch the blood flow.

"There. Another one done", he told me, and turning to his niggas said casually "Take this one off to the recovery cell then, and give him an aspirin". He walked out then, with me following.

I watched him as he showered and pulled on a polo and jeans (no underwear as usual) and said casually "Right, then - off to the pub, for something to eat...."

"Actually, Dave, I wondered if you'd like to come back to my place for supper. I've got something to show you." That meant that he had to call the niggas in again and give them more orders for the evening, then we eventually set off to walk to the tube.

He was astonished when we got up to my flat and he looked out of the huge windows at the Thames and Houses Of Parliament, and gave a low whistle. "Fucking hell - you didn`t need to go out and capture that slave - you could come down to my place and buy any number of them if you can afford the rent on a place like this."

I didn't tell him it was owned, not rented, but simply said "Ah yes, but it wouldn't be as satisfying."

Dave then couldn't help but quickly appraise Greg and Jason - I thought Greg would refuse when Dave ordered him to drop his shorts so he could examine his cock properly, but it all went OK. And with Jason he ran his hands all over the large "S" brand on his flank and complimented himself on what a good job he'd done as it was so crisp and dark. "You ought to have your other slave done too", he told me.

"No, I've had Greg for some time, and I don't think he's going to try to escape."

"That isn't the point. Particularly for a big slave like this and after owning them for a few years - having them marked reminds them that they are a slave. It can be easy for a big male to start to forget his real status and begin to try to take control. The pain of a new branding reminds them who's the boss, and that they are your property and that you can decide to have that done to them."

"Oh I have no problem with things like that", I said looking directly at Greg as I did so. "He's extremely obedient, obeys me first time, every time, without any quibbles."

We had supper then - nothing elaborate, just some smoked salmon (the wild, organic kind of course), steak and salad, and proper strawberries all ripe and fragrant flown in from somewhere that morning and not the usual hard tasteless "bullets" you get when the British season is over, all washed down with a rather good Puligny Montrachet and my favourite Chateau Palmer. Greg served it properly and only once made the mistake of almost sitting down to join us - I felt certain Dave would never allow a slave at his table as I did when I was alone.

After dinner I sat Dave down on the sofa and started to go through some of the data that Jason had collected and collated. At first Dave demanded to know where it had come from and I mentioned public sources such as the general trading statistics of all slave trading enterprises, then the information he filed at Companies House about his annual results, and other stuff like the amount of local taxes he was paying from the Council records, and so on. Finally, I said quietly "I think the conclusion is inescapable - you're going broke. Slowly but surely, year by year... You don't have the business volumes to support your expense base..."

"Bull shit!" he blurted out. "I'm doing fine. I'm always busy...."

"There's a difference between being busy and being profitable. And being profitable, and being profitable enough to support yourself...."

So I tried again, and again, to talk him through all the numbers, and he seemed to be flatly in denial and was getting angrier and angrier about my "interference".

Finally, my own patience snapped - something very unusual for me - and I found myself almost shouting "Look, whether you like it or not, the numbers say clearly you're going broke. Either that or you are not declaring all these other bits of income you go on about - some of the skinnings for cash, hiring slaves out to nice old gentlemen in Hampstead', and so on. And either way it means one thing, Dave: you'll end up a slave."

"Either Dave's Slaves goes bust and you won't be able to get any kind of job as you're not trained or skilled for anything else, and the kinds of work that is available to unskilled men in their mid thirties doesn't pay enough to really live on. You've pointed out all those men in the pub who are in that state. Or you're not declaring all your income, and one day you'll be found out."

"So go bust, run up debts, and get sold into slavery. Or the Revenue will find out about undeclared cash and prosecute and you'll be sold into slavery. Either way you'll end up a slave."

"Bull shit!...."

"Is it, Dave? So you tell me where I'm wrong."

"Mind your own fucking business. What do you know about running anything, living in this fancy place...?"

That's typical, trying to avoid the truth by changing the subject. I'd made enough allowances for the fact that he had drunk most of the two bottles of wine - I enjoy wine with dinner, but I am a little abstemious - and he needed to be taught a lesson.

"You are so typical of the kind of small business man I meet many times - `small' still being many, many times bigger than your business is. They deny the facts, then bluster and get personal to cover up. And they usually end up broke as they do not take the advice I give, don't go along with the plans my company can make to get them out of the deep shit they're in, and back in to profitability."

"Fuck you...."

Well, that was that. Calmly I said "Strip."

"What?"

"You heard me. Strip. Get naked. Remove your clothes, all of them."

Dave did nothing, but looked at me as if I was joking.

"Greg, help my guest out of his clothes", I ordered. Greg looked as if he might not obey, but then stood there looking menacing - remember he's a big, tough guy still. And he had been in the forces and was a physical instructor. Then he moved, very quickly, and had Dave held, and literally ripped his polo off. And in another instant Dave's jeans were pooling on the floor around his feet.

"What the fuck....", Dave started but I cut in. "Remain silent, Dave, as you need to listen. One more word from you and I will have Greg here spank you."

I called Jason in then and ordered him to strip, and then ordered Greg out of his T and shorts, too. I told them to line up, with Dave in the middle.

"You see, Dave, this is how it's going to turn out for you. When you're enslaved, I'll buy you, if you're not too expensive - and guys about our age are not all that much, generally. Then I'll have a choice of slaves to fuck - young, slim Jason, you, and older, bigger, tougher Greg."

Dave went to say something but I held my finger to my lips and slapped one hand on the other, and he seemed to get the message.

"So, Dave, I think it would be fun - well fun for me, at least - to give you a little practice at what being a slave is like. You'll notice how I keep my slaves minimally clothed about the place, or naked on occasions, and that will apply to you, too. But I do notice something you're lacking...."

I went to my desk and got out a "magic marker" pen, went up and stood next to Dave and made a mark on his upper arm. "That will be my personal brand, of course, just as I had you do to Jason and Greg. And you do know all about branding."

I stood there a moment contemplating him, then went closer and drew a big "S" on his flank. "And when I have you branded with the general slave mark, I guess that will be painful for a day or so. But then I will have the pleasure of running my fingers along it when we're in bed and I'm fucking you."

I was warming to my theme now and sat down on the sofa and sipped my drink. "Now, Dave, do you recall how you taught Jason to wank properly in front of his owner? When you're my slave I will occasionally want you to wank for me, too. So let's see you practice, shall we?" Dave glared at me and did not move, so I snapped "Kneel, you fucking slave! I don't want to have to get Greg to discipline you..."

Dave got slowly to his knees, and I barked "Knees wide, remember, and heels together. Then bum down on to your heels, and a nice straight back...."

"I'm not going to wank for you!" he said, sounding very determined.

"Very well, Dave. But I did warn you that my slaves get disciplined if they disobey me. So perhaps we will practice that. Greg - take this slave over to the horse!"

I think I've told you that I have a rather good punishment and fucking "horse" by one of our premiere modern designers in a corner of the living room, and Greg now pounced on Dave, pulled him to his feet and dragged him across the room.

Dave put up some sort of struggle, but I guess Greg was used to dealing with disobedient soldiers when he was in the forces and he easily subdued him, but watching one naked man haul another around was in itself interesting and erotic.

Soon Dave was lying on the horse, with his wrists shackled to the front legs. Greg then bent to fasten his ankles to the rear legs, but I stopped him, saying, so that Dave could hear "No, leave his legs free. It will be more exciting if he can throw himself about a bit - it will help him see how futile it is to try to oppose your owner."

Moving over to the horse now and standing where Dave could see me I called Jason over. "Kneel down and masturbate this slave for me. And be sure to catch every drop of his cum, as I will need it."

"You can't do this to me...", Dave began. And he continued shouting as I picked up the stout rubber "thrasher" I'd bought earlier.

"I told you to remain silent. And you need a lesson in obedience, Dave." And I struck him twice on each buttock with the heavy thrasher, really enjoying the loud "slap" sound as the blade hit home.

End Of Part Thirteen