Date: Fri, 8 Jul 2005 06:40:13 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Duped!, Part 2

DUPED!   by Pete Brown.  petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories in
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

Part 2

They made us stand there then as they got on with
their preparations.  Naked, and feeling chilled as the
water evaporated from our bodies, we stood there
almost huddled together - but, as you do, we were
careful to avoid any of our skin touching each other.
I mean, when you're with other blokes in the showers
and so on you're careful about things like that,
aren't you?

Other than one of the guards with a prod thing
standing close by us, though, we were mostly left to
ourselves as we stood together in a small group.  We
started talking - for some reason the whole atmosphere
was conducive to talking in low voices, almost a
whisper -  and we all wondered what the fuck was going
on.  Like me, the other guys had been told that they
were going to make a movie, and that they wanted
"unknowns" with nice bodies to take part.  I said that
I though we'd all been duped, as this wasn't my idea
of movie making!  But one of the others pointed out
that all the time we had been stripping and showering,
the guys with the movie camera had been hovering
around filming us.

"Fucking hell!", I told him, "We're not looking at the
small details here!  It's a question of perception and
expectation.  If you're offered a part in a movie, you
kind of expect a lot of people around, directors,
make-up artists, several cameras... And a proper
studio.  And you don't have to strip and be filmed
naked...  No, we've been duped.  If you ask me,
there's something more sinister going on."

The other guy was about to reply when the guard
snapped "Shut the fuck up, you men!  You're only
allowed to speak when you're spoken to."  He was
waving the prod thing around as he said this,  and,
frankly, no one wanted to argue, so we stood there,
silently.  It's difficult, actually, just to stand
there with a bunch of other guys when you can't speak
and can't move.  Even the stuff you'd usually do, like
stick your hands in your pockets and adjust your
clothes weren't on!  And where do you put your hands,
anyway?  It seems stupid to hold them over your cock
as all the others have already seen it by now.
Clasping them behind your back draws attention to your
bum, if you fold your arms your pecs and nips are
emphasised - you can't realise how difficult it is
just to do nothing when you're naked, until you've
tried it.

If we had been able to speak, though, we'd all
probably have been worrying about what the cages were
for!  There, against the far wall, were five things
that looked like the animal cages you see at airports
with dogs inside them, except that these were a bit
bigger, and the mesh they were made of looked thick
and very strong as the steel glinted under the lights.
 The other guards were fussing around with a lot of
strange kit, too - stuff that looked like water
bottles, and so on.

We found out soon enough!  One of the men standing
around the cages came over to us, pointed at me, and
said "You first!".  I stepped forward, and as  I did
so he reached out and tugged at the thin gold chain I
wore around my neck - it was a present from one of my
girl friends, as she'd seen it  in a jewellers and
thought that having it around my neck with the little
pendant on it dangling down as I fucked her would be
kind of erotic.  I'd never bother to take it off, even
though we'd broken up, as I did think it was kind of
sexy and quite liked the feel of it against my skin as
I dressed and shaved, and the gold did set off the
dark tone of my body and my lush black hair that goes
right up my chest and neck.  It wasn't all that thick,
as gold is so expensive, but even so as he pulled at
it,  it hurt, until it snapped.  He tossed it casually
on the floor, and almost snarled at me "Didn't you
hear us when we said totally naked earlier?  You'd
better learn, boy, that when you're told to do
something, you do it properly, or else you'll be in
big trouble!"

I though this was taking realism too far, and snapped
back "Hey, that's mine, a present from my girl
friend...."

"Shut the fuck up, too!  That's something else you
need to learn - you only speak when you're spoken to!"
  He was waving his prod thing around menacingly now,
and I didn't want even to think about experiencing
what I'd seen the other guys go through, so I gritted
my teeth and moved over towards the cages, as he was
indicating.  I mentally made a note to add it to the
money I'd claim from them - I mean, they said I was
being paid my normal salary, but this was above and
beyond what anyone had a right to expect!

I could hardly believe this was happening to me at
first.  We stood by the side of one of the cages, the
guy lifted the lid, and gestured.  When I stood there
looking dumb, he snapped "In you go!  This is shipping
crate, and you'll soon get used to it!"

Well what was  I supposed to do?  The prod was there,
I was naked and there was no way I could overcome the
guards in their uniforms and heavy boots - one kick of
them against my bare legs or feet, and I'd be done for
anyway.  So I stepped over the edge, and as the man
watched, sat down.  It was rather like sitting in a
bath tub - a small bath tub, like you get in cheap
motels as it wasn't long enough.  With my back against
one end and my feet touching the other, my knees were
bent up in front of me.  They seemed to know what they
were doing, though, as before I had time to react one
of the other guards was bending down by the side of
the cage and almost before I could think about it, my
ankles were attached to the mesh with something soft
and flexible, but strong enough to prevent me from
moving them, and another piece was cinched around my
waist holding me firmly against the back wall.  They
simply grabbed my arms and fastened them to the mesh
on the sides - even though I'm really strong, you're
at such a mechanical disadvantage sitting there like
that and it's just not possible to prevent them doing
it.

Look, there's something utterly terrifying about being
totally helpless.  It was bad enough being scared of
the prod and having to do what they said, but at least
I was relatively "free" and I suppose I knew there was
just the vague possibility I could do something.  But
once I was lashed down into this cage, all hope was
gone - they could do whatever they liked, and I was
powerless, utterly powerless, to stop them.  A
sickening thought came to me - suppose they were
making a movie, a snuff movie?  I'd heard that these
sold for really big money to sickos who wanted to see
people killed - they could drop the cage with me in it
into the sea or something, and I could do nothing,
absolutely nothing, to stop myself from drowning.  No,
they wouldn't even need the sea - just something
filled with water an inch higher than my nose!  They
could lower the cage in slowly and as the water rose
up my body I'd be straining futilely to get free,
until it covered my nose...  Or they could just put
duct tape over my mouth, and then hold my nose closed
- how long before I suffocated?  Or do one of those
magician's acts where they stab swords through  a cage
holding the assistant, but this time for real - I
couldn't move my body out of the way of a sword poked
through the mesh, not even by an inch....

Oh, fuck me!  This was it.... I began to panic, and I
tried everything I could to break free, desperately
pushing against all the ties holding me  to the cage:
one of the guys was approaching me with something evil
looking, and it was headed for my face.  They were
going to choke me, or suffocate me.  I started to
scream and shout, and the man just laughed.  "Easy,
boy... We can do this the hard way, when I force this
in to you, and you'll get hurt. Or you can be calm and
sensible, and it will all be over in a jiffy...."

Look, it may sound silly, but he looked a sensible
sort of guy.  He didn't look like a killer (not that I
know what a killer looks like, I suppose.  After all,
some pretty normal people can end up as guards in
concentration camps and stuff, can't they?)  But there
was something about him that made me think he was just
trying to do his job, so I tried to calm myself as he
pushed something against my lips.  I could smell the
scent of his hands - antiseptic, like soap, as he said
calmly "OK, boy, open up!  I just need to get this
into your mouth, then you can relax."

It was hard and tasteless, plastic, and it rested on
my tongue and almost filled my mouth, but not enough
to make me gag.  I found I could close my teeth around
it as there was evidently a ridge or bar of some kind
that I could bite down on that was faintly yielding.
The man bent over me and fastened a strap around the
back of my head, then stood up.  I pushed at the thing
in my mouth, but it wouldn't come out, and the thing
pressing my tongue down meant that I couldn't speak,
only make kind of inarticulate gurgling noises.

"Comfortable?", he asked me.  I shook my head,
vigorously.

"Well not exactly comfortable, then - unless you're
used to it, having a plastic penis in your mouth isn't
a whole lot of fun!  But are you about to choke?  Does
it pinch you anywhere?  Is any skin or anything
trapped?"   I shook my head.

"Are you sure?  You're going to be wearing this for a
few hours as it's how you get water, and it keeps you
quiet, too.  Still, it looks OK, so I'll attach the
water tube."

All I could do was sit there as he hung one of the
bottles I'd seen earlier to the side of my cage, then
run a thin plastic tube from it to the thing that was
in my mouth.  He adjusted a little valve somewhere,
and said "OK, boy.  Suck, and let's make sure it's
working."

I sucked and got nothing, and looked at him, shaking
my head. "Oh no, boy!  Harder than that!  This is
training too, you know!  Imagine it's a nice cock that
you're chowing down on, and really suck it to get the
juices flowing..."

Shaking my had almost in disbelief - well, I was
straight, and I'd never even thought about sucking
another bloke's cock, I sucked vigorously away and was
rewarded by a mouthful of warm, slightly salt, water.

"Good", the man said, seeing my efforts had been
rewarded as I swallowed. "Now don't drink it all at
once!  It's got to last you the best part of a day,
and it's only so that you don't get totally
dehydrated.  And now we've done that, let's attend to
the other end!"

He bend down, then knelt, and the next moment I felt
his hands on my cock!  I tried to struggle again, but
the ties held me, and he poked his head in front of
mine as he was now down at my level.  "Don't worry,
boy!  I'm not going to hurt you.  But you'll want to
piss, and we don't want it making a mess all over the
cage, do we?  So I'm just going to slip a sleeve over
your cock that's connected to a waste container.
Nothing to worry about at all - lots of old men wear
these if they're just a bit incontinent - a little
bottle strapped to the thigh and a nice sleeve over
the cock, and they can lead a normal life.  So there's
nothing to worry about..."

Oh yes there was!  My cock was hanging down there,
helpless, between my thighs that were bent upwards as
I've told you.  There was absolutely nothing  I could
do to prevent him reaching under me and grabbing hold
of me, and my balls, if he wanted to.  I felt
completely vulnerable, and when you balls are exposed
like that, it makes you want to shiver, I find.  And
I'd never had another bloke touch my cock before,
either - well, I suppose the doctor did when I was a
little lad and they were doing those inspections at
the baby clinic, and at school.  But never after that,
and only with a doctor.  The thought of another man
touching me so intimately was disgusting.  I mean,
it's OK with your girlfriend,  I suppose (but mine
were usually not very good at taking the initiative,
and mostly we just fucked), but another man, never!
To make it worse, the moment I felt his warm fingers
on me, and he gently teased my cock away from my
balls, I felt myself getting an erection!  No, this
couldn't be:  it was fucking disgusting having another
man touch me at all, but to have him touch me when I
was having an erection...

"Don't worry", he said softly, perhaps sensing my
embarrassment.  "It happens a lot!  Young blokes like
you just can't help getting a hard- on when someone
touches their cock.  There... All done..."  I strained
to look down, and could see him attaching another
bottle to the bars of the cage, at the base.  He stood
up, gently pushed my head forward a bit, and closed
the lid down, and I watched from my half-bent position
as he closed a lock on it.

"Right, boy, that's you done!  Now we're just going to
put the sides on - it wouldn't do for any of those
cargo handlers at the airport to see what was really
in our case of novelty toys, would it?  And remember,
go easy on the water - it's got to last you several
hours.  Oh, and it's got a mild sedative in it, too,
which is another reason for not drinking it all at
once:  it' really boring in that cage, and we don't
want you getting overly anxious, or panicking, or
anything."

I was utterly trapped now, I knew.  I couldn't break
out, they could do with me whatever they wanted.   I
was still terrified they were going to kill me, but
somehow the bloke was reassuring - they wouldn't go to
all this trouble about enabling me to piss, would
they, if they were going to do that?  All I could do
though was watch, as the camera watched me, as they
clipped solid plywood sides around the cage, and when
the top one went on, I was in total darkness.

I tried to guess what was happening, but in pitch
blackness and with the walls of the crate muffling
sound, it was difficult.  I waited and waited,
probably whilst the other men were similarly crated as
I had been, and then there was a lot of shoving and
heaving and my crate was half-tipped to its side - I
had to clutch at the bars with my hands, as well as
having my wrists and arms held by the bindings.  Then
we must have been loaded onto a lorry, as there was a
lot of bumping, then somehow I knew my crate was being
raised up into the air.  I sucked vigorously at the
cock thing in my mouth as I was dry by now - inside
the crate it was warm, and I was covered in a fine
sheen of sweat, and I don't remember what happened
next as the mild sedative the bloke had talked about
seemed to do its job and I drifted into a doze.  But
there's something unmistakable about being in a plane
taking off - the acceleration, the slope as it climbs,
and so I knew that we must be in the air.

There's no way of knowing how long a flight is when
you're totally in the dark, with no means of telling
the time, and when every time you have a sip of water
it makes you drowsy and you doze!  I knew time was
passing, as I had to piss once or twice, but that was
it.  And I felt that characteristic "bump" as we
landed, and there was then a lot more general bumping
and movement that went on for some time.  I was dozing
when I came awake to hear scraping outside the crate,
and the next moment one of the sides dropped away and
light flooded in.  I screwed up my eyes momentarily,
and silently gave thanks for having survived the
journey.  Something was different, though - the smell
of the air, the humidity, the heat?  I began to sweat
all over as my body tried to adjust, and a small,
dark-skinned guy, very foreign looking, came and bent
down and released my cock from its sheath and carried
it and the bottle half full of my urine away.  He came
back and similarly released the cock thing in my
mouth, carrying it away again together with the nearly
empty water bottle.  I champed my mouth up and down to
get some movement back in my jaws - and it really did
feel good to be able to move my tongue again.

"Hey, where the fuck am I?", I shouted to the little
bloke.  He just shrugged, and said something like "non
comprendo", and walked off.  There was nothing that I
could do, still strapped in, so I just sat there and
watched the other cases being opened to reveal the men
who had been with me in London.  And all the time
there was a camera man recording it all, but a
different one from the one in London:  like the man
who'd  undone my gag and piss tube, he looked darker,
and "foreign", and in spite of me shouting questions
at him, he totally ignored it:  it was as if he did
this all the time, and he'd heard it all before, and
couldn't even be bother even acknowledge that I was
speaking.

There were big doors at the end of the space we were
in, and they burst open and a squad - yes, that is
what they were, a squad - of soldiers came in.
Short-sleeved khaki shirts, khaki shorts, black
military boots.... I could see rank badges on some of
them, and they were all armed:  handguns in holsters,
but in their hands, something  I recognised:  the prod
things!  They looked tough, and mean, and I certainly
wouldn't want to tackle any one of them, let alone all
eight of them.  They looked as if they were used to
being obeyed, used to keeping order, used to having
other men afraid of them, actually.    They walked up
and down looking at all of us as we still sat there,
and were obviously making some sort of jokes between
each other as they were laughing and doing all the
things that a group of men who are easy and confident
do:  but  I couldn't understand a word of it, as it
was in some incomprehensible foreign language.

I was sweating even more now, and could feel it
trickling down my skin, and the soldiers were hot, too
- big wet patches under their armpits, and a very
visible sheen on their foreheads and bare arms and
legs.  Wherever we were, it was hot and steamy,
evidently!  Even the camera man was sweating, but
perhaps that's understandable, as he had that heavy
camera to lug around.

We all just waited like that until another man came
in:  he was evidently in charge, as the guards all
stopped their inspections of us and quietened down and
went and stood in a rough line on one side of the
room.  He motioned to the camera man, who seemed
relieved to be ale to put the camera down and stood
there stretching and relaxing.

He took up a stance roughly in the centre of all of
us, and said, in a heavily accented voice "Right.  The
camera's off for a moment, so we can break out of the
movie.  You've all survived the journey, but we are
aiming for total realism, remember.  In a few moments
we'll start recording again, and you'll just behave
naturally!  But if anyone makes any reference to a
camera man, or to a movie, or anything like that,
punishment will be severe, and swift:  I believe you
have all been introduced to the cattle prod, and even
if we have to risk losing continuity by taking time
out to punish one or more of you, we will."

"What the fuck is the movie we're making?", one of my
companions called out.  "I've never read a book where
guys are caged..."

"You have not been reading the right books, my friend!
 But you are right, there is no book of the movie.
There might be one afterwards, as that's about the
only merchandising opportunity:  T shirts and so on
would be singularly inappropriate, as you will find
out.  No, this is a screenplay based on an erotic
story by one of the world's foremost writers of gay
male erotica, but someone of whom you will not have
heard unless you have rather specialised tastes, and
have subscribed to the right Internet interest groups!
 Not that there's a screenplay, as such:  you are
going to be forced to live out the experiences
described in this erotic story, and that is why we did
not want actors."

"That's fucking rubbish!", another guy called out.
"There's no point in making a movie like that.  You
could never show it.  You're not allowed to show a
bloke's cock in most cinemas, or on TV."

"And who said this movie was for public consumption?
Mr and Mrs Joe Public simply lack the refinement and
taste to appreciate erotica like this anyway.  No, the
patrons are a small, very rich group of men with
proper sensibilities who have read and enjoyed the
erotic stories I have described, and decided to
commission the author of them to write an outline plot
for a movie.  That movie is being made now, and you
are all the chief actors - you and several other men,
who you will meet in due course.  Not that you are
actors - our emphasis is on total realism, which is
why we just selected ordinary men, like you, to take
part."

He paused for breath, wiped the sweat off his brown
with a florid flourish of a silk handkerchief, and
continued  "The men who have paid - and paid highly -
for this movie have decided they want more, much more,
than the stories, excellent though they are, can
provide.  So instead of having to imagine for
themselves how a man feels when he is put on the
auction block to be sold, they will be able to see it:
 the camera will capture the emotions that run through
you as the bidding mounts and men with voracious
sexual appetites bid for your bodies."

Before any of us could shout out that he was mad, he
went on again "Of course this can only work if the
experience is totally authentic.  We didn't want
actors to play the parts of the men who are being sold
and so on, which is why you are all here.  But the
written word is so much more powerful than even the
best visual images that we have a problem anyway in
achieving authenticity - we do not want our rich,
powerful patrons to be disappointed, and there's a
real danger of that.  So if you all thought that this
was just a movie, however realistic, you wouldn't
react totally 'naturally' whatever we did to you:
somewhere inside you a little voice would be telling
you that it would all be over soon, and you'd be back
in London, dining out on the experience.  You were all
duped once in signing up to make a movie which is very
different from the one I think you imagined.  And
perhaps now is the time to totally dispel that
duplicity: listen carefully, as this is the last time
you will hear this."

You could have heard a pin drop as we sat there
listening.  I could almost hear my heart thumping
away.  "Although this is a movie, although you are all
being filmed as we process you, you are not actors,
not even inexperienced ones.  This experience is for
real.  You will never go back to London or wherever
you come from, and when we sell you off at our
auction, that is it:  you are sold, sold as a slave to
your new owner."

There were cries of  "Fucking rubbish!", now, and the
guy looked cross.  "You men may not want to hear
this", he snapped, "But it's in your own interests to
understand it, and understand it well.   You are deep
in the depths of South America here..."  There were
some gasps of astonishment from us all, but he just
ignored them.  "I do not think that most men from
developed countries truly appreciate the sheer size of
the rain forest, and the remoteness of it from
so-called 'civilisation'.  There are no roads, no
railways, and the only access is by private plane.
Even a trip on the river to the nearest small town is
more than two days, even assuming you have a boat,
know the way, and can hack through the overhanging
vegetation."

"In this vastness it is easy for the rich - and here
we are talking about the super rich, men with wealth
that is so great that it is never even mentioned in
the newspapers, men whose wealth far, far exceeds that
of American technology billionaires, and even Arab oil
sheikhs, who cannot succeed in keeping their riches
hidden - to build a paradise.   They own millions of
acres, pay billions in bribes each year, and for this
they have their own kingdom, their own land, where
their writ rules and there are no other laws.   A
group of these  rich, powerful men have build
themselves palaces surrounded by estates here in the
depths of Amazonia, and those houses and estates are
run by slaves.  You, gentlemen, will join those
slaves:  when you are auctioned, it is for real.
Your flesh is going to be sold to the highest bidder,
and as his slave, you then have no choice about what
happens to you.  For the rest of your life you are
merely the property of your owner, and he can do with
you as he will, just as he could with a dog or a sheep
or a cow that he bought.  There is no law here save
for the desire of your owner to amuse himself. No one
will come to rescue you - not only does the world not
know where you are, but the bribes I mentioned ensure
complete seclusion and privacy here."

Most of us were shouting out now, expressing our total
disbelief.  He held up his hand in a gesture demanding
silence.  "This is the last time we will speak of
this.  We are striving for authenticity in our movie
as you enact the scenes that our author has set out,
and I ask you to remember that this is not life
imitating art, or even art imitating life:  this is
life, life for you.  This is real, the only reality
you will ever in future know.  You are not men any
longer, not even actors:  you are slaves, pieces of
male flesh that belong to us at the moment, and who
will shortly belong to new owners who will do with you
as they wish.  I know that you do not currently
believe this, but you will soon learn:  I only hope,
for your sake, that you learn it quickly, and you
learn it well.  Life for a wilful, disobedient slave
can be even harder than life for a slave who properly
understands his place in this society.  And some
owners quickly lose patience with slaves who do not
obey or who are disrespectful and insufficiently
servile:  even though you will probably never have the
ability to breed, most of you do, I suspect, like
having your testicles.  Remember that the easiest way
of 'calming' an obstreperous slave is considered to be
gelding - this is easily done, with little risk of
destroying the slave's total usefulness, and most
owners consider it as an option:  as easy as a dog
owner considers castration for an animal who needs to
be calmed.  Remember this, and let it condition your
behaviour."


There were some shouts and the beginnings of arguments
from some of the guys, but the guards quickly forced
us into silence by threats of their prod things.  We
were all told to stand there then, and, actually, I
suppose it was a good idea after we'd been confined
for so long in those crates.  A white-coated guy came
in and went along the line of us several times,
collecting first blood, then piss (have you ever tried
to stop pissing, once you've started?), and then,
humiliatingly, a scrape of crap from our asses as we
were ordered to bend over.  All these samples went
into individual little tubes and vials, and then, when
we thought it was all over, he came back once more
with five more little cup things.

"All slaves awaiting assessment are required to give a
semen sample too", he said. "I will enjoy coming along
the line and taking it from you, but experience shows
that it is difficult and takes too long.  You may each
therefore take one of these cups and produce the
sample for me  yourselves."

We looked at each other, and we couldn't believe it at
first.  I mean, you don't jerk off in front of other
blokes, do you?  And, to make it worse, that fucking
camera was there, now watching the expressions on our
faces as we began to realise what we had to do.

Shifting from foot to foot in embarrassment, we all
just stood there.  White-coated guy said simply "Suit
yourselves!  I will get to enjoy the feel of your
penises after all...."

Well, for me, the thought of having another guy
jerking me off was even worse than the thought of
doing it publicly myself, so I reached down and began
to stroke myself into life.  I saw some of the others
starting to do it, too, and of course the fucking
camera was everywhere, zooming in and out at us as we
went at it.  What sort of a fucking film was this
going to be?  There was no way they were ever going to
be able to show it on TV, or in cinemas!  But then,
perhaps we were merely going to be "after dinner
entertainment" for these super-rich guys, or perhaps
they even had their own private cinema somewhere in
this vast complex.

Look, if you're young and horny like me, it doesn't
matter how embarrassed and humiliated you are:  if
you're stroking your dick, it reacts, doesn't it?  I
really have never had an erection with other blokes
present - well, that's not true, of course:  lots of
times I've had erections with other blokes all around
me, but it's slid down my trouser leg as I've had my
clothes on!  And when we were away skiing, I had
erections as we were going to sleep at night with my
mates in other beds in the room, but then it was
covered by the bedclothes.  No, what I mean is that
I've never had an erection where other blokes could
see it:  they may have known I had one, like when we
were skiing, but they couldn't see it, so there was no
need to make an issue about it.  But here there was
absolutely no concealment of any kind:  we were just
five totally naked guys, having to jerk ourselves off,
whether we liked it or not.

It's awful, I think.  I've tried wanking in the
shower, but I hated doing it standing up.  When I
start to cum my cock thrusts forward as if it's
looking for a nice cunt to get inside, and that makes
my knees bend the wrong way... So afterward, when I'm
standing there recovering, I feel all kind of weak at
the knees, and I hate it.  So I usually do it lying in
or on my bed, or sprawled in a chair....  But here
there was no choice:  I didn't think I could just sit
down on the floor and do it, so I stood there.  And it
was fucking embarrassing, not just for me, but for all
of us:  some blokes just can't help grunting and
moaning as they wank, and even I found myself making
that funny sort of noise as the last hand stroke
starts the balls pumping the cum up and out!

Afterwards ,when we were all standing there, breathing
hard, as you do after a good wank, the white-coated
guy came around and collected the little cups we'd
been given, and used a magic marker to label each one
with a single number, from one to five.  Before I
could stop him, he reached up and put a big three (I
was in the middle) on my pecs - well, he tried to, but
I'm really very hairy, and he had to keep rubbing the
fucking thing up and down for quite a time until he
was pleased with this handiwork.  It was just the same
when he did my bum, too - I could see the one and the
two on the backside of the other guys, as they were
quite smooth, but I've got a lot of body hair!  I
could see why he'd done it, of course - he wanted to
know which samples came from which guy, but, all the
same, I hated being marked like this:  why couldn't he
just have asked for my name, and put that on all the
samples he'd collected?   But it's not right, is it,
to actually mark a man as if he's an object, rather
than a living person?  You mark your CDs in your CD
collection, or the stuff you put in the deep freeze,
not another person!  But what was I supposed to do?

We all stood there then, feeling pretty foolish, I
suppose, until the guards came and "escorted" us into
the next room.  This was bare concrete like the rest
of the place, with simple fluorescent tubes lighting
it, but down one side were what appeared to be those
kind of prison cells you see in the old western movies
- a row of bars between them, bars at the front with a
barred door, and each one just containing a bunk bed.
Each of us was in turn locked into one of these cells,
and as we stood there looking out, wondering what the
fuck was going to happen next, the man who had been in
charge stood there and spoke again.

"That completes the first part of your processing", he
informed us.  "We now need to get your blood, urine,
semen and stool samples analysed to make sure you're
harbouring no infections, parasites, or anything else!
 We want to have nice, clean, attested stock for sale
at the auction, and so we'll keep you in isolation in
these cells until we have run all the tests.  We've
got a little leeway, as the next auction isn't for
five days."

"I won't ask if you have any questions", he added,
smiling, "As I'm sure you have hundreds!  But they're
not relevant, so there's no point in asking them.
Just remember that have something to look forward to -
your auction in five days - when you can then enter
your new life properly."

End of part 2