Passing

PASSING

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PASSING

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

Part Six. Jason's Processing Begins. And interesting lunch.

In spite of being a slave the cab driver was one of those "chatty" London ones who think they know everything and went to tell you their opinions - as if they matter! There didn't seem to be any way of politely shutting him up, then I remembered he was a slave, so simply ordered him to.

When we got to Dave's Slaves and Greg got Jason out of the boot, keeping a firm hold of him to make sure that even at this point he didn't make any stupid attempt to flee, I had to ring a couple of times as evidently the place did not do business on Sundays - stupid really, as slave traders have exemption from the restrictive Sunday trading laws, so Dave might have as well stayed open as all the stock was there and supervisors had to be available anyway. And surely buying slaves was something a family would want to do together, in their leisure time - but then I thought perhaps the type of slaves he sold and the services he offered might make Dave's place unsuitable for kids, and women. Still he came to the door personally, a real mark of respect I reckoned, as presumably that black girl was somewhere around and she or Timmy could have been sent.

Greg pushed Jason in, still keeping a firm hold of him I noticed, and we went through into the yard in the centre of the place.

"Lets' take a good look at him", Dave said to me casually, and snapped "Strip!" at Jason.

Very slowly the T and shorts dropped to the ground, and Jason stood there in front of the three of us sort of vaguely trying to shield his cock and balls with his hands.

"Do you want Greg to strip too, Dave? I seem to remember you said all slaves out the back here had to be naked to stop them being confused with free men..."

"No, it's OK. It's Sunday, and we only have one guard on as all the slaves are kept in the cages all day. You can have him strip if you like...."

I looked at Greg who was glaring again, and was rather amused as his face slackened when I said "Oh, OK, then, let's keep his clothes on. It will be an interesting contrast between him and the others."

Dave gestured for me to lead the way then into the corridor lined with the slave pens, and once again there was that delicious scent of nakedness and sweat and piss and, I suppose, fear. Dave opened up one of the cages and motioned for Jason to go in, and he refused. He turned at me and pleaded "no, sir, please no, don't leave me here, don't sell me...."

The next moment he was writhing on the hard concrete floor, hi muscles twitching uncontrollably. Dave was standing over him with a short cane-like thing and snapped "Do as you're fucking well told, slave! We train slaves here, and you've just felt the slave prod - and only at half power! Any disobedience, however slight, and you'll feel it again - it hurts a lot more than a whip or cane, and it leaves no marks on your hide so we don't have to restrict ourselves..."

Jason struggled to get to his feet, and when he was half way up Dave kicked his bum, causing Jason to sprawl on the floor again. "No, crawl. You're a fucking slave, remember?"

Jason crawled on to the bare concrete of the cage, Dave shut and locked the door, and Jason then struggled to his feet using the bars to help him. He looked around as if in a daze, as if this wasn't real.... Although of course it was. The cage on his left was occupied by a naked slave simply lying there, with a bloodstained rag wrapped around his cock. Opposite there were two naked females, and we could clearly see an angry-looking mark on their breasts, which I assume was a recent branding. And on the other side of Jason the male slave was covered in whip marks, some of which were still bleeding!

Dave saw me looking at that slave, really rather shocked. "One of my special services", he told me. "The owner is collecting this one later, so I've been up early to give him a sound whipping..."

"But he's bleeding..."

"Exactly. This is a persistent offender, I'm told. Always slacking. So his owner decided it was time to act. And a lot of owners don't like to whip slaves hard - well, not hard enough to cause real pain like this... They're too soft! But I'm not - you want your slave whipped, whipped so hard it will never recover properly as its hide will always be scarred, then I'm your man. I did it a couple of hours ago so the blood has mostly stopped flowing - especially when we rubbed the salt in - so that the slave won't make a mess everywhere. So its owner can take it back and string it up for his other slaves to see - the wounds will still be raw an open, and they'll be able to tell it was bleeding.... It's a really good lesson for the others, cheap at the price, if you ask me."

I could hardly believe it. Dave seemed such a nice guy. And yet here he was talking to me about whipping slaves until they bled as if it was a perfectly normal thing. It just goes to show you can't always judge by appearances! Still Dave was now looking at Jason through the bars, and turned to me and said "I'm fixing the SIN thing, as I told you I could, but at high cost. So is there anything else you want doing to it?"

"I don't think so...."

"Have it `skinned. That will help it adjust to the fact that it's a slave again after that freedom."

"I'm not sure..."

Dave moved to the next cell and snapped at the slave lying there to get up. It did so, and stood near the bars. Dave casually reached in and unwrapped the bloody rag, then threw it to the floor in the passageway.

"You don't need that any more", he told the slave. "Mostly healed." He then turned to me and said Take a good look at the slave's cock, hold it if you like..."

"I'd rather not..."

"Yes, you need to. I'm pretty proud of my technique, and you need to feel it as well as see it...."

It's not that I was afraid - I don't scare easily as I've told you. And anyway I knew Dave would never dare harm me or anything. But somehow I felt compelled to reach in and hold the slave's cock in my open palm. Dave put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close to him as I stood there, a little nervous.

"See..."

"See what?"

"Look at the colour. The normal darker skin of most of the shaft. Then the pale band that was the underside of the foreskin before I did it, then the darker cock head. That's to be expected, and the pale bit will go a little darker, but most `skinned men have that colour change. But feel it - stroke along the cock with a finger..... Feel anything?"

I did as he told me, feeling his presence against me as he continued to pull us together. And it was kind of erotic as the slave's cock started to go a bit hard, and I could feel it sort of crawling slowly across my palm.

"No, I don't feel anything..."

"Exactly! No scar. That's my speciality. A lot of `skinned slaves have a sort of ridge, partly loose skin, at the join. But I always judge it right so that the cock always feels smooth."

I nodded, and Dave continued "So I can quickly `skin him now if you like, and you can watch. It's good for a slave to have its owner watch as it loses its foreskin. It shows that you're truly in control of it, gets through to it in a way that words alone don't, that it's your possession, that you can have done to it whatever you like."

I don't like the look of blood all that much, but I could see what Dave said was true and it was probably what Jason needed. Actually, it would be good for him, I thought. He'd run once, as he clearly had not accepted his slave status. So it would be a kindness, almost, to help him see that he really was not a free man, in any sense of the words.

"Yes, thank you. A good idea. You can `skin Jason, as you call it. But not this morning, I have to get back...."

"What abut the frenulum? Do you want me to leave that little triangle, or take it off?"

"You mean that little triangle under the cock head... What do most owners do?"

"Oh, about half and half. Keeping it allows the slave a bit more pleasure when it's wanking - they miss the `skin of course, but with the frenulum left they still get some enjoyment. On the other hand taking it off makes the whole cock look a lot smoother. And the slave can last longer before climax as without it there's even more of a loss of sensitivity - good it you like to watch the slave fucking...."

"Oh, then I suppose it can be left. I like the slave to have a bit of fun."

Dave nodded. "And what about a brand? He's not branded, as far as I can see."

"Is it essential?"

"It used to be when slavery was first reintroduced. But not for the last five years or so - the RSPCS - that's like the RSPCA but for slaves - got a huge petition up to ban branding. Parliament debated it and changed the law, but only so far as to say it was no longer compulsory - owners could still have it done if they wanted. That was enough for all the do-gooders in the RASPS and they haven't tried again. Now I get a lot of branding work though, especially on experienced slaves who were not branded at enslavement, around the time all the row was going on in parliament." He paused and went on "The RSPCS did me a lot of good actually - it also has to be done by a `certified practitioner' now, a bloke like me with all the proper kit. The owner can't just press part of the slave against a gas ring, for example."

"Why should an owner have a slave branded later on...?"

Dave shrugged. "Who knows, I don't ask. As long as they pay, I don't care. But I suspect it's all part of this needing to show total ownership and control thing. When you've had a slave for some time it can get too familiar, so a branding, or, rather the pain of it, resets its view. And then whenever it touches the brand, it's reminded, of course. But in the case of this Jason of yours, I think it's essential to reinforce its view of its status..."

"Yes, I suppose so, then."

"Where do you want it placed?"

"What do you recommend?"

"Normally, a big `S' on one of its flanks. So when you're fucking it you can see it, and even run your fingers along the scar to remind you how completely in charge of it you are.. Of course....", Dave looked at me questioningly "...if you only... " He stopped as if he had said something slightly improper, corrected himself and went on "if you mostly fuck its face, a smaller scar on the upper arm, at the shoulder, is good. You can feel it as you grip the slave to pull its head right down."

Was Dave testing me? Had I done, or not done, something else wrong, something a "man" around here would know, like not tipping a pub waitress? I've told you I don't ass fuck Greg, only use his mouth and throat. But perhaps Dave regards this as unmanly? Perhaps "real" owners always fuck slave's asses. That subtle change from "only" to "mostly" was saying something - it's those things you pick up on when, like me, you're bargaining hard with an opponent.

"A good idea. Yes, both. "

Dave smiled. I must have passed the test. But he went on "And what about that big slave of yours? Do you want the new one's brands placed to match his? When you have them fuck each other for a bit of amusement it can be better to have them matching - it's more erotic."

"Greg's not branded." I should have stopped but added "And they won't fuck each other."

There was a really strange look from Dave at me. Was I failing? So I went on, hurriedly "He wasn`t done when I bought him, and it never occurred to me to have it done. But now you mention it, it would be a good idea.... I've had him a long time, and perhaps he does need reminding..."

There was a sort of gasp from Greg. "No...."

Dave looked at me. "Yes, he does need reminding! I can see that. I can do both at the same time, so I get a perfect math on positioning. We could light the charcoal and when it's glowing - it only takes about thirty minutes - I can tie them down side by side, and you can mark where you want the brands on their skin..."

"Does it take long... And does it hurt....?"

"Does it take long? No. About three seconds with the hot iron pressed into the flesh. Does it hurt? No, not at all." Dave saw me looking doubtful and went on "You know the old joke about castrating camels?"

"No..."

"A man brings his camel to a place where camels can be gelded. The bloke who's going to do it is holding two bricks and tells the owner it's really simple - the camel's balls are pulled down and he slams the bricks together on either side. The owner asks does it hurt' and the man says no, providing I keep my fingers out of the way'." Dave smiled and went on "It's like that - providing I don't tough the branding iron, it doesn't hurt at all. It's different for the slaves, though. I usually keep the slave in here for a day or so, especially for a big brand on the flank, whilst it gets over the crying and sobbing, and the initial scar forms".

"Crying? No pain killers...?

"No, I don't recommend it. The slave needs to feel and remember the pain - it's part of making it a real slave. So there's no point in doing it if you're going to take the pain away."

Thank god for that. Here was a way out. "I can't be without Greg at the moment, so I'll keep it in mind for when I'm about to go on vacation. But you can do Jason."

Dave nodded again. "Well that's that, then. I'll do the `skinning and branding tomorrow - I've got some others coming in and it's more efficient to do them all tougher. Now, I think we're finished... Come on back to my quarters..."

We left Jason then, and it was piteous, really. His hands were stretched out through the bars, as if imploring me, and he was crying and shouting "Please don't leave me... Please..."

Dave did not seem to notice though and simply said conversationally "It's often like this. Your slave is acting as if it's a free man brought in for the fist time. They all cry and scream, fearing what's going to happen to them. But they all get over it. And they're all good slaves after it - and it is better for them, you know - getting to understand their status quickly, rather than agonising over it and even doing something stupid like running.... And passing. A lot of owners won't tolerate that, and have a runner gelded... So it's better to get them properly `broken' up front."

I nodded.

"I reckon you're lucky with that Greg - you've not had any problems?"

"No, he's a really good, obedient slave. In every way."

Dave slapped me on the back. "Yes, I can see that. A great ass on him. And nice big tits. I bet it's a real pleasure to grab them as you fuck him... You've obviously got him well trained - seeing how he was with the black girl I'd put him down as `straight' still. So being able to fuck him, specially as he's so obviously big and strong, shows true control. I like that in an owner."

Well, what could I say? There was no way I could tell Dave now that I didn't fuck Greg. So I simply mumbled "Quite so."

"Have you got to get back?" Dave then asked.

"Not particularly...."

"So how about a spot of lunch? They do a great roast on Sundays at the local pub."

I shuddered inwardly, as I know what these pub roast lunches can be like - grossly overcooked meat, not properly pink, and cut very thin; bullet-hard roast potatoes; and "three veg" all of which would be overcooked to a tasteless mush; and the whole covered in thick gelatinous "gravy" and topped with a mass-produced Yorkshire pudding even if the meat is not beef, and which is nothing like the real thing! But I'd taken a real liking to Dave and I was interested in his slave business, so I said "Sure - sounds good to me."

Greg got up to follow us, but Dave said "No slaves allowed in the pub - well, there's no absolute rule, but it's pretty much a place for working men, and taking a slave in isn't considered good form - they'll think you're showing off being able to afford one, and a lot of them are worried about losing their jobs to slaves anyway. It doesn't make for a good atmosphere."

"Oh he can wait outside...."

"No, he'd be spotted. Leave him here - you can collect him on the way back..."

"Oh I don't want him in one of those cages..."

"He can stay with Timmy in my quarters. They can watch a match on TV or something."

I saw Greg brighten as Dave said that, so I nodded to show my agreement, and we went out.

It really was a "proper" pub - nothing fancy, no tourists, no "gastro pub" nonsense with an elaborate menu and choice of wines - I saw one bottle of red and one of white behind the bar - no fancy decoration or anything. Just a long polished bar, some tables and chairs, a wooden floor, and that typical smell of slate beer in the air. Outside there was the usual huddle of men smoking, even though it was cold - the law was so rigorously enforced these days that no one dared to do it inside as the penalty was enslavement!

We went in and Dave seemed to be known as one of the "regulars". He told me the "local" bitter was the best, and I could see that this was not the place to order wine, or even a G & T! So I murmured "Sounds good to me", and Dave ordered two pints, looked at me and said "the dinner, too?" I wondered what he was saying for a moment then I remembered that in a place like this the lunch would be a "roast dinner" and I nodded, as I didn't want to look out of place.

There was a small bench along the wall behind one of the tables, and Dave went and sat on it. I was pulling out a chair opposite, when he motioned me to come and sit beside him, saying "you get a better view from this side", so I moved. It was quite small, and I found myself pressing against Dave as we sat there and took the first swig of our beer - I could feel the heat of his body as our thighs pressed close.

I'm not a beer drinker, and it was pretty much of a struggle to get it all down, but we exchanged the kind of inconsequential chat men do who are trying to get to know each other, or size each other up. A waitress - yes, a real one, not a slave - then plonked two large plates in front of us together with knives and forks wrapped in cheap paper serviettes. She exchanged a bit of banter with Dave, who was clearly a regular there I could see now, then looked questioningly.

"Another pint?" Dave asked - he'd downed his glass.

"Oh, yes. My shout...." I went to get up but Dave told the waitress to being us two more pints, and when she did I gave her a note and said "....keep the change."

"Don't do that!", he whispered afer she'd left us. Seeing my puzzled look he added "This is a pub, not some fancy restaurant up west. The blokes around here don't have money to waste on tips. Do you want to look like some rich tourist?"

I realised I'd made a mistake, and just nodded and looked sorry. I'd always thought that I was always socially at ease and perfectly correct, but with Dave in these unfamiliar surroundings things were subtly "off".

The food was as dreadful as I thought it was going to be, but I had to pretend to enjoy it as Dave kept on about how good it was that they still had a "proper" pub in the neighbourhood. "I come here every Sunday - a lot of local blokes do - as they also put on a good stripper", he told me.

I managed to eat most of the food and was hoping that we'd go then, but Dave signalled the waitress over and ordered a third pint for each of us. We drank that a lot more slowly, exchanging more information as you do as you get to know someone - and as the alcohol took hold. Then there was a blare of music and a lot of cheering and shouting from the other men.

In the old movies when there's a stripper it always seemed to take a long time and the girl was always left with panties on. But in our more liberal times she came on wearing only panties, then gyrated around the room to the overly-loud music, letting any of the men who wanted to fondle her breasts briefly! She came over towards us but somehow sensing my unease Dave gave the tiniest shake of his head and she moved on.

The panties were off after a couple of minutes, and she repeated her circuit of the room and now not only did some of the men fondle her breasts, the bolder (or drunker?) ones reached out to stroke between her legs!

Dave whispered to me "A bit different from when I was a lad! Then it was breasts only. But these strippers have a tough time now as the pub could simply get a slave in."

I was going to ask why she would do it anyway when the music stopped and the pub landlord (I suppose it was he who was in charge) used a microphone to ask for a volunteer. And then when nothing seemed to happen, he offered a hundred to anyone who would come forward. Dave joined in the shouting and laughter when a young bloke who was with a group of his mates who seemed to be half drunk was suddenly pushed forward. More cheering and applause, and the music started again but now most of the men in the place were quiet.

Dave put hi arm around my shoulders again to make us more comfortable on the small bench and he was leaning forward in anticipation. The stripper was winding herself all around the young guy now, and he seemed to be enjoying it, laughing and swaying in time to the music. Then, to my utter astonishment, she undid the belt of his jeans and pulled them down to his knees! He stood there in a T shirt and skin-tight boxers as his mates now all cheered, and even I could see he was excited as there was a really distinct bulge in the front.

The guy himself pushed his boxers down! It was so quick that I barely registered seeing his erect cock rear upwards as it cleared the waistband. But then he had his back to us as he was facing his mates, and we were given the view of his nice tight ass - pure white of course - with the hem of the T kind of perched on top of it where it flared out. His mates were really cheering now and were chanting "Do it... Do it.... Do it...."

I was glad we were sitting where we were as he pushed the stripper towards the table like ours but on the other side of the room, then roughly pushed her down onto her back on to it. She didn't seem to be resisting, but he appeared powerful and strong and I wondered what sort of job he did these days to be like that, as so much manual labour is done by slaves. And then of course he began to fuck her, to continuing shouting and cheering from the whole place.

Look, I've seen men fucking women before of course, and it's not particularly interesting. But this young bloke doing it so casually in front of his mates and a room full of other people was something else! I could feel my cock straining against my slacks, and I began to sweat hard. Dave was affected too, as he pulled me closer and I could feel the throb of his muscles against mine through our clothes as he shouted and cheered. It was over very quickly - then the bloke pulled out and quickly pulled his boxers up, stuffing his still hard cock into them, followed by his jeans. He went over to his mates and there was a lot more laughing and "high fives" as the landlord came over and handed him the hundred, which he promptly handed back - I sensed he was saying there were free drinks for his mates for the rest of the afternoon.

"Fucking hell", Dave said. He looked at me and I could see he was looking at the bulge in my slacks - one which matched the bulge in his, I noted. "You don't see that in fancy restaurants around your way, I bet."

Before I could say anything he added "But that young bloke needs to watch it! Nice bum on him, and a good cock. And he clearly knows what he's doing. If there's a slaver's scout in here he could be in big trouble! Those bastards are always on the look out for someone like him to `take' and illegally enslave. It gives the whole trade a bad name."

"So he's a free man? I assumed those men had brought a slave with them."

"What would be the point of that? You can see slaves fucking slaves any time. No, that's the whole point, why this place is jammed full on Sundays. It's a free man fucking a whore, voluntarily, in public... Pretty erotic, I reckon." He glanced down again and saw me seeing him do it. He smiled "...and I reckon you think so, too!"

We had to have another pint then of course so that we had evened up the spend, and this time I did not tip the waitress. Although Dave refused to let me buy "the dinner" as he said kind of laughingly it would appear on my bill anyway hidden somewhere. So by the time we left the pub I was really almost drunk - I really am not used to beer, especially four pints! And of course I'd had to go out to the gents to piss a lot of it out, and Dave accompanied me. And like so many cheap places there were none of those "modesty panels" between the stalls - in fact there were no stalls at all, just a long trough along one wall.

I saw Dave looking down at my cock as we stood there pissing, which is fair enough, I suppose. All men do if they have a chance, and here it was all open. And anyway I was doing the same to him.

END OF PART SIX