Date: Wed, 31 Dec 2008 20:08:16 -0500
From: Matt W <matt10019@gmail.com>
Subject: Bred Slave - Part 2

The following is a work of fiction.  All characters are over 18 years of
age.  There are depictions of sexual acts and homoerotic themes.  Please do
not read any further if you are not legally eligible or would be offended by
the material.

CHAPTER 3 - INDUCTION

I looked up nervously from where I remained crouched in front of the coffee
table, the ink drying on the page before me, suddenly feeling the weight of
my decision on my shoulders.  Ryan was behind me near the doorway, and I
could feel his eyes on me.

Mr. Grey smiled, but it was a look of satisfaction, not comfort.  "Up," he
commanded, his tone suddenly changing, motioning sharply for me to stand.  I
obeyed, pushing up to my feet, glancing over my shoulder.  "Empty your
pockets.  Cell phone, wallet, keys, everything.  Let's go," he snapped,
gesturing to the table.

Swallowing, I quickly fished in my jeans pockets for the requested items,
laying them one by one on the table.  It hadn't occurred to me until then
that I'd need to surrender such basic items, even if it was rather obvious
as to why.

"When you are given an instruction, it is essential that you acknowledge it
verbally as well as physically," Mr. Grey continued.  "Do you understand,
slave?"

My mouth dropped slightly, the word "slave" ringing in my ears.  I nodded,
and then added quickly, "Yea..yeah. Yes."

"It's 'Yes, Sir' or 'Yes, Master'," he corrected.  "Any free man is a Sir to
you, but only Ryan and I are your true Masters. Got it?"

"Yes, Sir..." I whispered timidly.

"Let me hear you, boy," Mr. Grey added, his voice rising a bit.

"Yes, Sir," I repeated more audibly.

"Louder, bitch," Ryan interrupted from behind, a slight shove to my shoulder
blade.  "Show some respect."

"Yes, SIR!" I repeated once more, feeling my cheeks flush as my voice echoed
in the tall ceiling.

"Good, boy," Mr. Grey acknowledged.  "Going forward, you are entitled to
nothing in the way of explanations, however, I do want you to understand
that although I retain ultimate ownership of you at this time, Ryan will be
conducting the majority of your training, beginning with your induction.
Unlike you, my son has been clued in to the truth since he turned 17.  Of
course, he found it shocking at first, but quickly adjusted to the idea and
grew eager to learn more.  He spent the next year or so observing and
studying the lifestyle.  When he turned 18, he became active in private
sessions, working closely with that young Domme Kara, and has spent the last
year anxiously awaiting his chance to train his first real slave."

I looked over my shoulder at Ryan, who was smirking at me with a nod.
Suddenly, I felt a cold grasp on my jaw, a thumb pressing into my chin.  Mr.
Grey turned my head sharply back toward him.

"A slave never turns his attention away from a man who is speaking to him,"
he barked sharply. "It is a privilege and an honor that a real man would
even look at you, let alone speak to you.  The least you can do is show some
respect by paying attention."

My eyes were wide, holding a stunned expression.  He released his grasp with
a jerk for emphasis.  "Oh..oh okay," I stammered in mild shock.  "I mean,
yes Sir, sorry Sir."

"He'll learn," Ryan assured his father from behind.  I felt the neck of my
sweatshirt tighten around my throat, as he took hold of it from behind.
"Enough small talk.  Let's go," he said, using his grip on my clothing to
swing me stumbling around towards the doorway.

I quickened my steps to keep pace with him, as we walked awkwardly down the
hall to the basement door, and then down the steps.  He was half dragging
and half pushing me beside him.  On the steps, I went first, a step ahead as
he retained his grasp.  We made our way across the sprawling in-home fitness
center that the Greys had put together, and past the rec area, towards the
door which I had always believed led to a wine cellar filled with highly
prized vintages.  Mr. Grey followed slowly, observing from a distance.

He fumbled with a large key in the lock, and we pushed through the heavy
metal door.  My eyes widened as I looked around quickly.  There was almost
too much to take in at once.  The main room of the dungeon was expansive.
The floor was bare cement, the ceiling beams exposed.  It was lit by several
bare bulbs strung throughout.  Chains, hooks, and pulleys hung at random
intervals from the beams above.  There were various contraptions scattered
about the room: wooden tables, x-beams, stocks, cages, a set of bookshelves
lined with what seemed like hundreds of bizarre items.  A series of hooks
along the wall held various lengths of chain, shackles, collars, whips,
paddles, almost anything you could imagine.

Along the right wall were four identical steel doors embedded in the cinder
blocks.  Each contained a small barred window with a panel that could be
slid open or closed from the outside.  Presumably, they were cells.  I
couldn't help but wonder if my parents were locked inside any of them.  Ryan
pulled me forward to the bare center of the main room while Mr. Grey closed
the door behind us.  He fiddled with a panel of switches near the door,
adjusting the dangling lights so that only a few bulbs remained lit above my
head.  I stumbled forward a few paces as Ryan finally released his grasp on
my sweatshirt.  Looking down, I noticed a drain grate near my feet toward
which I noticed the floor sloped.

"Turn around, face me," Ryan ordered, taking a small step backward.

I swallowed, obeying, feeling suddenly very nervous.  Mr. Grey had taken a
few steps forward, but kept a noticeable distance away, crossing his arms as
he observed from the shadows.  Without warning, Ryan slapped his open palm
across my left cheek, with enough force to sting.  My eyes winced and then
widened in surprise.  I rubbed my cheek on instinct.

"Did you forget your first lesson already, dumb ass?" he barked.

"Uhh...yes, Sir.  I mean...no Sir, yes Sir!"  I stammered nervously.

"Get your hands down, you fucking pussy," he sneered, grabbing my wrist and
pulling my hand away from my cheek.

"Yes, Sir," I responded, my voice shaking a bit from nerves as I dropped my
hands to my sides, standing awkwardly before him.

He stepped back again, appearing satisfied for the moment, looking me up and
down.  "Take off your sweatshirt.  Throw it over there," he pointed to a few
paces to my right.

"Yes, Sir," I slipped the hoody over my head and tossed it to the side.  I
nervously lowered my arms back down, adjusting my blue t-shirt quickly as it
had ridden up past my navel.  I could feel that the neckline and pits of the
shirt were damp with nervous sweat.

"You're sweating, slave," Ryan noted, almost amused.  "Are you nervous?"

"Yes, Sir," I acknowledged, nodding slightly.

"Good," he said coldly.  "Take off your shoes and socks.  Toss them in the
pile.  Quickly."

"Yes, Sir," I crouched to one knee, fumbling with the laces as my fingers
shook. Removing my right sneaker, I pulled off my athletic sock and stuffed
it inside, and then I moved to the left.  Pushing back up, I tossed both
shoes towards my sweatshirt.  The cement floor was cold against my bare
feet.

"Now, the t-shirt.  Get it off."

"Yes, Sir," I replied, gripping the bottom and pulling it up and over my
head, the cotton fabric clinging to my sweaty skin as I peeled it away.  I
tossed it on the pile, suddenly feeling the gravity of the situation as I
stripped one article of clothing at a time.  I shivered slightly, realizing
suddenly that it was cool in the back part of the basement.

Ryan paced slightly in front of me, eyeing me up and nodding with approval.
My arms hung awkwardly at my sides, and I could feel goosebumps rippling on
my arms.  My nipples hardened in the cool air.  Despite the fact that Ryan
and I went shirtless around the house all the time, it felt suddenly
uncomfortable as he looked me over.  I certainly had nothing to be ashamed
of, firm pecs, pronounced biceps, ripped abs.  Suddenly, I was reminded that
my peak fitness was really a result of the dedication to exercise and a
balanced diet enforced by my parents over the years, really another
orchestration Mr. Grey.

"Yep, 100% grade-A prime jock meat," Ryan snickered.  "I like the way his
torso is cut at the waist, curving into his jeans," he mused aloud to his
father, pointing at my waistline.  "Only guy I've ever known with a better
body than mine."

"You will need to ensure he maintains it," Mr. Grey added as a word of
caution.  He looked to me, "And, there is always room for improvement."

"Right," Ryan agreed.  It felt weird to stand there as they talked about me
like I couldn't hear them.  He turned his attention back to me.  "Lose the
jeans, and the boxers.  Now."

My face flushed, and my mouth went dry.  "Yes, Sir," I croaked.  Not that I
hadn't expected this was coming, but I wasn't sure I was prepared for it.  I
fiddled with my button and fly, and taking a breath, pushed my pants and
boxers to my ankles, kicking them off, and tossing them in the pile.  I
returned upright, purposely avoiding eye contact with either of them as I
nervously cupped my package.  It was an instinct, as very few people had
ever seen me fully naked.  The doctor, some girls in high school, Ali.  Even
in the locker room, I'd always been careful to keep a towel around my waist.

Ryan shook his head almost in amusement, "Now, I know you're not that
stupid.  You just signed over ownership of your entire body, slave boy, and
modesty is not something you're entitled to.  Ever."

I was like a deer in headlights, hunched forward a bit as I stood awkwardly
naked under the lights cupping my balls.  My cock was limp and my stomach
was still in knots.  However excited and turned on I had been about the idea
going in, I couldn't feel anything not but nerves.

For 18 years, despite our competitive natures, Ryan and I had been like
brothers and best friends.  Of course, I'd always felt inferior to him in
many ways.  He was older, a bit taller, and a better athlete than me for the
most part.  We'd been on the same teams in high school, and it wasn't until
he graduated that I took over as captain.  Girls drooled over him as the
tall dark and handsome type, not to mention he was one of the richest kids
in town.  He never lacked for sex, and unlike me, he had been allowed to
parade girls through his bedroom door for years.  I could never truly
compete with Ryan's total package no matter how many bicep curls or sit ups
I did.  He always seemed to get the best of me, and now he had me,
literally.

"You will need to quickly get used to the idea that your body is no longer
yours, and not only does it belong to your Masters, but it is your job
to make sure your Masters have unrestricted access to that which belongs to
them at all times, and most importantly in times of formal interaction like
this," Ryan continued, lecturing as if he's done this for years.  I could
almost hear Mr. Grey speaking through him. "So, give it a try.  Display
yourself to me, slave."

"Yes, Sir," I answered in something barely above a whisper, nerves
constricting my throat.  He let the volume slide though as he watched me
think about to best obey the command.  I stood tall, almost like a soldier
at attention, my shoulders still slumped slightly from shivering.
Reluctantly, I uncupped my cock and balls, moving my arms to hang
straight by my sides, and lifted my head to look straight ahead, feeling
pretty damn exposed.

"Nice try," he snickered, "but you don't get to just stand there like this
is some fucking sports physical.  I said display, and all I can see is your
front side and that pathetic cock peeking out from between your thighs where
you puny little balls are hiding.  Spread those legs, hands behind your
head, elbows out wide.  Keep your shoulders back, stomach in, chest out,
head held high.  You should be proud to show me what you're made of, and if
you're not proud, then you need to work harder because your biggest concern
is whether or not I'm proud of what I own.  Now, DISPLAY!"

"Yes, Sir," I jumped a little as he barked the last word mere inches from my
face as he was pacing in front of me.  A few droplets of spit misted my
face.  With little hesitation, I put my hands behind my head which forced my
elbows out, exposing my pits.  Shuffling my feet apart, I glanced up."

"Wider," Ryan commanded, flatly.

"Y..yes, Sir," I swallowed, and moved my feet a few more inches apart,
feeling my cock and balls dangling more freely between my legs.  My manhood
was nothing extraordinary, but nothing to be ashamed of either.  I had a
decent sized dick which grew to a little over 7" hard, and a nice full pair
of balls that hung just right from my dark blond mass of pubic hair.  I was
circumcised, but so were most guys my age.  As instructed, I puffed my chest
out a bit, tightened my abs, squared my shoulders, and held my head high.
It also occurred to me that I was holding my breath in anticipation of being
scolded again.

"Better, slave," he said with approval.  "Next time you are ordered to
display, no matter where, no matter when, this is how you will present
yourself.  Understood?"

"Yes, Sir," I answered quickly, between quick breaths.

"Don't forget to breathe," Ryan chuckled, noticing the way my diaphragm was
responding to my inconsistent breaths.  He glanced over his shoulder,
hearing Mr. Grey stepping forward since the first time since we'd began.

"Let's have a closer look at him," Mr. Grey suggested rhetorically as he
placed his left hand on my lower back, and placed two of his cold, rough
fingers on my upper abdominals.  He glanced up for a brief second of eye
contact, "Don't move unless you're instructed, boy."

"Yes, Sir," I said, my voice feeling small in the back of my throat.  I
could feel my body trembling in places and lurched slightly at the touch,
stilling myself as best I could.

"The central abs are well-cut as you can see," Mr. Grey noted, tracing his
fingers over the ridges of my stomach, "but the upper two could use some
work to help them pop.  You know how to target them?"

"Yes, dad," Ryan grumbled, almost in annoyance.  He reached forward with his
left hand to feel my stomach as well.  He was much more rough, running
his palm over my abs, and then kneading them with his fingers.  "We'll get
there.  I'm much more concerned about this chest..."

I winced slightly, my face reddening as he moved his hand up my body, giving
each of my pecs a light slap and a few firm squeezes.

Mr. Grey followed suit, using both hands now as he kneaded my chest, "I see
what you mean.  Firm, but could definitely be more pronounced.  But, you
know, we're quite lucky that he's so naturally smooth.  No need to worry
about keeping his chest shaved."  He gave my right nipple a sudden pinch and
I winced, nearly yelping.  "His tits will need training."

"Of course," Ryan agreed twisting my left nipple more viciously between his
thumb and forefinger.  My face contorted in pain and he smiled wickedly,
"Looks like they're sensitive.  Good sign."  Ryan's hands never really left
my body as they slid up my left side, prodding my rib cage, and then past my
armpit until he was testing the size of my triceps and biceps with his
fingers.  "Biceps are good, delts and triceps could be bigger.  Typical jock
behavior. Think it's all about the guns and the abs, everything else gets
neglected."

Mr. Grey nodded in agreement as his hands followed suit on my right side.
His hands were much rougher than Ryan's, but his touch was more methodical.
He seemed to know what he was looking for as he continued to poke and prod
at my muscles.  Ryan, on the hand, had much smoother hands, maybe even a
hint of sweat on his palms.  I wondered suddenly if he might be as nervous
as I was, even if he never let it show.  His exploration was much more rough
and random.

Keeping still proved difficult as their double-sided assault kept me swaying
back and forth, but I did my best to hold the stance, the arms proving the
most difficult.  Never in my life had I felt more exposed, more helpless, or
more insignificant.  By the time they were finished assessing my back, and
shoulders, which they decided could also use conditioning, they were ready
to examine my lower half.

I felt Mr. Grey's rough hand pressing against my shoulder blades, "Bend
over, slave.  Keep your feet wide as they are.  Grab your ankles if you
can."

I felt my stomach do a flip, as I bent forward at the prodding.  I'd always
been fairly flexible, but couldn't quite grasp my fingers all the way around
my ankles, spread as they were.  Then I yelped suddenly, feeling a hard slap
across my bare ass.  I wasn't sure whose.

"Forgetting something, bitch?"  It was Ryan.

"Yes, Sir!  Sorry, Sir," I acknowledged my mistake, the blood already
rushing to my head.

What followed was a four handed exploration of my ass cheeks.  They swatted
it lightly, squeezed both cheeks, kneaded for firmness, and then pulled
my cheeks so wide apart that I thought my ass might rip open.

"Ass is in great shape," Mr. Grey commented.  "You'll need to teach him to
keep his crack shaved."

They released their grasps on my cheeks, and I waited uncertainly for a few
long moments.  I hadn't been told to move, though my head was now pounding
from the blood pressure.  All I could see was their feet upside down as they
stood behind me.  I swallowed hearing what I thought sounded like latex
snapping.

"You'll need this," Mr. Grey said to his son. "He's not clean yet."

"Is this necessary? Right now?" I heard Ryan mutter under his breath, almost
inaudibly.  I heard the twisting of a cap, my senses ultra heightened at the
moment.

"Entirely necessary.  A slave's holes are its most valuable of assets, and
males only have two, starting them off at a disadvantage.  We'll want to
ensure that his ass is at least virgin," Mr. Grey explained.

"Fine," Ryan agreed.  I heard the snap of latex again.  "Will you hold his
cheeks apart?"

"No," Mr. Grey said. "Have the slave make himself useful.  He can display
his hole for you."

There was another sharp slap on my ass, causing me to jump.  "You heard your
Master, bitch.  Show us that hole," Ryan barked, taking back control of the
situation.

"Yes...Sir," I agreed with a hint of reluctance in my voice.  My legs were
shaking, as were my hands, as I reached back behind me, taking a hold of my
ass cheeks with my fingers, and pulling them apart as instructed, feeling
the cool air again on my exposed hole.

"Relax," Ryan instructed as I felt a slick, slimy latex covered finger
probing at my puckering asshole.  "How will I know for sure?"  Ryan asked,
directing the question obviously at his father.

"You'll know," Mr. Grey assured.

I could detect a bit of uncertainty in Ryan's voice.  He was getting more
nervous.  I wondered if he was afraid he would hurt me, even though
inflicting pain on me seemed to be his overall goal.  Wincing my eyes
tightly, I gasped loudly as I felt his finger push into me, sliding past my
anus and deep into my rectum.

"All the way in.  That's it..." Mr. Grey coached from the sidelines.  "Feel
how tight it is?  The way the muscles are rejecting the finger?  Now give it
a good wiggle.  That hole is yours now.  Feel free to explore."

I clenched my teeth, unable to contain a grunt or two as Ryan moved his
finger around inside my ass.  My temples were pounding, my legs shaking, my
grasp on my ass cheeks weakening.  I felt as if I might topple forward.  As
for the invasion, I had never felt so violated, so humiliated.  It felt
strange, like taking a shit that wouldn't come out.  I guess I should feel
fortunate that he was only using one finger.  The only thing that really
hurt was my pride. Then, Mr. Grey whispered something I couldn't hear, and
with that, the finger slid out as quickly as it had gone in.

"Display!" Ryan barked

I hesitated for a moment, only because I was still processing the shock of
having my ass probed, then remembered my lesson. "Yea, yes, Sir," I
stammered a bit as I gratefully released my ass cheeks and pulled my chest
back upright, returning my hands to their place behind my head.  My face was
beet red as the blood began to drain back into the rest of my body.  They
circled back in front of me.

"As you can see," Mr. Grey observed, suddenly taking my cock in his hand and
giving it a few quick strokes, "our slave boy seemed to enjoy that."

Ryan grinned wickedly as he pulled the latex glove from his right hand with
a snap and tossed it on the floor.  In horror, I couldn't help but look down
towards my crotch.  It was true that my cock had betrayed me.  I had felt it
grow semi-hard and then nearly to a full erection while Ryan probed the
sensitive nerves in my ass.  My ears were now burning, matching the crimson
in my cheeks.  A sudden sharp slap to my left cheek brought me back to
attention.

"Keep your head up, eyes forward," Mr. Grey barked, not missing a beat.

"Yes, Sir."  I picked my chin back up to stare straight ahead while my new
Masters began to examine my manhood.

Mr. Grey continued to stroke my cock, as it continued to thicken and
lengthen, "I want to see him fully erect.  Here," he took my balls lightly
in his hand, and bounced them as if weighing them. "Balls are nice and full,
good strong sack.  Not too saggy.  Feel."

"Just a sec," Ryan mumbled as he reached down to pull his black sweatshirt
over his head.  "Getting warm in here."  He tossed the sweatshirt to the
back of the room.  He was wearing a black tank top t-shirt underneath that
complimented his own impressive physique.  His build was muscular and
athletic, but he was taller and not as thick as me.  Ryan took over for his
father, first weighing my balls in his hand, and then going a step farther
as he began to roll them around in his fingers, individually at first, and
then together, giving them a good squeeze prompting an involuntary grunt
from me. "Yeah. Gonna have some fun with these," he mused.

"Here, take over with this.  Think he's almost there, but have a good feel,"
Mr. Grey coaxed his son.  "Don't be shy about playing with it; it's just a
slave cock.  You have as much jurisdiction over your slave's cock as your
slave's ass."

I felt my balls drop as the grasp on my now throbbing cock was transferred
from Mr. Grey to Ryan.  He gave it a few more strokes, and then swatted it
back and forth a bit.  Taking liberties, he pushed it all the way down until
I could feel it crushing my ball sack up towards my ass, and then let it go,
watching it spring upwards, nearly slapping me in the stomach.  He chuckled,
and did it a second time.  I felt him take hold of the shafted again, and
holding it upwards, he bent forward to take a good look as he squeezed the
head of my dick, and then suddenly let it drop.

"Ha!" Ryan exclaimed, as he held up his fingers to show his father.  There
was clear liquid stringing between his fingers and thumb.  "The bitch is
leaking precum."

"Yes," Mr. Grey acknowledged. "He's excited.  The question is, what are you
going to do with it?"

"What do you want me to do with it?"

"Anything you want," Mr. Grey mused. "Why waste a cloth or tissue when you
have an entire slave to wipe it on?  Of course," he paused, "The slave is
the one leaking it.  Maybe it's best to put it back where it belong? Inside
the slave?"

My eyes widened in concern as I looked at Ryan's fingers.  I could see the
smile twist on his face as he nodded in agreement.

"Open your mouth, wide," Ryan snapped.  "Stick out your tongue."

I blinked my eyes closed for a long second, "Yes, Sir," I said with little
enthusiasm.  I opened my mouth timidly, just letting my tongue cross my
lower lip.

"I said WIDE!" he repeated as his precum covered fingers hovered at my
lips.  I closed my eyes and opened wider, just sticking my tongue further
out as his fingers pushed inside.  He slid his fingers across my tongue,
depositing the precum on my taste buds.  "Keep it open," he warned, pulling
his fingers out.  He went back to my cock.  I could feel him squeezing
another discharge of precum from the tip, and then shoveling it back into my
mouth.  "Okay, close and suck it off.  Bite me, and I'll pull out your
teeth."

Unable to respond verbally, I closed my lips around his fingers, again
wincing my eyes shut as I swirled my tongue around them, and tasted the
precum for the first time.  It wasn't as bad as I had feared,  A little
salty and gooey, not revolting.  I opened my eyes, cheeks flushing, as he
pulled his fingers out with a pop.  There was a long string of saliva that
came with them, and then broke off, clinging to my chin.

Without prompting, he wiped his spit-covered hand across my chest, both
sides until he was satisfied that it was dry. "I think you should thank me
for that, cum breath," Ryan suggested.

A bit taken aback at the suggestion, I stumbled over my words, "Uh, yeah
thanks, uh, yes, thank you, Sir."

He gave me a patronizing light slap on the cheek, lingering for a second to
give my chin a shake, "You're welcome, slave."

While Ryan was feeding my precum to me, Mr. Grey had disappeared into the
shadows of the room, and returned holding an electric clipper.  He held it
out for Ryan, "Do you think you got this?"

"I got it," Ryan assured him, taking the clippers.  He turned it on, the
small motor buzzing loudly in the silent room.  "Hold still," he warned
leaning towards me with the clippers in his hand.  He was headed for my left
armpit, and began to scrape away at my pit hair.  I shivered slightly, as
the teeth of the razor tickled and scraped my sensitive skin at the same
time.

"Slaves, as you are already well on your way to finding out, are not
entitled to the same basic things as their superior counterparts...privacy,
modesty, clothing," Mr. Grey lectured, as he watched Ryan work.  "Nor are
you entitled to the very hair that grows on your body.  Some owners may let
their slaves keep some, if not all of their hair.  However, it is the policy
of this household that the only hair male slaves are permitted below their
ears is that which grows lightly on their arms and legs."

I listened in muted shock as Ryan finished with my left pit, and moved
around to my right side.

"The hair that grows under your arms, on your chest and stomach, in your
crotch and ass crack, is a sign of manhood that is in conflict with your
status as a slave," Mr. Grey continued.  "Not all free men can even grow
masses of hair in these areas, some not at all.  How unbecoming for an
inferior slave to have more hair on his body than one of his superiors?
Therefore, the slave will have none."  He looked up to see Ryan finishing up
with my right pit.  "Do his ass next."

Ryan nodded.  "Display your ass, slave.  You know how."

"Yes, Sir," I replied, almost in a whimper.  I was trying to stay strong
through the ordeal, but as each humiliating minute ticked by, I felt less
and less in tune with my emotions.  Bending over again at the waist, I
pulled my ass cheeks apart for the second time that day to willingly expose
my asshole.

I could only see Ryan's feet as he took his stance behind me, the clippers
buzzing back to life.  Even though I was holding my ass apart, I felt him
brace himself on my left cheek, and then the cold prickling teeth of the
razor invading my crack.  I lurched involuntarily.  The clippers were cold
as they dragged across the sensitive skin of my crack, my ass clenching as
if bracing for another invasion.  I could hear Ryan breathing loudly through
his nose as he worked, as if he was concentrating hard on the job.

"Oh yeah," Ryan congratulated himself on his work, giving my ass a light
swat as he pulled the razor away.  "Smooth as the day he was born."

"Display your cock your balls to us, slave," Mr. Grey suddenly interjected.
"Up as if you were to display normally, only cross your wrists behind you in
the small of your back, using your elbows for balance, bend your knees
keeping your legs spread as they are, thrust your hips forward, and arch
your back.  Lift your chin naturally, keeping your neck aligned with your
spine."

"Now," Ryan added quickly as I hesitated, lifting myself up to scramble into
the position.

"Yes.yes, Sir," I answered, my voice quaking.  Catching myself as I went to
put my hands back behind my head, I moved them quickly to the small of my
back.  Bending my knees slightly, I thrust out my hips forcing me to
naturally arch my back, understanding quickly how the focus was now on my
semi-hard dick bobbing in front of me.

I felt a smooth hand circle around the shaft, giving it a few pumps. "Oh,
look. The slave is going soft on us," Ryan observed.

"His body is confusing itself, son," Mr. Grey explained. "The hormones
that are fueling his slave heart are in overdrive, while his brain is
warning him that this type of behavior should not excite him so.  You will
need to train him to get hard on demand, as it's a sign of respect in the
presence of his Masters."

"Hear that slave boy?" Ryan asked, giving my cock a few more strokes as it
lingered in a semi-hard state, a little harder than before.  "Trying to tell
me you don't respect your fucking Master?" He gave me a few more vicious
strokes.  It was anything but stimulating.  "Well boy?"  He demanded.

I winced in pain as the friction burned the sensitive skin of my shaft.
"Yes, Sssi...I mean no...no Sir!"

He stopped stroking and took hold my cock like it was a handle, yanking it
downwards between my legs as I struggled to hold the position.  The clippers
buzzed back to life.  "Let me show you how much respect I have for you,
bitch," he sneered.  I felt the cold teeth of the clippers press into my
belly button, and then slide down to the base of my cock in one swoop,
taking my treasure trail with it.  "None."

I grimaced slightly as he held firm to my cock, moving it side to side as
the clippers raked over my pubes, dipping into the cracks between groin and
inner thighs.  I could only imagine what it must look like, as I felt some
of the wiry pubes sticking my legs as they fell from my crotch.  Suddenly, I
felt my now mostly-soft cock push up against my abdomen.

"Here, boy.  Hold this with your left hand," Ryan commanded, adding quickly,
"And, don't even think about stroking it."

I swallowed, "Yes, Sir."  Bringing my left hand around and pressing my cock
against my lower abdomen, keeping my eyes generally pointed toward the
ceiling.  I could almost feel my cock grow as I felt its familiar warmth,
touching it for the first time since the ordeal began with my own hand,
despite the humiliation of having my balls shaved bare.  Or, maybe it was
the humiliation that was feeling good.  My legs were beginning to shake, my
quads burning as I held the slight squat.

He lifted and separated my ball sack as he worked, shaving one side and then
the other, stroking the clippers carefully underneath.  When he was
apparently satisfied with his work, he let my balls drop. "Sweet," he
remarked, wiping some of the stray hairs off of my skin with his fingers.

"Feels good to turn a man into the slave that he is, doesn't it?" Mr. Grey
chuckled, patting Ryan on the back.  "Of course, we're far from done.  Let's
get this bitch on his knees where he really belongs."

"Good idea," Ryan agreed. "You heard your Master, slave.  Stop playing with
yourself, and get down on your fucking knees!"

"Yes, Sir," I responded, grateful actually to release the position I was
holding as the muscles in my legs were starting to really burn.  Awkwardly I
kind of shuffled my feet taking a step backward, and then bent down until my
knees touched the floor, touching my hands to the ground for balance, then
pushing up until I was kneeling upright, feeling proud of myself that I knew
better than to sit back on my heels without being told.

Though, my satisfaction was short lived as Mr. Grey stepped forward twisting
his fingers in my hair and yanking me upwards to my feet.  "Let's try this
again, boy."

"Gah!" I yelped, wincing in pain through clenched teeth.  My instinct was to
grab his wrists and pull his hands out of my hair as waves of pain radiated
along my scalp, but I clenched my fists instead, stopping myself short of
touching him.

"Back as you were, displaying cock," Mr. Grey barked, letting go of my hair
with a shake of my head.

"Yes, Sir," I nearly cried, scrambling back into the position, my heart
racing as I wondered what I had done so terribly wrong.

"Slaves don't just move from one position to the next like this is some
fucking yoga class.  You were instructed to kneel from standing as you are
now.  No reason to move your hands from where they are, and no reason to
look so sloppy in the process," he lectured.  "Now, try it again.  Just bend
your knees until they touch the floor, keep your upper body as straight as
you can, head high, hands behind your back.  Don't rely on your arms for
balance, next time they may be chained there.  When you are down, you are
permitted to quickly adjust the placement of your knees to ensure they are
spread wide and balanced.  You should feel your cock and balls hanging
freely between your thighs.  It goes without saying that you are to kneel
tall and proud.  Shoulders back, stomach tight, chest out.  Do it!"

"Yes, Sir." Exhaling a nervous breath through my nose, I held my upper body
high and began to bend my knees as instructed.  I realized immediately that
it was not as easy as it sounded.  I had to account for a strange shift in
balance, and with my head held high, I couldn't rely much on my depth
perception as I knelt to the ground.  I exhaled fully as I felt my knees hit
the ground, adjusting them slightly, my freshly shaved balls feeling strange
as they bounced freely between my inner-thighs.

"Good," Mr. Grey approved with a nod.  "Now, one last adjustment, bow your
head slightly and keep your eyes downcast.  You have learned some display
positions, and now you are learning to present yourself formally as a
slave.  Although presenting on your knees should be your default reaction,
you may be asked to present standing, in which case you would simply display
with your hands behind your back instead of your head, and your head should
be bowed as it is now.  Got it?"

"Yes, Sir," I responded solemnly, keeping my eyes now to the ground before
both of their feet.

"As a slave, you need to start thinking differently.  Don't ask yourself
what you would do in this instance or that instance, but ask yourself what
your Master would want you to do," Mr. Grey continued as he paced around
me.  "Every action and inaction should convey your submission.  This
inspection is but a small part of it.  Slaves don't slouch and slump, they
stand tall and proud.  They don't hide their bodies, they display them.
They don't fidget with their fingers or cross their arms, they keep their
wrists crossed behind their backs or their hands behind their heads in
wait.  Is this making sense, boy?"

I nodded slightly, "Yes, Sir."

"Think, then act.  You will know quickly if you are wrong," Mr. Grey
warned. "Now, on with it."

I heard Ryan's footsteps behind me, and then fingers once again in my
hair.  I winced as he tugged slightly, not as if to drag me upwards like Mr.
Grey had, and then proceeded to muss his fingers through my thick mess of
dark blond locks.  I'd always kept my hair in a short, clean-cut fashion,
just a little choppy and stylishly messy.  "I don't know..." he mused out
loud. "I kind of like being able to grab onto it."

"I'll leave it up to you," Mr. Grey responded in a leading manner. "Leave it
if you like, but do remember one's hairstyle is a form of self-expression.
Andrew chose to style his hair this way.  What will you choose for your
slave?"

I swallowed hard hearing Mr. Grey as Ryan played with my hair.  I had always
taken pride and care in my appearance, and was used to receiving almost as
many compliments on my hair as on my body, and I felt it deep in the pit of
my stomach that Ryan was about to take it from me, like he had taken
everything else.  Sure enough, I heard the dreaded clippers buzz back to
life.

"Wise decision," Mr. Grey assured his son.  I felt something pass above my
head.  "Here, use this guard.  It will keep his hair buzzed to about an
inch.  You can still get a good hold if you really want to, but his
maintenance will be easier during training without that pretty-boy mess on
top.  Besides, it's only hair.  It will grow back if you want it to."

"Right," Ryan agreed, before unceremoniously running the clippers in a line
up the back of my head.  I winced feeling the first flutter of locks on my
bare shoulders.  "Let's see how pretty he looks without his faggoty hair."

My stomach was doing flips while I felt the clippers running over my entire
scalp.  He used his hand to move my head from side to side, working
different angles, finally pulling my head back to finish up clipping my
bangs down to an inch.  I glanced up only for a brief second while my head
was tilted back to see Ryan's face as he worked.  I expected to see a
devilish grin on his face, but instead I noticed intense concentration and
focus.  Maybe even a bead of sweat on his forehead.

When he was done, he pushed my head forward so that I was bowed again.  I
could feel hair clinging all over my body, my skin had grown moist with
nervous sweat.  They had retreated somewhere behind me, and I could hear low
whispering, but didn't dare move too much while I waited.  Having a few
moments to myself to reflect for the first time since the ordeal had begun
in the dungeon, I began to second-guess what I was doing.  A day earlier, I
was on top of the world, and now I knelt before two men I'd long considered
trusted family, stripped naked, inspected, violated, shaved.  And worst of
all, I'd done it all voluntarily.  I cringed, my face flushing crimson in
anger.  I was mad, not at them, but at myself.  I felt utterly pathetic.

I heard a strange squeaking of metal on metal, and then steps behind me, and
tensed up a bit.  My knees were really starting to ache as my body weight
pushed them against the cold hard floor.  I had tried shifting my weight a
bit from side to side, but it did little to help.

"Stand and display," Ryan barked suddenly from behind, while Mr. Grey
circled to my front, retaking his place in the outer shadows of the dungeon
with his arms crossed.

"Yes, Sir," I responded, choking back the words a little.  There was a small
lump in my throat, I did my best to swallow.  Remembering my lesson, I
strained to keep my hands behind my back as I pushed up to one knee, nearly
falling over, but gritting my teeth I caught my balance, wavering a little,
and pushed up to both feet.  It was then that I adjusted my stance so that
my legs were as wide as they had been before, straightened my shoulders, and
put my hands behind my head.

I yelped suddenly as a cold, wet, high-powered stream of water hit me square
in the back.  It was enough of a surprise that I stumbled forward a few
paces, losing my stance all together.  The water was like ice against my
now-warmed skin.

"Get your bitch ass back into position right this fucking second!" Ryan
barked loudly over the stream of water that he had focused on my body.

"Yea..yes, Sir," I stammered, shivering uncontrollably as the water
continued to assault me from behind.  I got back into position, wincing my
eyes closed as Ryan began to move the spray up and down my back side,
stepping closer to wash out my exposed armpits from the sides.  I could tell
as the stream from his hose increased in intensity.

"You're covered in hair, slave," he explained the obvious.  There must have
been some sort of pipework in the exposed ceiling allowing for a hose, which
also explained the drain between my feet.  "Display your ass."

"Yes, Sir," I said reluctantly as I bent over for a third time and pulled my
ass cheeks apart.  I cringed in pain as the cold water assaulted the
sensitive skin between my cheeks and pushed into my anus.

"Up, display your cock," Ryan said calmly like it was commonplace as he
circled around me, never letting the stream of water leave my skin.

"Yes, Sir."  I leaned all the way back, bent my knees a bit, and thrust my
hips forward, almost forgetting to move my hands behind my back. "Gah!"  I
yelped uncontrollably as he opened the spray up a bit to encompass the whole
of my crotch, the cold water stinging my genitals from all angles.

"Present.  Stay standing," he instructed as he moved slowly up my abdomen
and then back and forth across my chest, even though nothing had been shaved
in either location.

"Agh!  Uh, yea..yes Sir!" I was yelping in pain as the water felt like
daggers of ice pounding into my skin as I straightened my stance, squared my
shoulders and bowed my head shamefully as I did nothing to rebel physically
against the assault.

Finishing up, he stepped forward and opened the spray up over the top of my
head.  It felt like a drift of snow had just fallen over my head, as the icy
water cascaded down my head from all angles, running down my face, into my
eyes and mouth, and dripping from my chin.  Finally, it was over.  The spray
cut off, and Ryan retreated behind me with the hose, while I remained in
position, a shivering, teeth-chattering, mess.

It was clear that after several long moments of silence, that I was going to
be left to drip dry.  I jumped, suddenly startled at a clanging of metal
behind me, followed by more scraping of metal against metal, and a
recognizable sound of rattling chains.  My adrenaline rose as I heard him
approaching me from behind, and I nearly leapt out of my skin when the whole
pile of whatever he was carrying was dropped on the concrete floor echoing
in the chamber.

Ryan stepped in front of me, grasping my chin suddenly and lifting my head
so I had no choice but to look him in the eyes.  I searched them for a
moment, having expected to find hatred or mocking, I found instead,
intensity with a hint of what I thought might be pity.  He spoke evenly,
almost as if rehearsed, or at the very least, well-thought out, "You have
willingly and voluntarily submitted ownership of your body and will to me.
You are no longer a man in my eyes.  You are a male slave.  Nothing more,
nothing less," he paused, swallowing like his mouth was dry.  His voice was
quivering a bit, not sure whether it was excitement or nerves.  "Your rights
to freedom, privacy, modesty, comfort, are gone.  You are an object that
lives to serve and please and must learn that even your most basic needs are
at my discretion."  He paused to swallow again.  "Tell me what you are."

The words of his speech cut into me.  The facts were so blunted, yet so
sharp. I felt so much lower than I'd ever anticipated before signing my life
away, and yet a deep dark part of me felt so honored to have this kind of
attention.  "I...I'm a slave," I responded in a tone barely above a whisper,
my voice feeling small.  It felt weird to say the word, especially out
loud.

"Say it louder.  Mean it," Ryan coaxed calmly.  He didn't yell.

"I'm a slave," I said more clearly.

"Scream it," he demanded, his voice staying even.  "There is no shame."

"I'M A SLAVE!" I yelled, my voice echoing in the rafters of the basement
room. As if on cue, I could feel my eyes welling up slightly, as I became
overwhelmed with the reality of what I was saying.  I sniffed them back and
blinked furiously, refusing to out and out cry.

"Good," he said flatly, releasing my chin and patting my cheek.  "Then as a
slave, you will understand what's in store for you.  Move your legs a bit
closer together."

He circled behind me again, leaving me to contemplate the ominous
statement.  "Yes, Sir," I sniffled slightly, moving my legs about shoulder
width apart.

I nearly jumped when I felt something cold encircle my right ankle about the
same time the chains began to rattle.  Without a word, a thick steel shackle
was locked around my right ankle, and then a second one on my left.  They
felt heavy resting on top of my feet and I could feel the tension between
the manacles as a chain stretched between them.  I could hear him breathing
as he worked, separating my wrists which had been crossed behind my back.
Another cold shackle circled around my right wrist, and then my left.  When
he let go, I could feel the surprising weight of the chain that joined the
shackles pulling down at my arms and shoulders.   The cold chain was maybe a
foot in length and the slack rested on my ass.

Ryan circled back in front of me.  "You are shackled in heavy chain to help
remind you of your new reality, that you body belongs to me.  Kneel."

My body was really quivering now.  Droplets of water were still evaporating
from my skin, but the discomfort of being cold was now overwhelmed by
nervous energy as I lowered to my knees in front of my new Master.  "Yes,
Sir."  The chains made it more difficult then before, mostly because I
couldn't move my legs as wide to help with balance.

Once kneeling, I went to bow my head, but he stopped me, pushing my head
backwards to look up at him.  He held up a thick gauge steel collar.  "This
collar will symbolize not only my ownership over your body, but your entire
being.  You will feel its constant weight on your neck and shoulders and
will understand the weight of your submission," he explained in a serious
tone as he leaned forward to circle the collar around my neck.

I closed my eyes feeling the collar close around my throat.  It pressed
against my adam's apple as he turned a small key in a lock with a loud
click, and then he let go.  Ryan was right.  The weight was instantly
noticeable, a pound at least.  I was fortunate that it felt lined with a
layer of soft leather, unlike the shackles around my wrists and ankles.

"Looks good, slave.  You should be proud," Ryan commented, nodding his
approval, a slight snicker returning to his voice.  "Open wide."

Raising an eyebrow in surprise, I hesitantly parted my lips slightly, and
then remembering earlier, I opened my mouth as wide as I could, expecting
him to transfer another batch of precum from my cock to my tongue.  Instead,
he produced a phallic shaped rubber gag attached to a strap that had been
hanging from his back pocket, and pushed it into my mouth without warning.
My eyes widen in surprised, and then winced as I nearly choked on the gag.
I wasn't sure how far back the rubber reached into my mouth, but it was
enough to keep my tongue depressed and my jaw stretched widely around it.

"The first thing you're gonna do as my slave is spend some serious time
reflecting on your status as my property.  You're gonna think about me,
dream about me.  Think of what you can do to make my life easier, what you
can do to please me.  You're gonna think about all those times growing up
when we wrestled and you pinned me, and those times you tackled me playing
touch-football, and all of those times you out-lifted me in weight training
in front of my friends, and that time you stole my date to the homecoming
dance," Ryan recited the list of grievances as he buckled the strap behind
my head, securing the gag in place.  "And you're gonna think about all the
ways that you're gonna make it up to me.  Up."

He took my arm, and helped me up to my feet, which would have been nearly
impossible with my ankles chained as they were.  I looked around wildly,
almost in panic as he retained hold of my arm.  I could see Mr. Grey smiling
darkly from the shadows in approval.  He had retreated almost fully,
allowing Ryan to step up and take control.  I wasn't sure what was
happening, but it didn't feel good as Ryan pulled me forward with the grip
on my arm.  I had no choice but to shuffle after him, the chains rattling
behind me.

We went to the wall that contained the four individual doors.  He opened the
last, closet to the wall.  The rusty hinges creaked loudly as the door swung
open.  "Here's a nice spot for you to meditate," Ryan observed in mocking as
he pulled me toward the open doorway.  He flipped a switch on the outside of
the door, and a very dim bulb illuminated overhead as I peered inside.  It
was a narrow cell, maybe 4 feet wide and 6 or 7 feet deep.  The decor
mirrored the rest of the dungeon, nothing but cinder block walls and a
cement floor with a drain in the back corner.

I shook my head wildly, not wanting to go in, pleading to him with my eyes.
"Mmph. Mmmph!" I tried to beg him.

He shoved me forward with enough forced that I tripped over the chain at my
feet, and caught myself chest first against the cold wall.  If the cell had
been any bigger, I would have fallen flat on my face.

"Just remember," he warned coldly. "You wanted this, slave."

The door slammed shut behind me, and moments later, the dim bulb above my
head went black.

 ***

To be continued. Comments and Feedback are encouraged: matt10019@gmail.com