Steve Grows Up

Steve Grows Up

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownsetoticstries

Part 8

The blow fell about six weeks later. Cliff had recovered from the pain of his 'skinning and branding - he hadn't gone back to school of course as he was now a mature male slave, and so was helping out around the forge, and spending a lot of time working the vegetable garden as mom and Kate were quite far gone in their pregnancies and were finding it difficult to do all the bending and such like. We'd never really got on before and I've told you about how he was always laughing at things I did and making snide remarks - well, I did feel sorry for him as I knew what he must be going through, so one night, instead of going down to the slave barn for a bit of relaxation, I went instead to his narrow room in the forge.

It was really good, after we got talking properly. I told him how I'd felt when all this stuff was done to me, and I think it really helped him come to terms with what had happened to him and how his future was likely to shape up. He grinned, and said "Well it didn't work out so bad for you, Steve - you've got Kate every night, and now my brand's healed I've got to go and let all the girls know I'm available again...."

I had to tell him then that he'd been used by his class mates, just as I had, and that he wouldn't be seeing any of them again. And I explained about Kate, and how I was forced to fuck her or be caned, and he fell silent. "Still, Cliff, it will be OK for you, as you like fucking women. Once the Colonel has bought a mate for you, you'll be well away..." I said, slapping him on the back as we sat there.

"But will I still have to fuck with you and dad, Steve?"

"Well I guess so - the Colonel likes to entertain his friends, as you've already seen...."

He seemed strangely silent, so I asked him what was wrong. And he sat there, his head down, and told me that it hurt, that he didn't like taking dick, and that it wasn't right... I put my arm around his shoulders, just as dad did to me when he wanted to be serious and tell me something, and said "Cliff, you've got to face it - if the Colonel orders me or dad to fuck you, we will. And if he orders you to fuck dad or me, you'd better do it. And there's nothing wrong with it really - it's a whole lot of fun, or it can be, if you stop worrying about it and just relax and enjoy it! It's perfectly natural for two guys to fuck each other, after all. Fucking women is just to breed, but fucking a guy is... is.... well, kind of special. You know how the other guy feels, what he's experiencing, what turns him on....

To emphasise the point I slipped my hand up his T and started to gently tease his nips, as that's a real turn on for me, and as he responded as I did, I used my other hand to feel his dick through his jeans, and as I expected, it was rock solid. It didn't take much effort to move on from there to getting him naked, and even though he protested a bit and tried to make me take my hands off him, I smoothly and effortlessly started to fuck him. Afterwards as we lay close together on the narrow cot, covered in sweat and wit the smell of our sex coming up at us as the thin blanket covered us, he was grinning and muttered "Wow! You're right, Steve - that was pretty fantastic."

His fingers were playing around on my hard belly, then they began to slip down, but instead of stopping at my dick he was probing around my ass. "Hey, Cliff, what are you doing?"

"I'm getting you ready, Steve - stretching you a bit, so I can fuck you..."

"No way, little brother! I don't take dick..."

"...unless the Colonel orders it, presumably? What happens if next week he tells dad to fuck you, or me to fuck you, or us both to fuck you?

"Well that's different. We've got no choice, as dad and I have explained."

"So I want to practice, Steve...."

Well, I was in a good mood, and so I let him carry on and it was kind of interesting to see my little brother's face changing expression so much as he knelt between my legs and looked down at me as I lay there on my back and took his dick up me.

Anyway, we started to get on well - I took him and introduced him to Sam and Dob and he other guys, and on nights when we didn't want to walk there and back, we'd just get together in the forge. I was actually beginning to enjoy life a bit more, especially as with Kate pregnant I could have sex without first having to service her, but then, as I said, the blow fell.

The Colonel had ordered all three of us up to the big house, and we stood there in the tiny tunics outside his door, expecting that we were going to have sex, I suppose. But when we were lined up in front of him and had pulled our tunics off, the Colonel walked up and down in front and behind us, occasionally stopping and playing with a nip, or feeling a dick, or running his fingers over our butts. Finally he stood there and addressed us.

"I bought the blacksmith with the intention of breeding slaves, as you know". His voice was sort of matter-of-fact, and he continued "Whiteys like you three, especially tall, well muscled handsome ones, are worth a lot of money, and fetch a premium price in the market. There isn't enough work at the forge for three of you, and it would be a waste to use an expensive whitey for routine wok on the plantation that can perfectly well be done by niggas. So I'm going to start realising some of my investment in you, and I've decided to sell one of you. The problem is, which one? I thought that if I inspected you today it would be easy to decide, but it isn't."

He paused, and went on "The blacksmith would be one possibility, but he's still in excellent condition and his breeding ability is undiminished. Steve has blossomed out into an excellent piece of man flesh, and I'm pleased with the way that he's proving very fertile - albeit after some initial encouragement. And Cliff there holds out great promise - he's still got that freshness of youth, but promises to grow into another fine specimen like Steve. So I find it hard to make a choice. But one of you has to go, as there's a succession of other siblings coming along - especially if Steve's progeny are taken into account."

Another long pause, and he added "Normally an owner would just decide this and that would be that, but I'm finding it very difficult. So you can choose for yourselves - a slave transporter will be a t the forge tomorrow, and one of you will go on it to the auctioneers. Choose for yourselves which one."

He made a gesture of dismissal then, and all three of us pulled out tunics back on, and walked out. On the way back home, dad was silent but suddenly burst out with "Look after your mom, you boys... She'll be terribly upset tomorrow...."

"No dad!", both Cliff and I burst out. "You can't go - mom would be destroyed. And what about the little ones?"

Dad was determined, though, and argued and argued, until I said firmly "Well, dad, if you do go, I don't suppose it will be a problem for mom for long - without you to service her, I expect the Colonel will sell her on, too: after all, Kate can bring up the little ones. Unless he decided to keep her, that is.... I don't suppose he'd really make Cliff or me mate with her, but it's a possibility..."

I thought dad was going to hit me for even suggesting such a thing, but I could see it had got him thinking. Then he looked worried, and kind of mumbled "We've got to think of your mom, guys.... I think Steve's right - and either of those alternatives would be pretty terrible...."

"Right, dad", Cliff broke in. "So you're not going. So it had better be me."

It was m turn to protest then. "No, Cliff. You're too young. You're only just sixteen, and not fully grown! I've heard terrible stories about men buying young kids like you... Some of the things they'd do to a young kid they wouldn't try with me, so I'll go."

Cliff did exactly what I'd done with dad, two years ago. He burst out "I'm not a kid, Steve! I'm a man - I've got the 'S' to prove it! Don't call me a kid, Steve - I'm just as much a man as you are - you know that... Think about the other night...."

There was only one way to end this , so I said "Dad, tell Cliff to shut up, will you? I'm going - it's the only way out for me. You know I hat fucking Kate, and I can't bear the thought of having to do it over and over again, for years to come, breeding new slaves for the Colonel. It's OK for you and mom as you love her, dad.... But it's not like that for me, dad, you know that - you're not going to condemn me to that, for years to come, are you? Let me go dad, and then the Colonel can sell Kate, too, and you can all be a family together again as you used to be."

"But what about your son, Steve, and the one on the way?"

"Look after them dad, you and mom, as if they were your own... I can't really feel anything for them, I hate Kate so much..." Well, we talked on and on, but I knew I'd won.

It was really terrible the next morning as I ate my last breakfast at home, and I told mom and dad that it would be better if I went to the end of the lane and met the slave transporter there, so the little ones wouldn't be disturbed and worried. As mom hugged me, she was crying, and whispered in my ear "You're a good son, Steve! Thank you for making your father see sense, and keeping him here with us... I hate losing you, but I don't know if I could have survived without him...."

"Mom, stop it! You're making me cry now, too... All young men have to leave home sooner or later, mom - if I'd gone to college, I'd have been off now.... Think of it like that..."

Dad came with me down the lane, and Cliff wanted to come, too, but dad and I both told him to stay behind and look after mom. There was a kind of awkward silence as dad and I stood there waiting, until he finally said "I guess this is goodbye, son - it's unlikely that we'll ever meet again. They'll sell you, and you'll go off to a new owner somewhere - and it's not like we've got a phone or anything, so we'll never even know where you've gone, and you won't be able to tell us...."

"Yes, dad, I guess it is goodbye..."

"Steve, I'm sorry..."

"Dad?"

"Sorry for being so fucking stupid when I was young. Then I wouldn't have been enslaved, and you wouldn't be going off to be sold, like an animal... I'm sorry, son, I wish...."

"Dad, it's not your fault - it's the system! Enslaving people isn't right, dad, is it? I wish I could get to Canada... I'll run for it....."

"Steve, don't! Remember what I told you about the microchip. And what they do to escaped slaves.... I'm sorry, son, but that's it, you're going to be sold as I was so fucking stupid..."

"Dad, it's OK. You brought me up right, dad, you and mom.... And if you hadn't been enslaved, you might never have known her..."

I guess we could have said more, much more, but at that moment we saw the salve transporter making its way toward us, and dad and I hugged each other, quite spontaneously, and stayed like that until it stopped.

"You're really a man now, Steve", dad said, choking back the tears. "Toy always thought you were with the 'S' on you, but a man really only grows up finally when he leaves home and makes his own way in the world. I didn't want it like this.... But I'm proud of you, Steve: you're a real man, a grown up who's going to make his own way now...

I could just see through the slats in the side the faces of other slaves peeping out, and the big legend on the side that said "Caution - live slaves in transit". That sent a shudder through me as I wondered why they ever transported dead slaves. The driver got out, and said "One slave to be collected from the Colonel's estate?" And thrust some papers towards dad, on a clipboard, for signature.

"This one, sir", dad said politely, pointing at me, and the driver at once realised his mistake. "You're a fucking slave too then, are you, boy? I've heard tell of some whiteys around here!"

"Sir, yes, sir." Dad replied, almost unconsciously falling into the "slave rest" position, with his head bowed. The driver looked at me and snapped "Strip, boy! We carry slaves bare-assed." He turned to dad and went on "And you, boy - take these clothes back to your owner - they're too valuable to be left here."

I hopped around pulling off my boots and jeans, then my T and boxers, and stood there feeling the breeze on my bare skin. The driver looked at me appreciatively, and muttered to himself "Some man's going to have some fun with this one - I wish I could afford it, as it looks as if there's a whole lot of pleasure to be had from that ass!"

Dad couldn't restrain himself. He threw his arms around me for one last hug, and I felt the tears welling up inside me. His jeans were stiff against my bare dick as we clung together, but the driver broke us up by a hearty slap to my bare butt. He unlocked the rear of the truck, and motioned me to climb in.

It was quite exciting, actually, as I'd never travelled very far before and I must have been inside that truck for a couple of hours as we sped along the highway - like all the niggas I had my face pressed to the open slats in the side so that I could see what was happening, and I suppose the Colonel had decided to send me to the city for sale, as you need a "premium" kind of slave dealers, not one of the local ones, if you're going to get the best price for a slave like me. I wasn't used to seeing all the traffic, of course, as in our small town there wasn't very much, and as we sped through the suburbs I was amazed at how the trucks, automobiles, motorbikes, and other powered stuff threaded in and out of the drays, traps and pedalos with their slaves pulling them - it looked really dangerous to have such mismatched traffic on the streets; but then, I suppose that if you're a transport slave in the city, you get used to it.

When the truck slowed I saw that we were turning in to an alley running down the side of a huge, glossy building that proclaimed itself to be "Scabbard & Brass, Inc. International dealers In Fine Slaves." We all just stood there then for quite a long time until the rear door was opened and we were herded out to stand there - males and females both, of course, and I found this really distressing as although I had had to appear naked in front of a lot of men since I was sixteen, in our rather conservative town male and female slaves were never mixed publicly naked like this. It's not that they particularly excited me - indeed, there was a rather good looking guy who'd been standing next to me in the truck and who I might have got somewhere with if our journey had been longer - but somehow it seemed another level of degradation to make men mix with the women like this.

It started to rain but they still kept us there as they went through all their paperwork and stuff, and I have told you already that - rain's always cold, and it's really unpleasant on the bare skin. Some of the men used it as an excuse to go and wrap themselves around the females, which caused a lot of laughter from the guards who said that "niggas just couldn't resist trying to use their dicks". I wondered if I should try to get close to the guy I liked, but just then a guard grabbed me by the arm and pulled me out of the group. "This one's easy, at least!", he chortled to his colleague. "Easy to pick him out, isn't it? I wonder what he did to get enslaved - he must have been a really wild kid as it says here he's only eighteen. Still, I blame the parents for not keeping control of them."

Well, I blamed my parents too, I suppose, but not in the way he meant. "We'd best just check, though", he went on, and they held a small instrument close to my shoulders - it felt cold, and I flinched involuntarily. The men consulted their clipboard and said "OK, his chip responds properly with the right number. This is the one. Tag him."

I felt utterly humiliated. They were treating me just as if I was a package, reading my code - I mean, they could have just asked me if I was the slave Steve, couldn't they? But then I suppose they needed to verify that my chip was working, so it probably saved time later. The "tag" was gross, though - it was like one of those luggage labels you see on suitcases, about three inches by an inch, in metal. It was numbered in big numbers, and one guard handed it to the other who promptly grabbed hold of my left nip and began to pull at it. I'm so sensitive there, as I've told you, and I instinctively jerked backwards, and the guard was really pissed off and snapped "Stand still, boy, if you don't want a taste of the slave prod."

Well I knew what the prod could do to you of course, as occasionally they used it on new niggas on the plantation, but with my background it had never been used on me before as I was considered to be well behaved, and the cane was the worst I ever received. So I didn't want to experience it now, as I could tell from seeing the niggas writhing around that it must be fucking awful. So I gritted my teeth as he pulled and twisted at my nip, and then when it was stretched and erect, the fucking tag was attached to it with a screw clip. It hurt, I can tell you, and my face was grimacing with pain. "Now boy, be careful!", the guard told me. "Don't mess with that tag. If you lose it, it's the prod, understand?"

"Yes, sir", I muttered, and he smiled. "Perhaps you're not such a bad kid after all..."

"Sir, I'm not a kid. I'm eighteen. I've been a slave for two years, and have even sired kids for my owner..."

He looked a bit surprised, and said "So you were a bred slave, were you?"

"Yes, sir. But 'family reared', I think they call it. Mom and dad were 'wild', but..."

"I don't care! You'd better learn to keep silent unless you're questioned, as some folk don't like slaves who show any signs of being uppity! Now, in through that door, so we can start procession you."

I turned to walk away, and he slapped my butt with his hand in dismissal - I was to find that a lot of the guards at the dealers did this - just the light slap on my bare ass, as if they were demonstrating that they were in charge. Which they were, of course. But as I walked across the yard it wasn't just my dick that was bobbing up and down - the metal tag banged against my chest, and sent little shivers of sensation through me as it hung down from my nip.

Scabbard and Drass were totally thorough - they claimed to offer a premium service for the discerning buyer of "fine slaves" and were not active in the mass market for field slaves, factory workers, and so on. All of those of us in their facility were destined to be "special purpose" slaves, such as ponies, masseurs, butlers, chamber maids, or fit for other similar tasks that the rich slave owner needed performing around his demesne - and there was of course the obvious implication that such slaves would of course also service their owners sexually if required. From the first moment I arrived, therefore, I was subject to an intensive programme of "tests" to ensure I was fit for the purpose.

The first three days, like all new arrivals, I was in the "quarantine" area whilst blood, urine and semen samples were taken for analysis to verify that I wasn't suffering from any communicable disease. My teeth were examined - mine were in excellent condition because of my good diet - and I was X-rayed to make sure there was no TB or other lung disease. Electrocardiograms assured my heart was in good condition, and then, when all these medical tests showed that I was indeed the superb physical specimen that I appeared to be, I could be moved out of the quarantine area and into the mainstream of their selling activities.

I'd spent those first three days bathed in artificial sunlight so that my pale white butt and thighs were already starting to go a darker shade, but photographs were needed for the firm's on-line catalogue of merchandise. So after they'd trimmed my hair to a crisp perfection and re-shaved my balls and restyled my pubic hair to a "slave minimum", a make-up artist toned my skin to an even colour for the photographs. I expect you've seen the sort of thing - almost all the dealers adopt the same set of poses: full front, full back with the slave making a big "X" with his body; sideways, erect and flaccid; and then close-ups of the face and profile, of the genitals, and of any other parts likely to be of particular interest to buyers: in my case, of course, as a well-muscled male these included the butt, flexed biceps, pecs, belly braced to show my six pack, and so on. Scabbard and Drass were very exclusive dealers, and there was no "public viewing", as prospective purchasers were expected to review these shots and then make an appointment to view stock that seemed to fulfil their needs.

Finally, then, there were the "performance tests". At first these seemed easy - how fast could I run, what weights could I press, what was my "endurance" - all standard tests done on the exercise machines and the results carefully noted for the catalogue. But then they started to asses my ability for sex, and although I did well when presented with a nice butt to fuck and showed that I was fully experienced in using the test nigga in various ways, it was pretty disastrous when they wanted to see how well I'd take dick: you know I hate that, but of course there in the Scabbard and Drass test facility I had no choice, especially as their guards stood watching, their prods at the ready.

But it was noted that I cried out unnecessarily, and not with pleasure and joy, and was deemed a "failure".

When we then went on to the tests to determine my skills with women I expected to do well, but in fact was marked down disastrously - I'd been used to fucking, and had sired children, as you know. But my skills at exciting the female slave with foreplay to her nipples and so on were non-existent as I'd never done this, being a straight "fuck" kind of guy. And when they saw the look of distaste on my face when I was told to pleasure her with my tongue, it was concluded that my particulars should carry the words "Satisfactory for stud, but would require extensive training if to be used for pleasuring a lady owner".

So then there I was - I was moved to the "ready for sale" section, and waited. Or, rather, I didn't just "wait" - Scabbard and Drass believed that top prices were only paid for slaves in first class condition, so those of us in the sale pens spent most of the day on the exercise machines. And we were only allowed sexual relief on a very limited schedule - those males who were destined to be sold as pleasure slaves for women owners were put with the female slaves (who were always expected to be sold to males and used sexually) once every two days. It was not considered necessary for those of us who were to be sold for use by males to be allowed to go with other men at all during this time (which was a pity, as there were several guys there who I thought would be fun to fuck), as we could just jerk off. But because it was known that fit healthy youngish slaves like we mostly were would jerk off more frequently, and this was considered to be a "bad thing" as we should normally display in a state of sexual interest, we were fitted with chastity cages that were only taken off for our permitted jerk-off sessions: a perforated metal sheath was slid over my dick and held in place by a lockable ring around the top of my sac. It was uncomfortable to have this extra weight as my dick flopped around during exercise, but the sheath was big enough so that I could erect without pain - it's just that I couldn't jerk off when it was on. All of us tried to get a little pleasure by poking our fingers up the end and teasing our piss slits, but this is almost as frustrating as going without sex at all, as it takes so long to get an effect. And it was so unfair, too: it was only us guys who were like this, as when they were not being fucked by the male salves, the females could just lie there on their cots and pleasure themselves as much as they liked. It made it worse, actually: once they'd turned the lights out in our block, to lie there in frustration listening to the sighs and moans of the females as they enjoyed themselves.

I suppose it was a fairly relaxed regime, as we were only locked in our individual cages at night and the rest of the time we were kind of "together", in the showers, in the exercise room, and so on - not that you normally had much breath available for talking, as it was pretty strenuous. I did get over my natural shyness at being naked in front of women, though, as the cage area and showers were not segregated. Up until now of course I'd led a normal "family" life, and I've told you that even dad did not go naked around the house, and certainly mom and my sisters did not! So I suppose this idea of communal living was a good thing in preparing me for what might be ahead in my working life.

The only change then from the routine of exercising and sleeping was when we were going to be viewed. Viewing hours were from ten in the morning until noon, then from two until five in the afternoons, except on Wednesdays when there was an additional "late night" viewing session from seven until eight. Scabbard and Drass was closed on Saturday afternoons and Sundays, too, as it was assumed that folk purchasing expensive slaves as we were could always find the time during the week if contemplating a purchase of this magnitude. During viewing hours the guards would come and take a slave from the cages or exercise room off to the showrooms, and often they did not return - frequently the buyers bought on the pictures and information on Scabbard and Drass's site, and of course on their reputation for fair dealing and honest representation of the merchandise, so the "viewing" was more of a formality and was just a final check before signing contracts and taking the slave away. But there clearly were times when a prospective buyer had asked to see two or even three potential purchases, so there was a reasonable traffic to and from the showrooms.

I suppose I'd been there a couple of weeks - it's hard to keep track of the days when you're in a cage, naked, with nothing to write with or anything, when my turn came to be sent up to the showroom. I was exercising on the running machine - a fearsome thing, surrounded by electrified prods to keep me on track and ensuring my pace did not slacken - and I was soaked in sweat as this was an endurance exercise: I wasn't required to run fast, but I did have about fifty pounds in a rucksack on my back. I was therefore taken to be "prepared for show", and as you might expect this included a re-shave of my balls and ass to ensure I was totally smooth, thorough cleaning out with four changes of water in the enema, and a long shower and brief sauna to really clean my skin. There was a lot of fussing about as I was made to keep my mouth open so they could floss my teeth, they cleaned out my ears with a cotton "bud", and probed my navel, too, in case there should be any "lint" lurking in there - I hated it, as all these things are so personal, and it's not the sort of thing one guy should do to another. My penis sheath was taken off, I was given a light rubbing of slave oil all over to make my pelt really shine, and then, rather surprisingly, I was told to dress! It seems that a male slave's big, strong bodies like mine showed better if the purchasers first saw them clothed, and so I was first given a minuscule silk triangle "posing pouch" (whose string was very irritating to my ass where it went up my crack!), and then a tiny pair of very sheer white silk shorts that were very low cut to emphasise the length of my body and to display my belly to its best advantage, and extremely brief to display the power and strength of my thighs.

The salesman came to collect me then - a very clean-cut "preppy" guy in his early thirties, I think, in a sharply cut suit, immaculate shirt and lavish silk tie. He looked at me very carefully, and said quietly "Now, boy, this is your first time, I think. So I want you to be on your best behaviour - just do exactly as you're told, and there'll be no problems. But at the slightest sign of disobedience or trouble I'll prod you - and that's not good, if you want to secure a sale for yourself. And I assume you do want to get sold here, as a potential owner who bothers to come in having seen your details on our site is probably going to be a good one. We only keep you here a month or so as we like to have fresh stock, and if you get a reputation for 'trouble' and then get 'remaindered' and sold to another dealer, you might not find such a good owner in future. So behave, and you'll stand a good chance of coming out of it well."

He led me off then from the preparation area to the sales floor, and across the elegant reception space to one of a series of rooms bearing simple numbers. Inside there was a woman waiting - a small, blond woman who was probably in her forties, I would guess. She was dressed in an expensive looking designer dress, had lots of gold bangles and necklaces, a big leather handbag, and her tiny feet were in pointed shoes with incredibly high heels. She was sitting in an easy chair by a coffee table, on which there sat what looked like a martini as it had an olive in it, and cigarette smoke curled up from the cigarette that she was smoking through a long holder.

The salesman at once said "Mrs Fairbrother, I do apologise for the delay...."

"Oh not at all. The traffic was light and the chauffeur made good time, so I was early... And the slaves here are so well trained: this is one of the best cocktails I've had for a long time: if I don't buy this slave, I must make you an offer for the boy who mixed this."

She and the salesman both laughed, and she went on "But he is certainly a handsome specimen now I see him. I thought he had a nice smile when my butler showed me the pictures as he thought the slave would interest me - but in the flesh, he's even better!"

She got up from the chair and came over to where I was standing. The salesman at once ordered me to the "display" position we'd been taught - legs slightly apart, hands clasped behind my neck so that my chest was thrust out, my belly sucked back - and I stood there looking at her. Now it's wrong, I know, as we'd also been taught that you shouldn't look at the prospective purchaser but should keep your eyes cast respectfully down, but as this diminutive woman, who was old enough to be my mother, advanced on me I just couldn't help staring at her.

Her thin fingers with their long nails, painted deep scarlet so they were almost like talons, ran lightly right down my chest, across my navel, and came to a halt resting on the top of my shorts.

"He's got nice skin", she observed somewhat unnecessarily to the salesman. "But I'm not sure I like this little trail of hair down here in his belly..."

"Oh that's easily removed, ma'am. It can just be shaved off, or we can have it permanently eradicated by electrolysis. But what kind of work were you planning for the slave, if I might ask? It's becoming very fashionable to have gardeners, pool boys and other outdoor slaves now rather more hirsute..."

"Oh no, this one would be strictly indoors. I'm looking for a bath slave for my boudoir, one capable of performing all those little intimate services that a lady on her own requires..."

I thought I saw the salesman blink in surprise! After all, she was so much older than me, and so much smaller and shorter. But the woman went on "Is he trained to properly please a lady?"

The salesman was lying, of course - and evidently the woman had not read the small print in my description where it had said that I would be all right for stud but not for pleasure with a woman! But the words tripped off his tongue: "Oh yes, ma'am... All our slaves go through the training. And of course, ma'am, if he's to be used for pleasure, rather than breeding, we can arrange for him to be vasectomised. Most of our clients prefer that, as it means that when they choose to use the slave there's no annoying delay and unpleasantness whilst condoms are fetched..."

"Quite. He's very satisfactory from the front, but I do like my pleasure slaves to have really nice, tight rear ends..... Command the slave to turn around."

I hated this. Being talked about as if I wasn't there. And having her tell him to have me turn around, as if I was incapable of doing anything for myself. This sounded serious, too - the thought of fucking this woman made my insides churn!

The salesman snapped at me to rotate, so I did so, keeping my hands on my neck. I knew this would show off my shoulders to good advantage, and my classic "V" shaped back.

"No, I need to see his butt properly!", the woman sounded a little impatient, and the next instant the salesman simply reached around me and yanked the tiny silk shorts to the floor. Now it's one thing to undress in front of a lady - humiliating though that is - but quite another level of degradation to be stripped like that. I felt myself starting to blush, especially when the talons scraped across my butt muscles, and then rested lightly on the top of my crack. She moved her other hand around to rest on my belly, and it felt hot and unpleasant, and she observed to the salesman that there was no fat on me at all. I felt somehow controlled like that - I mean, I could have hit both of them and knocked them down easily, but with her hands resting lightly on my belly and butt, it was as if I was already falling into her clutches.

"Very nice!", she was saying. "My current slave is a nigga, but I've just got the divorce settlement from my fourth husband so I've decided to treat myself to a nice piece of white flesh for a change.

The salesman coughed politely and said "Forgive me for asking, ma'am, but aren't you just a little concerned about having a very large, strong slave like this for personal services? We do tend to find that refined ladies such as yourself usually go for very young, slim slaves..."

"Oh no, I have no problem on that score! I'll do the same with this one as I do with my current nigga - I have a hobbling set fixed to him: nice strong ankle cuffs and a very short chain connecting them, and then a belt around his middle - which is why it's so important to have a good strong butt so there's no possibility of it falling off - to which his wrist cuffs can be attached, when they're not attached to his collar, that is! I keep the slave locked in a cage in my boudoir until I want to use him, then my butler reaches in and attaches his handcuffs to either the belt, or the collar, depending on how I'm feeling and how he's to perform. Then, when he's let out, he's pretty helpless as he can't move his arms and can only move in very short steps. Of course it's a problem as far as muscle tone is concerned - even though I'll keep him almost starved, being locked in a tiny cage for most of the twenty four hours means that his muscles go very quickly, but he should be good for about six months, I suppose. The current nigga's lasted a couple of years, as when I go on vacation I send him off to a specialist slave exerciser who soon licks him back into shape again - although I don't always like the way that the whip marks are left when they return him. Still, it's worth it, to get some good musculature back, I suppose."

She had me rotate again so I was facing her again, and by now I was devastated. I mean, being kept in a cage, shackled, a plaything for this hag....

"He doesn't look very happy", she remarked to the salesman, who smoothly answered "Oh, he's had an excellent record so far, but a change of owner is always unsettling for a slave. I'm sure that once he's got used to his new home...."

"Quite so." She was staring at the tiny silk triangle that was covering my dick and balls as she spoke, and looking at the salesman said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, "I'm inclined to take this slave, even though he is a little dark - still, caged up in my boudoir, completely out of the sun, I'm sure he'll revert to a nice pale white within a few months.

But perhaps I had better just look at the important parts... After all, that's why, primarily, I'm buying him."

If I hadn't seen the salesman's other hand resting on the hilt of his slave prod I think I'd have protested or tried to stop him or something as he quickly undid the tiny bow holding the string around my waist, then yanked the triangle off me so I was there completely naked. He reached down and teased my dick away from my balls, and I saw the woman looking at them intently.

"My, he is big, isn't he?" She commented, and her thin fingers reached out and wrapped themselves around my dick. I shuffled uneasily and stated to blush furiously, and the salesman said "He was family reared, ma'am, so he's perhaps not as used to being handled as a slave would normally be."

"Oh, I think it's quite charming.... He's nineteen, I believe? Such a good age for a young man to be - really at the height of his powers sexually, but somehow so vulnerable and inexperienced still..."

"Oh no, ma'am, he's sired two children already. Not inexperienced."

Her fingers were teasing my balls now, and I was almost squirming with anxiety, as it's so easy to hurt a guy doing things like that, as we all know. "Of course these will get even bigger after a vasectomy..", she mused. "And I suppose it's got to be done. But it will detract from his value, I suppose, as he'll be no good for studding, and I do like to breed from my maids."

"There's always the new device, madam - the tiny stainless steel disk with a long pin on it: that sounds as if it might be ideal for this slave, especially if he's caged: every morning your butler can wait until he's urinated, then slips the pin right down his urethra and glue the disk to the tip of his penis with superglue. He's all ready for use then - you won't detect the disk on the head of the penis as it's relatively small, and he can pleasure you for hours and hours: the slave soon learns that it can be quite painful to ejaculate, as there's nowhere for his semen to go! Then, when you've finished with him your butler or a maid can use a solvent to unstick the disk and pull it out from him. That way he's always ready for you, and yet there's none of the unpleasantness of condoms, and, many of our more discerning lady clients tell us that it's much preferable to having a young buck like this spraying semen everywhere even if he is vasectomised."

"But doesn't it hurt the slave?"

"Oh no, not really. The tip of the penis gets very inflamed and raw and sore from the gluing and unsticking, but it's covered with the disk when "in use", so to speak, so it's not at all unsightly. And that's a positive advantage - if the slave isn't going to be 'stuck' that day, there's less likelihood of him bringing himself to climax, as his penis head is so sore. That way he's more ready for performing his proper duties when you need him, ma'am. Of course you have to carefully control his fluid intake as he can't urinate with the device in place, but as you're keeping him mostly caged, that should be no problem."

I saw the woman nodding, and thought I was going to do something ,anything, to stop this! I couldn't bear the thought of just being converted into some almost emasculated pleasure thing like this. Caged up all day, some vile thing stuck down my dick, having to fuck this hag.... But she was beginning to stroke my dick now, and in spite of my rage and shame and embarrassment, you can I am sure guess what happened!

She continued to finger my dick and my erection was so hard that it was almost painful. She began to look doubtful, and the salesman asked "Is there something wrong, ma'am?"

"No... I was very impressed with the slave's genitals when they were first revealed, but now he's aroused he really is very big indeed.... I'm wondering if he isn't just a little too big...."

The salesman came over close to us now and slid his fingers along my shaft, remarking "Well, ma'am, you do need to remember that his is fully mature. Some of the younger sixteen year olds we sell he do grow a little, but this one has a mature penis now...."

I couldn't help it. In spite of the embarrassment, I felt myself responding to the fingers that were working my dick. That familiar tightness began in my balls, and I tried to warn them, but only got an "Oh yes....." out, as I sprayed a huge load of cum - I hadn't been allowed to jerk off that morning, so I was completely primed, and a very large volume of ejaculate was produced!

The woman screamed, as all down the front of her immaculate dress was a thick, white trail of my cum.

"Get this disgusting animal out of here!", she screamed at the salesman. "This is a designer model dress, and it is ruined. You'll have to pay for it. And how dare you sell wild, untrained animals like this...."

The salesman looked flustered and then pressed the "panic" button on the wall. Within seconds guards rushed in and dragged me back to my holding cage, and the last thing I saw was the salesman trying to calm his irate prospect.

They caned me, of course. Even I could see that my behaviour was not acceptable. But as I lay there on my belly, my ass throbbing, at least I thought I was safe for the time being. Surely no new prospective owner could be as bad as that!

End Of Part Eight.