Date: Thu, 21 Jul 2005 13:53:34 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Duped! , Part 3

DUPED!   by Pete Brown.  petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part 3

The guards left us then, and we stood at the bars of
our cells just looking out, and trying to understand
what had gone on.  We all agreed that we'd really been
deceived:  how could we have been so naive as to be
duped that eerily - all that talk of big money, an
exciting new life, a new start:  life isn't like that
really, is it?  Some of the guys thought it might be
one huge con trick, and that after they'd made their
movie, we'd be set free - rather like an elaborate
version of one of those game shown on TV where they
suddenly reveal that you're the subject of an
elaborate practical joke.  But I didn't believe it -
what they'd done to us already left them wide-open to
a lot of lawsuits from us, and there was no way that I
would waive my rights if it was like that anyway:  I
wasn't going to appear on TV jerking off!

One of the others thought that we'd be rescued, but as
we stood there talking about it, even he ultimately
had to admit that the prospects of that were very low,
as we'd all left quite suddenly but had made proper
arrangements to pack and give up our places, and none
of us had current girlfriends, or close relatives....
No, as far as  I could see, we'd just vanished off the
face of the earth as far as the authorities at home
were concerned.  And if no one made a fuss about our
disappearance, no one was going to come looking.  I
remember seeing some article in the newspaper only a
couple of weeks back about how a lot of single people
just "walked out on their lives" as the writer put it,
and there was no incentive at all for the overworked
police to start investigating, even if someone did
notice in the first instance.  No, we seemed to be
stuck in this place.

Actually, it was odd at first, standing there totally
naked in a cell, but having a "normal" kind of
conversation with the other blokes.  But it was
amazing how easily one got used to it - it was warm
and very humid in there and it's not as if you felt
cold or anything, and the "strangeness" of being
without clothes soon wore off.  Mind you, after a bit
it got really boring - we'd all exchanged names, told
each other a bit about our lives (not that there was
all that much to say), went over our circumstances
again and again (still not reaching any conclusion,
and still having a lot of different views), and then
there was nothing to do.  All the other stuff blokes
talk about like football, the TV, the latest movie,
all seemed so remote and unreal that we just couldn't
summon up the energy to discuss them.  And none of us
was going to talk about women - well, I mean, with
your cock all naked in front of you, it's too risky,
isn't it?  Just like you don't talk about your
girlfriend in the Club changing rooms!

I lay down on my "bunk" - made of plain wood without
even a sheet or anything, and just lay there.  I'm not
used to lying down in the afternoon as I'd always got
something to do, but as so often happens, once you
just lie there and let your eyes close, I fell asleep.
 When I woke up  I was stiff - in two senses of the
word:  my body felt all kind of weary from being
cramped up in the cage, and then from lying on the
hard bunk;  and my cock was rock hard as it so often
is when you come out of sleep, isn't it?

You know how it is when you first wake up - you just
lie there for a few moments as your brain gets into
gear, and at first I thought I was back "home" and
reached for my cock to do what I always do in the
morning, have a good wank.  But then of course
"realisation" set in, and I remembered where I was,
and all the things that had happened to me recently
came flooding back.  I let go of my cock as if it was
red hot - there was absolutely no privacy in our
barred cells, and I mean, you can't let other blokes
see you wanking, can you?  But when I looked around, I
saw that the others were all asleep, as I had been,
and so I began to stroke myself to get rid of my
erection.  Funny, isn't it - however worried you are,
once you start to wank you forget it all and the only
thing you can think about is the fantastic sensation
in your cock as you slide your hands over it, and let
your 'skin massage your cock head.  I was really
getting turned on, as usual, and could feel my balls
tightening as they got ready to fire, when my happy
mood of intense sexuality was broken as I remembered
something:  there was nothing to catch the cum!

I stopped stroking myself, but it was too late - I
gasped out loud as a big load shot out of my dick and
splattered all up my belly and chest.  There was
nothing I could do to stop it - I'd gone too far.  All
I could do was lie there for a couple of minutes,
letting my breathing go back to normal and enjoying
that wonderful feeling of "after sex" you have when
you've shot your load. All the exertion had made me
sweat even more than I had been before, though, and I
knew my body was completely covered in a dense sheen
of water, but above the man scent of my own sweat I
was getting the characteristic smell of cum.  Oh, fuck
me, I thought - what was I going to do now?  There
wasn't anything in my cell to wipe it up with, and as
I raised up my head and looked down my body, I could
see the creamy white slicks lying there against my
tanned skin.

Well, there was nothing else for it, was there - I ran
my hand up my body, scooping up as much of the stuff
as I could, then bought my hand up to my lips and
licked them clean.  I know some blokes think it's
gross to eat their own cum, but  I can't see anything
wrong with it - it's not as if it tastes bad or
anything, and it's perfectly natural, after all.  I
don't usually, as there's always some dirty clothes
lying around in my room before it goes into the wash
that can be used to clean myself, but if there isn't,
well, I can't see what's wrong in doing as I then did,
actually.

I reckon I was  lucky to be the first bloke awake,
because as the afternoon wore on and they all started
to rouse themselves from their naps, I got quite a
laugh to see how they reacted on finding themselves
with a big hard-on in front of the rest of us.  None
of them wanked himself, and there was an awful lot of
embarrassed shuffling around as they tried to conceal
themselves from the rest of us by facing the rear wall
of the cells, and so on.

Look, it was just boring after that.  We had nothing
to do, and nothing to say, and it was only after a few
hours - well, it might have been only an hour, or a
couple of hours:  without any watches or a clock, it's
really hard to tell how much time has passed - that
something different happened:  the door opened, and
the guards came in.  They were accompanied by the
camera guy as usual, and this time there was a young
bloke, too:  he can only have been sixteen or so,
judging by his slight build, as it was evident he was
not fully mature in the sense that his muscles hadn't
hardened and toughened as young blokes' do.  He was
brown as a berry - heavily tanned all over, and I do
mean all over - like us, he was naked, but unlike us
there were no white patches anywhere on him where a
shirt had covered his body leaving  white upper arms
to contrast with dark forearms, or even where a
swimming costume had concealed his cock and bum!  No,
he was a deep, even tan all over and I could tell from
the way that his blond hair had been bleached almost
white that this must have come from prolonged,
continuous exposure to the sun - it wasn't because he
was mixed race, or anything.  But he was mature - you
could tell that:  he had a small patch of blond hair
above his cock, and that was itself quite big in
proportion to the rest of him:  you know how it is:
when you're a young kid your cock is small, then as
you start to go into puberty it gets bigger so that it
looks kind of "oversized" in relation to the rest of
you as millions of years of human evolution get you
ready for sex (except of course that now we're not
supposed to have it until we're sixteen).

This was the first time this  "slave" thing really
struck home to me - after all, there's no way a young
sixteen year old is going to parade around totally
naked normally, is there?  I mean, you're kind of
sensitive at that age, and you don't want other blokes
seeing you, do you?  I can remember how it was for me
- even though they were my mates, I went through a
period of not really liking stripping off for the
communal showers at school after games and gym.  You
grow out of it, of course, once you realise that
you've got a nice body, better than most other blokes
have, but just at that age you're very sensitive and
vulnerable, and here was this kid parading around in
front of us stark naked,  as if it was the most
natural thing in the world.

We soon found out why he was there, though:  on the
order of one of the guards he went over to the corner
of the room and got some stuff out of a box, and came
back and pushed a bar of something into our hands.  We
all just stood there looking at what he'd given us -
it was as big as a big bar of chocolate, but was a
dull, grey colour and felt slightly greasy in my
hands.

"Eat", one of the guards snapped. "This is slave chow,
and what you men will mostly be eating from now on."

One of the blokes just tossed his out of his cell, and
it lay on the concrete floor in front of us.  The
young lad seemed terrified, rushed over and picked it
up and tried to hand it back into the cell, but it s
occupant refused it and just stood there, his arms
folded in a gesture of defiance.

A guard went over to him and snapped "Eat, slave.
Slaves need to keep up their strength and to have
healthy bodies.  Eat the chow."

"Fuck you!" , my companion snapped, but it was the
only thing he had an opportunity to get out, as the
guard pushed the prod thing through the bars, and the
next moment there was a naked body writhing around on
the floor of the cell.

The guard stood there dispassionately, waited for the
bloke to struggle to his feet, then said again simply
"Now, fucking slave, do as you're told!  Slaves aren't
allowed to refuse food; slaves do as they're told.
You need to keep fit and healthy for the benefit of
your owners, and if you're told to eat, you eat.
Every scrap of it!"

He raised his voice, and called out to all of us "That
goes for all of you - now, eat your chow, or be
prepared to suffer the consequences..."

The camera man had been filming all of this, and the
fact that they were prepared to use those prods on us
as we stood there naked began to convince me that this
was no movie making from which we were ever going to
be allowed to escape.  I mean, you might be able to
get away with a bit of nudity, even in the USA, but to
have a film of guys getting tortured and abused would
be too much.

Look, I'm not a coward, but there's no point in having
a fight you can't win, is there?  I was naked, locked
in this cell, and the guard could easily push a prod
through to me, too.  So I put the bar thing up to my
mouth, bit a piece off, and started to chew on it.

It wasn't all that bad, actually - slightly greasy, as
I've said.  But generally bland - not really sweet,
not salt, not anything, really.  Rather like solid cum
would be, I suppose! Or, rather, like some tofu muck
one of my girlfriends had tried to feed me with one
night, but much firmer:  I really had to chew at it to
break it up and swallow it.  We all stood there
chomping away, and at a nod from the guard, the young
lad went over to a tap on the far wall and filled a
can.  He came along to each of our cells in turn, and
we had to kneel down so that he could poke the spout
of the can through the bars and give us a drink.

I hadn't realised how thirsty  I was up until now, but
as the warm, brackish water slipped down my throat, I
was really grateful for it.  Then, as I knelt there,
it occurred to me how far along the way to being a
slave I'd become:  I was locked in a "cage", without a
shred of anything to cover my nakedness.  And I was
being "watered", just as you'd "water" caged animals.
I felt myself starting to sweat, a sweat of
apprehension, as I began to realise for the first time
how much in their power I already was:  they'd already
almost made me into something different from a free
man, and I was now ever lower than a prisoner.  I
mean, in jail there are certain rules and rights,
aren't there?  They don't keep you naked, and feed you
as if you were an animal!

We all knelt there, though, as the young lad made
several trips up and down the row of cells, allowing
us to really slake our thirst.  Oh fuck,  I thought
again:  if they decided not to feed us, or even give
us any water, there was not a blind thing we could do
about it.  We were helpless in those cells, completely
in their power.  Supposed they decided to let us
starve, to "amuse" their audience?  But even as I
thought this, another more pressing and urgent thought
came to me:  I needed to piss!

I wasn't the only one, either.  The bloke at the end
called out "Hey, I want to piss!"

The guard marched up to stand in front of him, and
rapped "Boy, you may want to piss, but you do need to
learn some manners!  First, slaves don't 'want'
anything:  the only thing a slave does is obey his
owner.  And secondly, slaves, when they do speak,
which isn't all that often, always speak respectfully.
 They call their owner 'master', and all other free
men 'sir'.  Now, try again, boy!"

"I want to piss, sir!", was the reply, in a tone heavy
with irony and which was almost mocking.

"Boy, you can maybe get away with it now, but if you
were my slave and you ever adopted that tone with me,
I'd have you taken down for a public whipping straight
away:  no owner wants an insolent slave, and defiance
and disobedience and insolence often has to be whipped
out of them.  But we aren't allowed to whip you here -
not properly, that is, with the bull whip:  they want
your bodies to look good up on the auction block.  But
I can use the slave control prod on you, remember....
So, boy, I suggest you try again showing some
respect..."

"I want to piss, sir", was the response, this time in
a low, even tone.

"You don't get it, do you?  I told you slaves don't
'want'!  They occasionally ask their betters if they
can have something, but only when the need is urgent
A slave has to learn to speak only when he's spoken
to.  I'll give you one last chance, and then I'll see
if my lesson will be learned a bit better with some
encouragement from the prod here...."

"Please, sir, may I piss, sir?"

This time the response seemed to please the guard, as
he took a step away from the cell bars and looked at
all of us.  "You heard how this slave here has got the
message about proper respect - well, that's the last
lesson we'll be giving.  The next one of you slaves
who doesn't treat a free man properly will be prodded,
do you understand?"

I wanted to tell him to fuck off, but somehow hearing
myself constantly referred to as a "slave" was very
unsettling, and I didn't want to feel that prod thing
on my naked skin anyway.  I knew I'd better play
along, at least for the time being.  As I was thinking
this, though, the guard rapped out again "You slaves
need to learn another lesson, too!  When a free man
asks you a question, you respond!  Now, I asked you if
you understood what I'd been saying..."

"Yes, sir", I chorused, along with the others.

"Right, then, do you all need to piss?"

"Yes, sir."  It seemed to be getting easier!

"So listen up.  There are no facilities for slaves to
piss in these cells.  If you need to piss, piss.  The
floors are concrete, and we wash you all out twice a
day.  So piss away!"

He stood there watching us, and we all looked at each
other, wondering what to do.  I had that very, very
uncomfortable feeling in my bladder that told me I
really did need to let go, but there was just no way I
could do it standing there in a cell, watched by the
other blokes, the guard and the young lad!  There's
some conditioning or something that stops you from
pissing onto the floor inside a building, isn't there?
 I mean, if there had been a  urinal or something,
there wouldn't have been a problem.  But completely
bare, just standing there and pissing onto the
floor... Well!

As I thought this, it was as if my bladder was
determined to make me change my mind, as the vague
feeling of "uncomfortableness" changed to one that
said "You need to let go, and let go now" - I guess
you all know how it is.  And then I heard the
unmistakable sound of piss splashing on to concrete -
it's not like a hose, or anything, I think, as it's so
much more irregular.  I glanced around and the guy in
the cell next to me was just standing there, looking
very embarrassed, for sure, but letting his big stream
of piss just jet our on to the floor.

The messages from my bladder were uncontrollable now:
I did the only thing I could - I turned away from the
bars to face the back wall, and let go.  I felt myself
blushing as the smell of my piss wafted up to me, and
then there was a new horror - the floor of the cell
must have been sloping slightly, as the pool of piss
on the floor was running back towards my bare feet!  I
tried to stop, but you all know how it is - once it's
flowing, flowing full and strong, it's all but
impossible to stop, isn't it?  I felt the warm wetness
around my feet, and in the small confines of the cell,
there was nothing I could do about it.  I remained
standing there with my back to the bars, trying as
best I could to shield myself from the others, as I
squeezed the last drops of piss out along my urethra:
us guys with foreskins need to be specially careful
when we've finished pissing, as if there are even a
few drops left it gets trapped under there and makes
it smell really rancid.  It's about the only thing I
envy cut blokes for - mind you, they miss out on so
much when they're wanking, so I guess it all evens up
in the end.

Now I knew we were even more like animals, having to
foul our cages.  The guard had been watching us, and
had a faint smile on his face.  "Luckily for you, it's
time for the evening cleanup", he remarked.  "If I
were you, I'd try to get into the habit of pissing -
and especially crapping - only just before a cleanup
is due!"  He turned to the young lad, and ordered "You
know what to do - fetch the hose."

The lad at once rapped out "Sir, yes, sir!", then went
over and started to uncoil a hose from the far wall,
that he attached to the same tap that he'd filled the
water can from.  Starting at the far end, he then
proceeded to simply spray the hose over the entire
contents of each cell, and us, the occupants!  Look, I
was glad to be able to clean the sweat (and the
remains of the dried um) off my body, and it was good
not to have the piss swilling around on the floor.
But this wasn't the way that men ought to be treated:
having to stand there naked, as they used a hose to
simply was h us down.  I'd seen an animal trainer in a
circus once, washing down the cages with the  horses
in them, and this was just the same - all that was
different was that he used a long-handled brush to
spread the water over the animals' flanks and bodies,
whereas we had to stand there under the spray and use
our hands to get our bodies clean.

After it had been  my "turn" to be hosed down, all I
cold do was stand there and watch as the young lad did
the next two men after me - he seemed to know what he
was doing, as he had a methodical way of sweeping the
hose from side to side so that every part of the
cell's walls, bunk and floor were washed, before
turning his attention to the occupant!  And even then
he must have been used to it, as he was careful not to
spray the heavy jet directly onto our cocks, although
when he made a gesture to us to turn around, out backs
and bums got the full force of the water.  He seemed
to be enjoying the job, at least, and I suppose there
are some advantages in doing that job totally naked,
as he was :  it didn't matter if the water splashed on
 his lithe nude body .  He really did work hard,
though, and I wondered how it felt - his cock and
balls were swinging away as he moved around, and that
had to be uncomfortable - when ever I work, I need my
cock and balls properly supported, not bouncing around
like that.  But I suppose you get used to it - I'd
once spent a day at a beach with some blokes when I
was at uni and as there was no one else around we'd
played beach volleyball starkers.  The next morning my
balls really ached, as they'd been stretched and
banged around against my thighs, but  I suppose you
get used to it if you do it all the time.  Seeing how
unconcerned the young lad was, and how he was so
evenly brown all over, I guessed that he was always
kept that way.

And all the time the ubiquitous camera man, always
filming us, always watching for our reactions as we
were put through these humiliations..  Although there
was no physical movement of the lenses, I just
imagined how he was using the electronic zoom to focus
on my cock as the water splashed over it, and how
everyone would see me running my hand down my ass
crack to clean myself.

It took a long time for my body, and the cell, to dry:
 it was really humid there, and so it took ages for
the water to evaporate.  The night fell swiftly - the
sky outside the thin, high slits in the wall that
provided our illumination turned black surprisingly
quickly, and as there was no lighting inside the room
with our cells in it, there wasn't anything else to do
but go back to lie on the bunk and try to sleep.  Not
that it was easy - I wasn't all that tired now (or
perhaps my body clock was still on London time, or
something), and the bunk really was uncomfortable.

Although they'd said it was "five days until the
auction", we were only kept in those cells for two.
Two more days of absolutely nothing to do,
uncomfortable sleeping, and the total tedium of it all
only varied when the guard came in to feed us twice a
day, and  to supervise the young lad as he hosed us
down.  And yes, I did have to crap:  and that was even
worse than pissing in public.  Not only is it totally
humiliating to have to do things like that with other
blokes watching, but it's really hard - I mean, I know
natives and stuff just squat down in jungle and let
go, but we're not used to that, are we?  Without a
lavatory to sit on, you have to kind of hunker down
and just drop the turds as you squat there.  I knew
all the others must be watching me, and smelling my
crap, but  I suppose it was the same for them, too, as
we all needed to do it sooner or later!  And at least
if you waited until just before the hosing out, at
least the stuff was washed away quickly.

The only other thing in our routine was that each
morning just after the hose down, the guard ordered us
to stand close to the bars on the cage so that he
could "touch up" the numbers on our bodies that had
been marked there that first day.   I hated this - it
made me feel even less human, but there was nothing  I
could do about it.  I began to realise that there was
more to this slavery than just the idea of being made
to work for other men without wages, which is what I'd
kind of imagined it was when you read headlines like
"slave labour" in factories in foreign countries.  No,
being a slave was more, much more:  it was being
totally out of control of your body and your life,
having to do exactly as you were told, when you were
told, and never being allowed to make any decisions.
It was being naked, being caged, being hosed down like
a dumb beast, without even a shred of cloth to over
your most private parts.  It was being made to piss
and defecate in front of others, with no trace of
"civilised" things like lavatories.  It was being fed,
fed when they chose, not when you were hungry, and fed
on the utterly bland "slave chow".   And possibly
worst of all, it was being a number, rather than a
person. I was being turned  from a free man into some
sort of subhuman, who was treated just as you would
treat cattle or sheep on a farm.

On the third day, though, the guard stood there and
said "Good news, or possibly bad news, for you slaves:
 the medical results are back earlier than expected,
so you'll be auctioned this afternoon.

He turned, went to the cell next to mine, and gestured
for number four to come out.  "You failed!", he told
the guy.  "They found the virus in your blood!  You
lied to the interview, didn't you?  You must have
known!  Still, no matter - they can't  sell you now:
they like all the stock at the auctions to be
certified 'disease free' - after all, no new owner
wants to buy a slave and find out that the first time
he fucks him he gets some disease."

He led the bloke out, and we never saw him again so I
have no idea what became of him - perhaps he was
lucky, and was returned to "real life" if he was no
use as a slave.  But then, how would the do that?  How
would they prevent him talking?  And as I had that
thought, I realised two dreadful things - firstly, I
was never going to be "free" again, was I?  There was
no way they could send me back to London as they'd
always be worried that I might go to the papers, or
something.  No, I was going to be a slave for the rest
of my life.  But the second realisation was in some
ways worse:  this idea that a man was going to buy me,
and use me for sex!

It just hadn't occurred to me, I suppose.  But the
more I thought about it, the more I realised that it
was kind of inevitable.  I mean, what's the ultimate
degradation you can put a bloke through?   After
you've stripped him and caged him and made him work
for you as a slave, what's left?  It's obvious, isn't
it:  you use him for sex, against his will, and
against his nature!  The thought of some man fucking
me, taking my virginity, making me do those kind of
unspeakable things that you read about in the papers -
it almost made me feel sick.  And then I thought about
who might buy me - what kind of person buys another
man, buys him just as if he's a fancy new stereo, or a
new car?  I'd no real idea, but as I sat there
thinking, it seemed to me that it would have to be
someone rich - slaves like me would need constant
supervision and guarding, to keep us from escaping.
And perhaps it had to be someone so rich that he had
nothing else left to spend his money on - I mean, what
pleasure would there be in buying a Ferrari, or a
fancy watch, or anything, if you had so much money
that it made no difference to you?  No, the only thing
that would be worth buying would be something that no
other men, no normal men, could ever afford - another
bloke!  It would be an outrageous act of defiance of
the normal conventions to go and "buy" another human
being, to own him, own him so utterly that whatever
you wanted to do to him you could.  Such a man would
be a supreme egotist, convinced that all that mattered
was what he wanted - that was probably how he'd have
made his money in the first place.  So what chance
would there be for a slave owned by such a man to ever
do anything he wanted for himself?

Even though these thought should have frightened me,
they were also in some way vaguely exciting.  In fact
I felt my cock springing in to life as I contemplated
the way in which such a powerful man would view me.
What would he demand that I do for him?  How would he
treat me?  The more I thought, the harder I got.
Look, don't get me wrong:  I'm not a submissive guy at
all, in fact I usually make the running when there are
things that have to be done.  But the thought of
someone having all that power, being able to control
another man so completely, was turning me on even
though it was me that I somehow knew was going to be
controlled.

The four of us remaining were let out then - they had
four guards too, with their prods, and we were taken
and allowed to shower properly - a big communal shower
like at the Club, with lots of hot water, shampoo,
soap.  God, it did feel good to be clean again,
properly clean.  And had it not been for the camera's
eye peering at us all the time, I could almost have
thought of myself as being back at work.  Not that
that mood lasted long -  we weren't given a towel or
anything, and had to all stand there to plane the
water off our bodies, and then wait as the remainder
evaporated, which took a long time in the oppressive
humidity of the place.  In fact I never got really
"dry" - rather, the sheen of water left on my body
after the shower was replaced by a sheen of sweat.
And I started to sweat more, too, when the door opened
and the guy in charge came in, looked at us, and said
"Right!  Now we've just got a few simple cosmetic
things to do to all of you - you all want to look at
your best for the auction, don't you?"

We all stood there, staring at him, and his mood
changed abruptly.  "I think you've forgotten the
rules!  That's VERY unwise of you, but I'll remind you
one last time.  When a free man speaks to you, you
always reply, and reply politely and respectfully.
Now, you do all want to look your best, don't you?"

There was a rather ragged chorus of "Yes, sir", as we
could see that the guards had tensed, ready for
action.  He went on "Good.  Now this is just the first
stage of your preparation fore your new life, as we
can't do a lot of the other stuff until after you've
been bought.  But we want the prospective buyers to
have a good look at you, and for you all to look neat
and tidy...."

He came up to me, and looked closely at my head. "The
hair's short enough already. But razor his neck and
his sideburns so they're crisp and sharp.  And I think
he looks rather mean and sexy with that growth of
beard - so shave him, but don't shave him smooth, trim
him down to about one day so he looks as if he's just
got out of bed - that swarthy look should go well with
his brown eyes, and it will be a real turn-on for some
men to imagine that they could wake up next to that
every morning!"

He was saying this to the young naked slave who'd fed
us and hosed us down each day, and the lad was writing
it onto a slip of paper as the man reeled off the
instructions.  But his tone changed as he said to me
"Arms above your head!".

I didn't realise at first that he was speaking to me,
and just stood there.  "You've been warned!", he
snapped at me, "Are you just fucking stupid, or are
you some sort of pain pig who wants to be prodded?"

"Sorry, sir", I muttered, as I raised my arms above my
head.  His hand stroked over my pit, and I squirmed as
I'm quite ticklish and, anyway, I'm not used to having
myself felt like that.

"Trim this lightly", he said calmly, then, as I stood
there, his hand ran over my pecs, and down over my
belly. "Leave the thatch on his chest, and the
treasure trail."  He looked at me again and said, as
if it was the most natural thing in the world "your
new owner might decide to have you shaved all over, or
even all this stuff depilated away permanently.  But I
think you look kind of rugged and masculine with all
that, and that's the 'look' these days - buyers seem
to want men who look like men, especially when their
bodies are on the larger size, as yours is."

"Standard trim of the pubic hair", he intoned. "And
shave the balls." He almost smiled at me as he said
"We want the buyers to get a proper look at your
tackle, don't we?"

He went behind me then, and I felt his hands sliding
over my shoulders, then running down my back to rest
on my bum.  I couldn't help it - no one had ever felt
me like this before, and I wriggled in embarrassment.
"Easy, boy!", he said quietly, "I think I know what
you're feeling - but there will be worse than this
during the preview!".  And he had obviously finished
then as he said "Leave his back and shoulders -
there's almost no hair there and what there is looks
natural."

The young slave who had been writing all this down
stood up, said "Sir, yes, sir", then reached up and
hung the slip of paper around my neck as if it was a
label on a parcel!  He and the chief man moved off and
did the same inspection of my three companions, and
then we all stood there, labelled, wondering what was
to happen next.

Funnily enough, I realised I'd stopped blushing.
Could it be that I was getting used to being naked,
becoming acclimatised to having my body seen as
something that other people controlled, not me?

End Of Part 3