PASSING
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Pete
PASSING
A story by Pete Brown (petebrownuk@yahoo.com)
Part Two Detective work. And I acquire another slave.
The next morning Greg and I sat in the kitchen eating breakfast - for me my usual bowl of All-Bran and skimmed milk as I like to keep my bowels "regular", and for him some of the slave chow. He'd rather have sausage and bacon and stuff, but it's not good for you and so this kind of food never comes in to the house - although I suspect that the building concierge does give them to him sometimes. But there's no point in trying to micro-manage a slave's life - you can't have TV cameras everywhere. And, anyway, I could hardly keep on punishing him, could I, and my only ultimate sanction would be to sell him and I've kind of got used to him and he suits me.
It only took him a moment to get ready to accompany me to the tube as he quite often goes running in the morning and he had his kit on - the same as his indoor wear, actually: the small slave shorts and tight T. He tells me he thinks it's humiliating to have to show so much of his body when the rest of the people in the streets are in their office clothes, but I think secretly he likes to be admired as he is in such obviously good condition and every other man about his age must secretly envy him. All he needed to do was pull on and lace up his heavy boots: yes, that's what he wears whenever he goes out, and especially when he's going running. I've offered to buy him proper trainers, but he says that the marines always do their training and running in combat boots and he wants to carry on like that to remind him of "real life", whatever that means!
Before we went out of the door I told him to kneel, as it's then easier for me to clip a daily travel token for the tube on to his collar. Londoners will know slaves are only allowed daily tokens and cannot be given weekly or monthly tickets by their owners - they say it's to prevent slaves "vanishing", able to travel anywhere for a long time. But it seems to me nonsensical: if a slave is going to make a run for freedom he can do it within the day anyway. As I have allowed Greg to have a chain collar it's no big deal to fix the token to one of the links - when I first got him and saw how active he was it seemed sensible to have a chain welded on rather than the more fashionable solid steel collars - these can so easily chafe the skin or cause sores and blistering where they rest on the collar bone and are not tight, and if you make them too tight so they fit high on the neck the slave can be inhibited from breathing and working. I don't want to have to keep calling in a slave doctor to treat sores, and a chain is so much more of a sensible solution. And it was actually quite interesting to select the right-sized links to complement Greg's muscular neck and physique generally, and then see it welded into place - it showed him he really is owned by me, I think..
There's not a lot of people going in to Westminster Station in the morning as property around there is so very, very expensive (even for London) and it's mostly only rich foreigners who can afford it. But it suits me to live there as it's very central, I like St James' Park, the river, the ability to walk to very good places to eat and the National Gallery, and so on. But down on the platforms it's very crowded with people changing off the other lines and heading out to Canary Wharf - I travel in early, as I've said, and usually get a seat. But it's only very few stops and only takes about ten minutes, so it's no great inconvenience. Mind you on occasion I have to demand that a slave stands up and give me a seat - it seems as if the common rules of decency are breaking down somewhat.
We arrived on the platform about ten minutes earlier than I usually do as I wasn't sure that Jason would be a regular traveller (I had not seen him before), or even if he would sit in the "right" carriage. I didn't want to travel with him if I saw him as I did not want to have to make conversation, so I stood at the back of the platform watching the tubes arrive - they're very frequent, about every two minutes, and after five had gone and I was planning to give up, my luck changed and there as the next one slid to a halt was Jason.
I pointed him out to Greg, then tried to make myself inconspicuous as Greg boarded - even though there were spare seats I was gratified to see Greg stood by the doors, as slaves should. I let one more train go so there would be no possibility of seeing Jason at Canary Wharf, then took the next one to start my day as usual.
Greg was not back when I got home that evening, but I did not worry as I had given him explicit instructions as to what to do, and it's not a big deal to have to heat my gourmet dinner for myself. In fact I was in bed when he finally got in, looking really tired and rather cold actually, and I told him to get some chow inside him and to get cleaned up before he reported on the day. He went off out of my bedroom looking really exhausted, but seemed to brighten up when I shouted after him that I had left the dessert from my dinner and he could have it.
A few minutes later he came out of the shower into my bedroom with a towel draped loosely around his hips - he's allowed to use any of the towels I have used and discarded on the floor. There's something very sexy about a man wearing a towel, I think, but there's something even better, and it's why I let Greg wear shorts an a T around the house rather than being naked: I flicked my fingers and he let the towel fall, so I could see all of him in his natural state (except for his collar, which somehow makes it even more exciting). If I made him live and work naked, I wouldn't have the pleasure of ordering him to unclothe in front of me.
I lay there comfortably as he stood in front of me and recounted what had happened: he'd followed Jason from Canary Wharf Station to his gym, then had to wait outside until Jason came out in his suit and so on, dressed for the office. Then he'd trailed him there, and waited all day for Jason to at last emerge. Greg really laid it on a bit thick, complaining about the boredom of standing around for hours, not really daring to go far in case Jason came out early, of getting cold as the weather wasn't all that warm and he was nearly naked, and of being hungry. He did let slip though that a party of women going out for a celebration lunch had taken pity on him and had bought him a sandwich on the way back. It was pretty humiliating though, he said, as they wanted to be photographed with him with them running their hands all over him to "remember the lunch". He went on "And you know how it is, sir, with women all over me, the smell of them, the touch of their hands, well I couldn't help throwing an erection, could I? And in my shorts, there's no way of hiding it. They all screamed with laughter, and wanted to photograph me all over again, especially the damp patch on my shorts where I was leaking pre-cum a bit. I mean, it's not right, is it, for a man to be treated like that?"
"No, I suppose it isn't right for a man, Greg. But it sounds to me as if you're forgetting you're a slave, and different standards apply. Now, continue...."
"Well, sir, he came out about 19:00 with this stunning girl on his arm, and they went to get something to eat in that restaurant that looks out over Canada Square. It was really difficult as I couldn't follow them in, and there's not a lot of slaves around at that time of night, and I thought I might look conspicuous, so..."
"Yes, yes... Get to the point..."
"They came out about 21:30 and took the tube, with me following. She was panting for it, sir, and he was going along with it - almost shocking it was, how he held her and stroked her on the tube..."
"And you were erect again, I suppose?"
Greg just smiled and shrugged. "Anyway I followed them home then and I guess it's his place, so I have the address. And the slave on the door of the building said he was always going in and out, but the woman had only been there for about a week.... So I'm pretty certain....."
"And now you're back here. Well done. Now get to bed."
He looked almost relieved, and I'm still not sure he likes sucking cock. But as he went out I could enjoy his body and those lovely buttocks as he went to his own small room. Almost the only problem with my apartment is that whilst the walls everywhere else are really thick and made of poured concrete so no sound gets through, the partition between my bedroom and the slave room is tiny - I suspect it was added as an after-though. So as I lay there I could hear Greg get into bed, and then that heavy breathing, the rustling of the bed cover, the slap of flesh on flesh, and finally a deep sigh as Greg wanked himself to climax. Still, I didn't really mind - it must have been tough today for him, especially seeing all those women.
The next day was pretty much routine - I had some staff meetings and a lunch with an important client. I could not focus completely on what I was doing as part of my brain was planning the activities that night.
As he'd been instructed to, Greg was out shadowing Jason, and it wasn't until about 21:30 that he finally managed to find a phone to call me and tell me that Jason was home for the night, without a woman. It really is a nuisance having that prohibition on slaves not being allowed mobile phones, especially as all the call boxes have disappeared from London as they said they were uneconomic. I have been accosted by slaves sometimes begging to be allowed to call their owners, and I guess Greg must have done the same.
We met at Alex's apartment block and I buzzed to be let in. As he opened his door Alex looked genuinely surprised to see me - as he should be - alarmed, almost.
"Good evening, sir..."" He stuttered. "I wasn't expecting visitors... Come on in...."
The apartment was simply but expensively furnished in the modern minimalist style. I took off my coat, and sat down. "A drink...?" He asked, still looking confused. He'd changed in to jeans and I saw with interest that even by himself he had on a long-sleeved casual shirt covering his wrists.
I shook my head to decline his offer of a drink - I don't drink with slaves! "When we met earlier in the week our mutual acquaintance - your director, I suppose I should say, and my old colleague - sang your praises generally and especially about the work you'd done in identifying and driving through the deal...."
He seemed to relax. "Yes, indeed, sir...."
"It was an excellent piece of work and I wanted to come and congratulate you on it personally.." As I said this, I stretched out my hand as if to make a handshake, and I guess by reflex Jason did the same. As I shook his hand I grabbed his forearm with my other hand and yanked his sleeve upwards. There were those telltale tattoos.
It was as if time stood still. Jason looked at them, looked at me looking at them, and finally stammered "A bit stupid, really, a joke at the rugger club that went a bit too far...."
I said nothing, but let go of his hand and took out my phone. I'd already set it up to access the public the slave register database so all I had to do was snap the numbers and press send. With the excellent mobile service we all now enjoy it can't have been more than a couple of seconds before the screen showed me the information.
"So, Jason Allbright", I read out. "Enslaved shortly after his 18th birthday. Nothing serious, I suppose - no violence, but some girl took exception to you fooling around with her. Pretty good school record, about to go up to Cambridge.... But sold at the central London slave auction rooms instead..... Reported absconded by his owner after only six months.... Then no reported sightings for six years. And all this information from a number tattooed on Jason Wicks, financial whiz-kid.... A pretty bright guy by all accounts, breezing through all the financial exams as he should have, if he would have been good enough to go to Cambridge..."
"No, it's not me..."
"Don't be stupid! Of course it is. There's even a picture here...."
"That must be an old picture, taken years ago. It's not like me...."
"Strip off. There's a full body image of this Jason Allbright that I can compare with you."
"No way..."
I motioned to Greg, who with that economical way of moving he has grabbed Jason. He fought, briefly - and even though he was very fit and spent a lot of time at the gym he hadn't had the combat experience Greg had. And, as the old saying goes, youth and enthusiasm is no match for old age and experience. Very quickly Greg held him in one of those choke holds, I suppose you'd call them. I stepped forward and ripped open Jason's shirt, the buttons flying across the floor - I've never actually done that before and always thought it's a bit of a cliché, but it was strangely satisfying. He did indeed have nice big dark aureoles contrasting nicely with his tanned skin.
He spat at me! I suppose it's the only thing he could do as Greg held him immobile. And I was surprised at my reaction, as I'm not a physically violent man normally: I slapped him hard, very hard, very hard indeed, across his face. His head slumped to one side, and there was a satisfying trickle of blood from his nose.
As he slumped there in Greg's hold I reached down and undid his belt and fly, and pushed his trousers down to below his knees. My cock twitched as I saw I'd been right in my assumption that a man like his would not wear restricting boxers, but low-slung looser trunks, not unlike slave shorts. "So, the big reveal...", I muttered, and yanked the trunks down too.
I then held the phone u to his face. "No doubt about it, I think! That long cock held high on top of your balls is a dead give-away. You are indeed the `missing' slave, Jason Allbright."
"NO!....!
"Listen Jason, and listen carefully. All I have to do is press this button on the `missing slave' page and the SP - the slave police - will be here in moments. And I suppose you know he penalty for slaves who abscond....?"
He stood there, motionless, and silent. Kind of insolently silent, I think.
"You're quite a man for the ladies, I'm told. No more of that, of course. They don't want any risk of some foolish owner breeding defiance into slaves, so those balls will go. They say it calms' slaves. And then a nice job where there's no possibility of escape. Down the mines? I understand they're opening up all the deep Yorkshire pits again as the economics change - energy prices going higher and higher, and labour costs going down and down because of slaves.... I'm told they put you down the pit and you never come up again. The slaves have to buy' their food in exchange for the coal that goes up to the surface. Doesn't sound much fun, does it, Jason?"
He shook his head. "Well I understand you like deals, so here's mine: you will become my slave, rather than a runaway."
"...And?"
"No `and'. You will become my slave. Full stop. I suppose in return I won't report you to the authorities, so you'll get to keep your balls. And working for me is better than mining..."
He glared at me, but I could tell from his body language that he was defeated. I gestured at Greg to let him go, and he reached down to pull up his underwear.
"No! Strip completely. I want a proper inspection of my new property."
Greg and I stood there and watched as slowly and almost wearily he slipped off his shoes, then stepped out of his jeans and underwear on the floor, and fumbled to remove the remains of his shirt.
"Pretty good, isn't he, Greg? Makes a nice contrast with you! He's a bit taller than you, but you're more solid'. Nice long legs, though. And a good cock - I like the way it sits high like that, makes him look half-hard all the time, whereas your balls are low-slung. And you're very hairy, and dark - and he's blond, and not all that much body hair.... Except around his pubes. I expect he flashes them around in his gym to show he's a free man... Or should I say flashed', as there'll be no more free man's gym for him!"
Greg nodded, but said nothing. He understands my ways.
"I think we ought to have you look more like a slave, Jason. Go to the bathroom and trim those pubes and shave your balls.... Like a slave..."
"No fucking way...", he began, but I nodded at Jason who knew this might happen as we had discussed. He grabbed Jason, pulled him over, sat down, threw Jason across his knees and began to slap his buttocks, hard. And I guess "hard" for someone with the power and strength of Greg is "very hard". Jason struggled, but Greg had his neck in a vicelike grip and he couldn't get free. Soon Jason was wailing, then sobbing, whether from the pain, or the humiliation, or both, I don't know and I don't much care. I'm not a violent man as I said, but slaves do need to understand the consequences of failing to obey.
After a time I signalled to Greg to stop, and he dumped Jason off his knees onto the floor, where he lay sobbing.
"Now, into the bathroom. That trim and shave. And do your ass whilst you're about it. And you'd better go and help him, Greg - it will be quicker if you shave his ass until he gets used to doing it."
I caught up on the movements in the markets as the two slaves went off, and I heard a few muffled shouts and cries as I assume Greg made Jason behave. Then they appeared before me again, with Greg having a faint smile on his face.
"There, Jason. What a difference that makes, doesn't it? They do say all you have to do to turn a free man into a slave is strip him, spank him, and shave him.... And fuck him, or course."
Greg was now grinning as I said the last few words. But I continued "I think we'll save the last step until later. Now, let's have your keys, and we'll go off to your new home. You won't need any of the stuff here as I'll probably have you dress like Greg, so we can get the place cleared out later."
I moved towards the door, and Greg pushed at him to follow me. Jason bent down to pick up his jeans.
"No, stay naked. You've been masquerading as a free man long enough, so now's a good time to make up for it."
"Please....", he almost whimpered. I stood close to him and ruffled that artfully cut hair of his - no more of that, I thought, I'd probably have him cropped like Greg. He flinched under my fingers. "Slaves go naked unless their owners want otherwise."
Greg coughed respectfully. "Sir, the new ordinance... No naked slaves on the tube..."
"Thank you, Greg. I'd forgotten. And I don't want to fall foul of the slave regulations at this point."
I pushed the button on my phone to summon a minicab, and we were soon all heading back to Westminster. The driver was a free man and kept congratulating me on having such fine slaves, and wishing he could own one. Annoying, really. Next time I must make sure I specify a slave driver as they can be ordered to be silent.
End Of Part Two