Texas Slave Market

This is a Gay, Authoritarian story, you can use my email address, and I accept the nifty.org terms. I encourage everyone that reads and enjoys this story to consider supporting Nifty.org to support the archivist and keep the archive online. You can learn more here: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

As a note to the reader, while characters in this story are over eighteen, the narrative contains descriptions of bondage, oral and anal sex, body modification, and various forms of domination and submission. If any of these acts offend you or are illegal to read where you reside, please move on. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Texas Slave Market

Prologue

In the distant future, science and technology have advanced, but society has not. While urban areas have become more congested and decadent, rural ones have remained sparsely populated, and the law is strictly maintained.

As the demand for agricultural goods increased, the need for more laborers necessitated a return to slavery. But, instead of the enforced bondage of native peoples, as in the past, criminals, vagabonds, and even volunteers were selected from both regions to be sold and used.

Soon manual labor was not the only thing these slaves were needed for, and new public and private markets sprung up to meet those needs, however perverse.

Chapter 1

Burt stepped out of his truck, and as his boots hit the ground, a cloud of dust drifted up into the hot, stale air. It was another oppressive day in South Texas, and the man's t-shirt was soaked with sweat and permeated with musk. The white cloth was transparent now, revealing the developed muscles on his thick chest and the dark matted hair that covered his body. In every sense of the word, he was a bear of a man. Years of hard labor on his farm had left him with a strong, firm build and skin deeply tanned from the baking sun.

Between Burt's thin lips, a mangled toothpick hung. Splintered, it showed the wear of the past hour, having been gnawed and soaked with his saliva. He reached up to scratch his salt and pepper beard before grabbing the bit of wood from his mouth and tossing it into the air. As it sailed away, he closed the door to his vehicle and adjusted his jeans. They were tight as usual and showed off his impressive bulge in front.

"Get a move on, Frank!" Burt grumbled across to his passenger.

Frank was Burt's nephew. The young man had just turned twenty-two and started working on the farm full-time the previous month. Compared to his uncle, Frank was scrawny. He had begun to exercise and lift weights, and some definition in his arms and chest had started to develop, but he was still of average height and thin like his father. His red and blond beard still had patches where it had not filled in yet, and it was unkept and wiry. As he quickly jumped out of the side of the truck and came around, he put his cowboy hat on and rubbed his sweaty hands on his jeans.

"Nervous?" Burt asked with a sly smile.

"I've heard your stories about this place over the years, and I've always been curious, but this is still all new to me," Frank replied.

Burt laughed as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a tin of dipping tobacco. The imprint of years of keeping cans there had worn a ring in the fabric of his pants. As he flicked his large hand rapidly, his thumb landed squarely on the metal container with a thump. The moist contents inside were jostled and collected at the bottom. Lifting the lid, he pinched a wad of the dark leaves between his thick, callused fingers and pushed them into his bottom lip. Wiping his hands on his pants, he turned and offered the can to his nephew.

"Want some?"

"I'm good," Frank replied with a turned lip. "I smoke but just never got into dipping. Can't stand the taste."

"It will put hair on your chest," Frank said with a smile as he curled his lip and tasted the acrid tobacco. "Grab my spit cup from the truck."

As the young man complied, Burt replaced the can in his back pocket and spat on the ground before adjusting his pants. The wad of fluid hit the dirt and gravel ground audibly. The cup Frank retrieved from the driver's side door had more congealed brown saliva collected at the bottom. Bits of tobacco were mixed inside, and it smelled awful.

"Here, Burt," Frank said as he passed the cup to the man.

"Well, let's go," Frank said as he spat again, this time into the cup. "We don't want to miss getting the good ones."

The Texas Slave Market was held twice a year on the sprawling grounds of what once was a thriving pasture, now covered with dirt and tumbleweeds. Three large metal buildings covered several acres of space fenced in with electrified barbed wire and surrounded by a berm and dry moat. The entrance to the facility faced the gravel parking area and was guarded by two large, off-duty Texas Rangers. Admittance was by invitation only, and security was strict.

"Papers, please," one of the lawmen barked as the two approached.

Burt stopped, pulled a warn, damp piece of paper from his left back pocket, and unfolded it. As he handed it to the man, the officer looked it over.

"Are you here to purchase or observe?" the officer asked in a deep voice with a distinctive Texas drawl.

"I am here to purchase," Burt replied.

The officer eyed them both before handing the paperwork back to Burt and nodding to the other guard. Both he and his colleague were built like a brick wall and looked menacing in their state uniforms. The second officer turned a handle on a solid metal door between them. The hinges groaned and squeaked, and the lock inside slid back. As it opened, Frank could hear a cacophony of voices and metal clanging sounds.

"Best of luck to you," the first officer said as the two men passed by and the door closed behind them.

Frank was amazed by the sights. Overhead, lights blazed into the vast space. The bulbs had a distinctive buzzing sound that could be heard under ambient noise. At their feet, hay had been spread over the concrete and dirt pad below. Wooden and metal structures of all types had been erected around them, which partitioned the different areas of the auction. The pungent smell of musk, sweat, and smoke permeated the space, and Frank instinctively grabbed his nose as the aroma overtook him.

"Too much for you, boy?" Burt asked with a loud laugh as he spat into his cup and smacked his nephew's back.

"It's potent," Frank replied.

"Let's check out the merchandise," Burt said as he turned and walked over to the left, where there was row after row of metal stalls.

Each enclosure was only five-foot square, and naked men of all shapes and sizes were locked inside, each with a colored tag attached to their right ear. The minimum age to be sold into slavery was seventeen, and the merchandise came from various sources. Some slaves were hardened criminals who resisted forced incarceration at traditional penitentiaries. They were the red tags. The yellow tags were the homeless and/or illegal immigrants with nowhere else to go. Those individuals that sought out service and slavery willingly for a variety of reasons were tagged blue. And finally, there were the green tags. These were slaves being sold by their family members. Some for money and others because they could no longer care for them.

A long metal table sat near the stalls, and on it were stacks of magazines. At the foot of the table was a long trough filled with ice that contained complimentary bottles of beer. As Burt went over to grab a copy of the current day's auction catalog, Frank picked out a bottle of cheap beer and unscrewed the top with his hand. Taking a sip, he could taste the bitterness of the ale, but it was refreshing, and he took his hat off and ran the bottle over his forehead to cool off.

One of the nude figures in the stalls caught Frank's attention, and he walked over to see a red-tagged man standing and staring at him. Like all the slaves, it had been fitted with a ball gag strapped tight around its head. Its hands were bound behind its back, and the metal shanks around its ankles were secured to a ring embedded in the concrete floor. The slave's body was impressive and covered in brightly-colored tattoos. Frank was impressed by its large testicles, but it was paired with a small cock that shriveled inside its abdomen.

"That slave doesn't have much to show down there, does it?" came a voice beside the young man.

Frank turned to the middle-aged cowboy that had approached him. The man had dark stubble on his worn face and wore overalls with his large, brimmed hat.

"No, Sir," Frank replied.

"Still, with those muscles, I bet it would be a good worker," the man replied with a smile. "That's what I am in the market for."

"Come here, Frank!" came the voice of Burt behind them.

"Excuse me, Sir," Frank said as he tipped his hat at the stranger and hurried over to his uncle.

"Don't go wandering off, boy," Burt said. "This place is easy to get lost in."

"Yes, Sir," Frank replied.

"Let's grab a seat and see if we can find something that will work for the farm," Burt said as he walked over to a row of metal folding chairs.

As the two sat down, Burt thumbed through the catalog pages. Each slave's picture had their assigned number below it, their stats, and a brief biography of their background. The book's first half sorted the slaves by their tag color, and the second half sorted them by their build from small to large.

Slaves were purchased for several reasons, and the details printed in the catalog helped buyers choose the best one for their needs. Slaves that were strong and had stamina were noted as "working stock". Ones with experience as servants or had a slender build were indicated as "cultured". Slaves that were hung were automatically measured both soft and hard. Their sperm was collected and examined for potency and mobility. Some buyers prized these "breeding stock" for various sexual uses. All of this information was listed along with the slave's age, height, weight, ethnicity, hair, eye color, fat percentage, bone density, and amount of body hair, to name a few of the statistics.

"What type are you looking for, specifically?" Frank asked.

"I want to get another working stock slave to put in the fields with C856," Burt replied. "And if they have a cheap one that would work well as a gimp, I'll get two. I am very picky about my sex slaves, though. Haven't purchased one in years."

The young man nodded at his uncle. Frank had known his dad's brother was gay for most of his life. When Frank had come out in junior high, Burt was the first he turned to for support. Though Burt was a hard, dominant man, he reached out, took his nephew under his wing, and supported him through high school and college.

Frank had worked the summers on Burt's farm alongside C856, Burt's sole slave. The slave's bronzed skin, large frame, and huge genitals had always impressed the young man, and he had secretly jacked off thinking about having sex with it. Over time, Burt instructed Frank on how to treat and use a working slave. C856 was obedient and diligent and did most of the hard labor while Frank supervised and drove the tractor around.

After Frank graduated high school, Burt showed Frank his dungeon. It had not been used in years but was well stocked with various leather and sexual implements, a sling, Saint Andrew's Cross, and a fuck bench. Burt noticed the bulge that appeared in the young man's pants when he saw the room, and when he found out Frank was a virgin, he decided to rent a gimp slave from a local friend for the young man to use as a present and earn his manhood. It was Frank's first experience using another human being, and Burt was pleased to see that his nephew took to the dominant role quickly after some instruction and guidance.

"It would be nice to have a gimp to use whenever we want," Frank said. "Your dungeon is too well set up not to be used."

Burt laughed.

"I would like to see how you take to training one. You know I was only a year or two older than you when I purchased my first gimp slave. If we were to get one, what attributes would you like?"

Frank was unsure if he was being tested or if his uncle genuinely wanted his opinion, but he gave it, nonetheless.

"I would like a slave with some meat on their bones. A nice fat ass to work over and breed would be ideal, but it would have to have a good mouth too."

"I see," Burt said. "I tend to like the thin slaves, but I can see where a plump ass could be nice too."

"And some fur, as well," Frank added.

"On a slave?" Burt replied with a disgusted noise as he spat a wad of brown fluid into his cup.

"I know you think slaves should be smooth, but I like the grizzled look," Frank said. "I love the bear or cub-type submissive. It makes me hard thinking about it."

"Well, we would have to talk about that," Burt replied as he rolled his eyes.

The older man was thumbing through the catalog while they talked and stopped when he found a picture of a large, built slave that looked like a former football linebacker.

"Now, here is a workhorse," Burt said. "Slave number F385. Just look at those muscled lines. It could certainly help clear and work the back quarter."

"It is a red tag, though," Frank said. "It says it is a convicted criminal. You told me red tags can be tough to train."

"Yeah," Burt said. "But I've broken them before. My first working stock slave was a red tag. They take extra effort, but if done correctly, they can be excellent laborers."

"It does say it is built for working stock or can be used for breeding stock," Frank added.

"Well, the working part is what I care about," Burt replied. "C856 already has breeding potential, though I've never used it for that. Let's go check this slave out."

"Ok," Frank said as they both stood up. "Do you mind if I keep looking through the catalog for potential gimps?"

"Feel free," Burt said as he walked down the row.

As the two continued to the end, they weaved and dodged through the crowd and then turned to the left, where more stalls were located. Many people were examining the merchandise being sold today, and Frank wondered about all the places the slaves may be going to. The market drew in people from surrounding states, so you never knew their final destination.

Burt and Frank finally saw their potential target when they reached stall twelve on the fifth row. The slave inside stood over six feet tall. Its large, muscled chest was covered in sweat, and its blue eyes looked menacing from behind bars. Between two pale, tree trunks of legs sat a large set of balls in a nest of blond hair. A metal cock ring had been placed around its groin to show off its package, which included a soft but thick, circumcised cock that looked about four inches long.

"It is a beast," Burt said as he stared at the slave.

"That is for sure!" Frank exclaimed as the slave turned to look at the young man and snarled.

Spit dripped down from the gag the slave was biting down on, and the metal chains holding its massive feet to the floor were straining under the heavyweight's grip pulling on them.

"We are going to bid on F385, for sure," Burt replied.

As the older man took some time to look over the additional information on a piece of paper attached to the cage, Frank saw something out of the corner of his eye that caught his attention. Walking over to stall eighteen, he saw a blue-tagged, husky slave that stood five-foot-eight and weighed two-hundred-and-thirty-five pounds. The slave looked mature, and upon examining the details attached to the cage, Frank saw that it was thirty years old and willingly put itself up for auction to serve a master.

L024 had hair all over its body, from its medium-length brown head and scraggly beard to its furry chest and limbs. It even had tufts of hair on its fingers and toes. It stared at Frank but looked calm as its body was on display. Enhanced by a rubber cock ring, it sported a nice set of low-hanging balls, and its uncircumcised cock was well above average, hanging in a soft state over them.

"You are a nice-looking slave," Frank said with a smile as he tapped the bars.

L024 nodded as it stood chained to the floor. Its deep green eyes stared with emotion as it was being evaluated. The gag in its mouth was too large, and its jaw seemed stretched to the limit. So much spit had dribbled out the sides of its mouth that its beard had deep, wet lines connected to thin strings of saliva that dangled down to puddles that had collected near its bare feet.

"What did you find over there?" came the voice of Burt.

"A potential sex gimp," Frank replied excitedly.

As Burt approached, he shook his head and groaned.

"I don't know about that, Nephew. It is a very furry one. I told you I don't like hairy slaves."

"Please, Burt," Frank pleaded. "I'll chip in some money, and you can take the rest from my pay till it is covered. I really would like to bid on it."

"I don't know," Burt replied. "It is labeled breeding stock. I mean, look at its nub! It is more hung than you are!"

"Burt!" Frank growled back.

"I am just saying," Burt replied, patting his nephew's back. "My brother didn't pass the family blessing down to you."

Frank groaned. He knew very well that his uncle was hung, and the man's ten-inch cock made his average-sized one look inadequate.

"Still," Frank said as he slapped his nephew's back with a laugh, "I've seen you fuck. You might be average down there, but you sure can make a slave squeal. We would need to make a few changes, but if you are willing to help pay for it, I will put up the money for the bid today."

"Excellent!" Frank said excitedly as he turned back to the slave. "It will be perfect."

An hour passed before the auctions began. A large area had been prepared in an adjacent building for the attendees to stand. At the front, a raised platform stood, and a podium was installed on its right side. Behind the platform, a flatscreen TV had been hung. Burt and Frank had found a spot in the third row near the front and had an unobstructed view of the platform. At least two hundred people were in the audience, and Burt was worried that the bidding could get out of hand.

A horn sounded at the top of the hour, and the first slave was led in. Over the roar of the crowd around him, Frank could hear the heavy chains between its feet as they dragged on the ground. Two large security guards held the slave on either side and brought it to the platform. The chain between the cuffs on its hands was then looped onto a hook that was suspended above, and when the slave was secured, the hook was raised till the slave was brought onto its tiptoes. The hook slowly turned so the slave could be evaluated from all angles.

"The first slave for auction is B254," came the auctioneer's voice over the loudspeaker. Standing behind the podium, he read from prepared notes. "This red-tag Italian slave was arrested three times for petty larceny."

Frank looked up behind the slave as the auctioneer continued to speak and saw that the TV screen featured the slave's number and the current bid. Each person in the auction was given a small electronic box. It allowed a bidder to dial in an amount and hit a button to submit it electronically. Instantly the bids would appear on the screen, and the haggling would continue until the top bidder was announced.

"We have a few slaves to get through before our beast comes up," Burt said. "With its stats, however, I suspect it will cost me a pretty penny."

"I'll keep my fingers crossed!" Frank replied with a smile.

Those in the working stock category mostly dominated the selection of slaves in the first round of bidding. There were many red tags, and they all looked huge, even from the back rows of the audience. A few of the slaves tried to be unruly, and one broke away from the guards briefly before it was manhandled onto the suspended hook, but for the most part, the event went smoothly.

It took twenty minutes to get to the catalog listing Burt had been waiting for. When F385 appeared, the older man smiled. The hulk on the platform struggled with the security guards as it was led to the front. Its muscles rippled, and spit flew from its gagged mouth, which landed on the ground near the front row of the audience.

"We have a fighter here, folks!" the auctioneer announced as the slave was hooked and suspended. "A top prize for anyone looking for a slave with a lot of energy!"

F385 twisted in the air as its body was displayed to the crowd. Frank watched as one of the guards approached from behind it with a metal prod. The slave jerked as the prod was shoved up its ass, and when electricity was applied, its cock instantly engorged and sprung to attention as it screamed into the gag in its mouth. Even from the back of the crowd, the slave's thick prick was impressive.

"This white slave was brought in from Amarillo. It was found guilty of rape on three separate occasions and aggravated assault. After attempting to escape from its maximum security prison, it was sent to us for auction. Be advised this slave is not for the inexperienced. You will be expected to ensure that it does not escape. Due to its naturally high hormone levels, it has an elevated sex drive, and its erect shaft, as you can see, is over nine inches long and girthy if you need breeding stock."

The slave had rotated to the side, and the guard pressed the button on the prod again. As the slave screamed, its cock pulsed, and precum dribbled from the tip.

"Now, that is a breeding stock slave I would love to have!" came the voice of a bidder behind Burt.

Frank looked up and saw the price jumping higher and higher as the auctioneer continued to discuss the slave's vital statistics.

"Damn, I didn't expect it to go that high!"

"Yeah, but I want him!" Burt replied.

"We have a bid of $8,200, folks!" the auctioneer finally announced. "Can we go higher?"

"I hope not," Burt growled as the number continued to rise.

"$8,500 now!" the auctioneer announced. "Do I have $8,750?"

More bids continued to come in until the price finally slowed and rested at $9,000. Frank looked around as the crowd's sounds calmed, and the auctioneer called out again.

"The bid is $9,000. Going once! Going twice! Sold for $9,000!"

"Yes!" Burt exclaimed.

"Did you win?" Frank asked.

"It is ours!" Burt replied triumphantly.

"Congratulations, buddy," a man behind them said. "I hope you put it to good use."

"Thanks," Burt replied with a nod. "We will."

"What about my gimp?" Frank asked.

"That auction took a lot more than I expected, I am afraid," Burt said.

"Please," Frank replied. "Can't we at least try to bid?"

"I can't spend more than $2,000 on it," Burt said as he bent over to whisper in Frank's ear. "That is the limit."

"Understood," Frank whispered back.

After the first round of slaves, there was a brief pause. When the second round began, it was dominated by the breeding stock and cultured category. Frank was amazed at how hung some of the merchandise was. One slave that fetched nearly the price Burt had paid for F385 had a cock that was a foot long and as thick as a beer can. When it was prodded and the shaft fully engorged, the gasp from the audience was audible.

It took over an hour, but as the auction was nearing its end, Frank saw the slave he was waiting on. L024 was brought onto the podium quietly and looked to be offering no resistance. The crowd had thinned, but as the husky slave was hooked and suspended, murmurs of interest came from around the two men. When the prod was inserted in the slave's ass, it squealed and shook. Its cock sprung to life and stood out from its body impressively. The bids then started coming in.

"This blue tag hails from Iowa. While it has never been a slave before, it willingly entered the auction and seeks to have a life in service. A homosexual, its ass has been used in the past, but it is still relatively tight if you are looking for a slave for sexual service. It has been tested and is free of STDs, and as you can see, the slave is well-hung. It has been labeled as potential breeding stock."

The guard turned on the prod again as L024 was turned. The jolt caused the slave to leap off the podium and into the air as its cock filled with blood again.

"When stimulated, its uncut prick is eight inches long, and its large loads have been shown to have high mobility and potency. Be advised, though. It has never penetrated anything before. A virgin in that regard for those that might be interested! Also suitable for light work, it has agreed to be modified as its new owner sees fit. This is a good opportunity to purchase a slave to be molded to your liking!"

Frank took the box from Burt and put in a low amount. He was immediately outbid, and the price initially jumped to $1,500.

"Remember what I told you," Burt said as he leaned over to Frank.

"I know," Frank replied as the bidding continued.

"$1,850 is the bid," the auctioneer announced. "Do we have any more? Any more bids? $1,900! $1,900 is the bid. Can we go higher? This furry, hung stud is going to be a steal! And don't forget. You can always have him denuded if you like the smooth look, too!"

The prod was activated again, and L024's cock now pulsed with precum that flew into the air and sailed to the ground below. Its furry feet danced on the platform as it clenched its eyes, bit down on the gag, and squealed in pain.

"Come on!" Frank complained.

"We have $1,950 now, folks. $1,950 is the bid. Going once. Going twice. Sold for $1,950!"

"Yes!" Frank said as he pulled his arm down into his waist in victory.

"Excellent job," Burt said as the slave was pulled down and led away. "Let's go settle up and see our merchandise."

The third building in the back of the property was where the slaves were paid for and processed. It was more heavily segmented than the other two buildings. Security was tight to prevent escapes, and some areas were cordoned off to the public. Frank followed Burt as the older man made his way around a hall and down to a room where a line had formed in front of a figure at a computer. When their turn came, Burt stepped forward and handed his electronic box to the man, who plugged it into a receptacle and stared at the screen before him.

"Ah, you have purchased two slaves today," the man replied. "Congratulations. That big one is a fine prize. One of the top money-makers today!"

"Thanks," Burt said as he spat into his dip cup. "I spent more than I should have, but I think it will be worth it."

"Will we be using the payment information on file?" the man asked.

"Please," Burt said.

"Very well," the man replied. "Will you be wanting modifications?"

"Yes," Burt said. "To both of them."

"Ok. I will hold the final sales till you are done. You may go into the next room on your left to view them. Room B3."

"Thank you," Burt said as the man handed him two objects that looked like credit cards. "Come with me, Frank."

Frank nodded as the older man turned and walked to the designated room. As the door opened, they saw a middle-aged man dressed in slacks and a polo shirt standing inside with a small iPad. Behind him, the wall was made of glass, and a barred cage surrounded by a curtain was beyond.

"Welcome!" the man said. "You must be Burt."

"I am," Burt said as he handed the man the two cards.

"Thank you!" the man replied, putting the cards in a small reader and bringing up the sales information.

It took a moment for the man to type in some additional data, but when he was done, he reached down to a cord attached to his ear and spoke into the microphone inside it.

"Jim, bring in F385 and L024."

A few minutes passed before the curtain parted, and into the cage beyond the glass, their large slave appeared, followed by the smaller, furry one. The chains on their hands had been slung over hooks in a bar suspended in the ceiling, and the two hung down just as they had been displayed during the auction.

"These are your slaves," the man said. "You indicated you wanted modifications made. Do you know what you have in mind?"

Burt moved towards the glass and stared at the large slave. It was still struggling in vain against the restraints on its arms and legs, and the thin glass transmitted the sound of its grunts and groans.

"You are a fighter, aren't you?" Burt shouted so the slave could hear.

F385 lunged at the glass, and its body swung back and forth due to the momentum. Its cock, still partially engorged from the day's activities, bounced between its legs.

"Yeah, you have a lot of energy," Burt replied. "That will be useful."

"One of our more well-endowed slaves," the man said. "Its seed volume is impressive and potent if you need breeding stock."

"I don't give a shit about its cock or fluids," Burt said. "It is the brawn I need. It won't be used for sex. It will just be working in the fields."

"Ahh, I understand," the man said. "Well, it will serve you well in that regard. It can bench press well over two hundred and fifty pounds."

"Perfect," Burt said as he walked over to the glass. "You hear me in there, slave? All I care about is your muscle. Your days of fucking pussy are over. In fact, I think a headstrong criminal like you should be castrated. I don't have any use for that thing between your legs, and it already produces too much testosterone."

The slave's eyes narrowed, and it growled as the salesman nodded at Burt.

"That is easily done," the salesman replied. "But, if you use it solely for manual labor, realize that a castrated slave can have muscle and bone loss issues. It would be a shame to remove its impressively large balls and lose their benefits."

"I'm aware," Burt replied. "But it can be given hormone shots. A low dose will provide enough to keep it strong but not enough to have it raging. I can even blend in some drugs to help calm it and make it submissive. Plus, implants can still make the slave look hung."

"I can see you are an intelligent customer," the man replied, handing the iPad to Burt. "Any other specific procedures in mind?"

Burt reviewed the options and picked the ones he wanted, and the additional cost was added to the bill.

"Excellent choices, Sir," the man replied. "And what about the smaller slave, L024?"

"No castration for it," Frank said. "I want its large balls intact. That will make for a good and horny gimp slave."

"A wise choice," the man replied.

"But, all that hair," Burt cut in. "Are you sure you want all that hair? It is a slave, after all."

"Please let me keep its fur, Burt," Frank said. "I like it."

Burt groaned.

"Listen, Frank, it won't be much to have it denuded, and I promise that a smooth slave is easier to take care of and more sanitary."

"I'm standing firm on the fur, Burt," Frank pleaded. "You aren't talking me out of this."

Burt rolled his eyes and spat into his cup.

"Can we at least dock it so it doesn't make you look like less of a man?"

Frank groaned.

"Thanks for bringing that up again."

"I am just being honest," Burt said. "The slave is hung. Impressively so. And while I can put it to shame, you would look like a submissive next to it. It won't be topping anything anyway."

"Very well," Frank replied. "But that is all. I still want its nub to function. Playing with those large balls and making them leak will be fun."

"Package 2C, then, along with a docking," Burt said as he returned the iPad to the man. "I like my gimps decorated."

"I'm good with that," Frank replied.

"Excellent choices again, Sir," the man replied.

"I assume the wash, trim, and groom are still included in the purchase price?" Burt asked.

"Of course," the man replied. "And we have your brand on file. Will there be anything else?"

"No," Burt said.

"Very well!" the man replied. "This is your total."

Burt reviewed the receipt and digitally signed it with his finger before the sale was processed.

"Your slaves will be ready next Monday for pickup," the man said, extending his hand. "Thank you for shopping at the Texas Slave Market."

Burt and Frank shook the man's hand, and Frank looked at the two slaves and smiled as they were collected and taken away for processing. As the two left the room, Frank could hardly wait for the new gimp slave to be delivered.

As the curtain was closed in front of the two slaves, two men came in from the processing area behind them. F385 was unhooked from the bar above its head, spun around, and then pushed down a corridor. It was still fuming after facing down its new owner and hearing it would be castrated.

"Fuck you, fucker!" it screamed into its gag, but only a muffled noise was emitted.

"Fuck it is strong," one of the two men holding it stated.

"Yeah, let's get it tied down before it hurts someone," said the other.

They led the large slave through a doorway into a cool, sterile room. The portable buildings were the only air-conditioned areas in the facility, and the cool breeze against the sweat that had built upon the slave caused goose pimples to form. On the left was a gurney, and with the help of another man in scrubs, they managed to lift and strap the slave down. F385 struggled the entire time, and they had to pull the restraints to the point of cutting off circulation to the beast to keep it from breaking free.

"Holy shit, that was a workout!" one of the men said after they were done. "I need hazard pay for this shit!"

"Well, you two better head out to get the next slave," the man in scrubs said. "We can take it from here."

F385 was foaming at the mouth as its spit gathered and dripped down. It bit hard on the gag, trying to slice it in two, and pulled at the restraints in vain.

"Afraid you aren't going anywhere," the man in scrubs said as he washed his hands and put on some gloves. "You have a long day of operations and recovery ahead."

F385 thrashed its head back and forth before zeroing in on the man as he approached with a needle.

"You need to calm down so we can get an IV into you," the man said as he pulled the cap off and plunged the syringe into the slave. "This should help chill you the fuck out."

The chemical flooded the slave's body instantly, and despite its objection, it felt its ability to resist decrease, and its brain began to swim. As its body relaxed, its head fell backward, and its large feet collapsed on the gurney.

"Much better," the man said as he looked down and examined F385's giant balls. "You have some hefty testicles there. Too bad they will be severed soon. You should have behaved yourself, slave."

As the man patted the slave's belly, he turned and grabbed some scissors and began to trim away the blond pubic hair that surrounded the slave's cock and balls. Once it was cut down, he got some cream and a razor and shaved the skin perfectly smooth. Some antiseptic was then applied to finish the job. While this occurred, another nurse came in, found a vein, and started an IV. Some more meds were given to calm the slave further before stirrups were pulled out from the end of the bed, and the slave's legs were lifted and spread to provide unrestricted access to its crotch.

"What do we have here?" came the doctor's voice as he came from the room beyond.

"Castration and replacement," the nurse responded.

The doctor came over and examined the slave and then lifted and squeezed its balls.

"Should not take too long," the doctor replied. "Wheel it back, and we can get started shortly."

"Yes, Sir," the nurse replied as he unlocked the wheels and pushed the gurney back.

F385 was still woozy as the lights overhead passed by. It entered a hallway and turned into an operating room on the right. This room was even colder than the first. Instruments were everywhere, and as the anesthetist prepared the slave's drugs, the doctor came in and took his position between the slave's raised and spread legs. Turning the fixture on above the table, the slave's groin was bathed in bright light.

"Ok, put it under," the doctor said. "Let's get started."

As the drugs were pushed, the slave's eyes rolled shut, and its body went slack. The doctor cleaned the slave's scrotum with antiseptic again before using a scalpel to cut into and slice it in two along its natural seam. The large testicles inside were now visible, and each was pulled from its home and stretched out until the cords were taught. Moving quickly, the doctor tied each cord and severed first the left nut and then the right, placing them in a metal dish below.

"Those were some big heavy balls!" the doctor replied. "Are we saving or discarding them?"

"The owner wants them preserved and displayed, doctor," the nurse replied.

"Take them away then," the doctor said.

A nurse beside him grabbed the dish and moved to wrap and place the large nuts in a medical bag before sealing it and passing it to another person that took it from the room.

"What size prosthesis are we replacing its testicles with?" the doctor asked.

"Extra-large neuticles," the nurse replied.

"Extra-large, huh?" the doctor replied as the implants were passed to him. "Damn, these are even bigger than the ones it was born with. Good thing it has a big sack to go with it."

The nurses smiled as the doctor moved to place the implants into place. Once a pouch was made to hold them, and they were stitched in so they would not move, the surgeon quickly pulled at the two halves of the scrotum and sewed the cut closed with the nurse's assistance. The resulting sack looked bloated with its new fake balls. But it would stretch and accommodate them over time.

"Well, the new owner will have an ornament on its slave to be proud of now," the doctor said. "Anything else?"

"It is to be cut as well," the nurse replied.

"Damn, castrated and cut?" the doc replied. "This slave must have been bad. I hope it was able to jack off before all of this, but then again, from the weight of those testicles, it might have had blue balls."

"Not anymore," the nurse said with a laugh.

"True," the doctor said as he put antiseptic on the slave's root where its cock attached to its abdomen. "After a long day of castrating slaves, I am happy to get home and jack off and feel the pleasure of intact balls."

Using a new scalpel, the doctor made two small incisions on either side of the root. Carefully examining the anatomy within, he located the dorsal nerves controlling the slave's erections. In minutes, the blade severed them, forever making the slave impotent. Stitches were placed inside before the area was closed and cleaned again.

"Well, that is it," the doctor replied. "Take it to recovery and send in the next one!"

The nurses cleaned the slave with antiseptic before turning the lights down and unlocking the gurney. As it was wheeled out, it was brought into yet another area. There were rows of gurneys with slaves recovering from their surgeries and modifications. Some had their cock and balls enhanced. Others had been castrated. Some had been denuded, pierced with several types of jewelry, and a few had even been emasculated and implanted with fake breasts.

When F385 was placed in its recovery spot, an orderly came over and, with the assistance of two others, rolled the slave on its side. A razor was used to shave the upper right buttock, and a device was brought over. Programming in the design submitted by Burt when he purchased his first slave, the device heated up, and when placed on the skin, it singed and branded the slave with the mark of its new owner.

Once the branded skin was cleaned, it was bandaged, and the slave was rolled back and strapped down again. A silver metal ring was placed around the slave's neck, on which was engraved its designation and address of its owner. The ring was carefully welded into place to be a permanent ornament for the slave. Next, the slave's number was tattooed on each arm and leg as well as its neck, guaranteeing that removing a limb would not obscure its identification.

The last step was the installation of its implant. To ensure that no slave escaped its master, a tiny device was inserted into the neck of a slave near the veins that led to the brain. When paired with a proximity sensor, the device could be triggered if the slave left a designated area or remotely triggered at any time by the owner. When activated, the implant would deliver a toxin into the slave's system. Depending on the owner's choice, this could cause instant death, paralysis, or unconsciousness. Burt had chosen the latter, and it took only moments for the orderly to position and implant the pill-sized device deep enough that it could not be removed without an expert hand.

"It is going to need time to recover," the orderly said to his assistant. "Keep it sedated today. We will see how it feels tomorrow."

"Yes, Sir," came the reply.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = =

As with my other stories on Nifty, I accept and love to get constructive feedback and criticism from my readers. You can contact me at slavebear1976@gmail.com