Date: Wed, 15 Apr 2009 21:29:15 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: I's not equal at all, part 12

IT'S NOT EQUAL AT ALL!

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part  Twelve

The guards dragged me to my feet when I'd stopped twitching, and I stood
there rubbing futilely at my arms and legs to try to stop the ache.  I was
angry, so angry, that I didn't stop to think what I was saying.  "I'm a
free man, and you've used a slave prod on me!  That's illegal, and I'm
going to the police...."

Old man Johnson looked at me, and sneered.  "You're going nowhere, boy.
Now, I gave you an order.  I want to see that dick of yours, that's caused
all this trouble.  So strip off."

"Fuck you!", I shouted back.  But as one of the guards pushed his prod
towards me again I instinctively cowered away - it's strange how the body
learns so quickly, in spite of what the brain wants to do.  I realised now
why my own use of the prod on all those poor slaves had been so effective.

"Do it, boy.  Get naked.  Get naked now, or feel the prod again....."

I stood there, then began to unbutton my uniform shirt.  The three big
niggers watched as I took it off, then kicked off my work boots, then
unzipped my pants and let them fall to the floor.  I stepped out of the
heap of stuff, and stood there in my socks and boxers.

Johnson addressed one of the guards.  "He's stupid - I don't think he's
deaf.  He was told to strip, and he's not obeyed.  Encourage him a
little...."

The guard smiled, and held up his prod.  "No", Johnson said.  "Help him.
Take those boxers off him, then give him a few slaps on what looks like a
most spankable butt....."

Before I could do anything the guard had gripped me on my upper arm, and I
yelped as his strong fingers dug into my muscle, gripping me so there was
no escape.  He dragged me over to a couch, sat down, and pulled me across
his lap, face down.  I felt my boxers being pulled down, and then he
spanked my ass with his bare hands - only four slaps, two on each cheek,
but it was enough, I can tell you.  I felt utterly humiliated, being
spanked like this: it was as if I was still a kid - although when dad did
it to me once or twice I hadn't been aware of a hard erection stabbing into
my belly as I lay there, which was now the case from the big nigger. He
pushed me off then, so I sprawled on the floor in front of him, my boxers
around my ankles.  I instinctively went to cover my dick and balls to
shield them from the gaze of the three men, but the big guard got to his
feet, gripped my upper arm again and hauled me to my feet and dragged me
over to stand in
 front of the desk where Johnson still sat.

"Nearly there, boy!  Now take off your socks.  I want to see you totally
naked."

What was the point in disobeying?  My butt was really hurting from the
bating I'd been given, and the two guards could, I knew, do what they liked
with me as they were so powerful, even without using their prods.  So I
half bent down and pulled off first one sock and then the other, acutely
conscious that that sort of body manoeuvre exposed all sorts of views of me
to them.  When I'd watched the merchandise stripping I'd thought it was
kind of interesting to see the play of the muscles in guys' thighs and
butts as they did this, and I supposed the men must be enjoying seeing me
like that now.

Johnson looked at me.  "Not bad, for a whitey!  You look almost normal - if
it wasn't for that white skin, you'd almost be like one of us.  You've even
got a proper sized dick - unusual for a whitey."

"Listen", I stammered, worried now.  If they could prod me and beat me,
what else could they do?  "I'm sure we can work something out.
Sh'Kwala...."

The violence of his roar was so unexpected.  "Listen, you whitey scum,
don't you ever dare mention my daughter's name....  You've done enough harm
already, without defiling her further."

He sat there, glaring at me, then seemed to calm.  "I don't like whiteys
who are not 'skinned.  So let me see your dick properly - pull your 'skin
back so I get a good look."

"Look, please...", I began again.  "I'm sure all this can be fixed, we can
work something out...."

"Boy, do you want punishing again?"

I could see the guards tensing, ready to pounce on me, and decided that I'd
better obey.  I reached down, and my dick felt strangely cold and sweaty in
my fingers.  And I think I was trembling as I stroked my 'skin back, then
let my dick fall free, the head shining moistly in the light.  And at the
same time I felt my face start to go red as a deep flush of shame and
embarrassment spread up from my shoulders.

Johnson peered at my dick.  Then reached for the phone on his desk and said
into it "Bring me the details of the arrivals we're still expecting."

It was only seconds before the nigger secretary walked in - she seemed
surprised at first to see me standing there naked, but remained perfectly
composed as she handed Johnson a set of files. Then, as he started to flick
through them, she began to glance at me.  When I'd first come in she'd
looked at me as if I was a piece of shit, and her expression didn't alter
much now as her eyes raked my body - and I couldn't help noticing that her
gaze seemed to linger on my exposed dick head.  Against my will I found
myself starting to stiffen.

Johnson looked up and said quietly to her "Thank you", and she turned and
left, stealing another glance at my body, this time I'm sure concentrating
on the red patches on my butt.

"Now, boy, let's see what we're going to do with you...."

"Mr Johnson.... Sir....  I'm sure we can work something out....."

"Silence, boy!  I have already worked something out.  I only need to find a
suitable piece of merchandise...."

I wondered what he was doing, as he scanned the material in the folders,
until he hauled out a piece of paper and said quietly "Not a very good
match, but good enough.  A well-proportioned buck, about the same size as
you.... He's twenty, but that shouldn't matter, as you look quite mature.
And most people can't tell one whitey from another anyway, as " You all
look much the same."

"Sir, please let me get dressed, and leave.  I'll go away...."

"Silence, I said.  Or do you want a touch of the prod again?  You've no
need to dress - there's a lot of naked slaves around here...."

"But I'm not a slave, sir".  I tried desperately to sound respectful.  "I'm
a free man."

He looked at me and sneered.  "You were a free man, but you're going to be
a slave.  I think that's suitable punishment for messing around with my
daughter.  You'll regret it for many, many years."

"Sir, I'm seventeen.  I don't think the courts would enslave me for sex
with a girl my own age, sir.  I know we were not eighteen, but when both of
us are the same age, even though we're under age...."

He gave a little laugh.  "What have the courts got to do with it?  You're
guilty, so why waste time? There's no need for the courts to punish you,
and, anyway, you may get some liberal judge who thinks whiteys are not
always guilty and hands down a sentence of a few years in jail!  When a
whitey's guilty of illegal sex with a good nigger girl, why do we need all
that stuff? I ought to take you out and have you strung up, actually:
that's what whiteys who touch real women deserve.  But that's a bit of a
waste as you look strong and healthy and can give some years of service.
So the next best thing is to enslave you - so that's what's going to happen
to you, and I'm doing so now."

He handed the piece of paper to one of the guards and said "The slave
transporter that arrives here next has this man in it - have him taken out,
and let him go.  But tell him how lucky he is, and that if he ever speaks a
word of his 'escape', he'll be hauled before the courts again and get the
punishment for escaping: the threat of being gelded should be enough to
ensure his silence!  And see he gets a few dollars so that he's not
destitute, and take him to the station and put him on a train to somewhere
a long way away."

The guard nodded.  And Johnson looked at me again.  "See, Steve?  That's
how we do things here.  I have the power to free a man the courts have
sentenced to slavery.  And, of course, I also have the power to enslave a
man without going to the courts - once we have you with the other
merchandise from that transporter a little bit of creative work on the
papers, and you'll be a properly certified slave.  You whiteys should have
learned by now that us niggas have power, that we make the rules."

"You can't do that!", I blurted out in horror.  "It's illegal.  I'm a free
man...."

Johnson gave a shrug. "You were a free man, and now you're a slave.  Just
like that.  Easy, isn't it?  And who's going to know?  My daughter's been
sent off to the coast, for a vacation for a long period.  She told me you
fell out with your parents.  So that only leaves your crew here, and
they'll learn tomorrow that you resigned and left."

I began to panic.  I could see that this could happen.  I was almost
stammering as I said "No, look, please..... I'm sorry..... I won't go near
the Club....  I'll quit the job here.... I'll move away...."

"We don't like whiteys messing with our young ladies.  And if you do,
you've got to expect a reaction.  If a whitey dares to mess with a proper
lady, we're going to punish you.  Not so long ago there'd have been a mob
ready to lynch you for doing what you did - some dirty whitey taking
advantage of a nigga!"

"But I didn't know..... And I'm not old enough to be a slave, anyway - I'm
still only seventeen...."

Johnson shrugged.  "Who cares what you knew!  And it just shows you're
stupid, as no whitey should mess with good nigga folk.  And you are old
enough - the paper proves it.  But anyone doubting it need only look at
your body - you're big and well-developed, and you look like a slave to
me."  He turned to the guards, and added "...doesn't he?"

"Yes, boss", they replied, nodding their heads.  And one of them added "And
a pretty cute one at that!  Nice butt, nice dick....  I'd bid for him
myself, but you don't pay me enough to afford a piece of prime meat like
this!"

All three of them laughed then, but I was terrified.  I knew it was
possible for slaves to be used for sex, and I suppose I knew that a lot of
men like young guys.  But all this was stupid - it would never work.
Someone would surely see that I was a free man.... Or would they?

I didn't have time to do or say anything more, though, as Johnson said
quietly "Take him down to the reception yard then.... And you'd better stay
with him until he's caged, to make sure those whitey idiots who do the
initial processing don't fuck it up.  You can't trust a whitey to do
something that needs skill and finesse as they're all pretty stupid...."

The guards came towards me, and I bent to pick up my clothes.  But as I
went to put them on one of them snatched them away from me and bundled them
up under his arm.  "You won't be needing these, boy", he added
unnecessarily.  "Now, move."

I tried to argue with Johnson again but he seemed completely oblivious to
the scene being played out in front of him as he'd turned to his PC screen
and was studying something there.  As I desperately tried to attract his
attention one of the guards lashed out at me with his strap, causing me to
yell; then, when I saw that it was hopeless, and to avoid the next blow
which he was ready to give, I turned towards the door.

It was terrible going all through Johnson's - I was acutely embarrassed by
my nakedness as everyone else we met in the corridors was in neat Johnson's
uniform.  But I suppose I didn't attract as much attention as a naked guy
being paraded through a "normal" office might have done, as most of the
others were probably used to seeing slaves in some state of undress.

I was herded out into the reception yard just as a transporter had arrived,
and instead of the crew (who I had not really met as they did the other
shift to me) talking to the van driver, one of my guards went over with the
paper describing the slave I was going to replace, and they compared this
with the "contents list" that I knew all the transporters brought with
them.

The van door was then opened and the guard shouted some stuff inside, and
after a few moments a young guy got out and stood there looking pretty
terrified.  The van door was closed and locked, and the guard marched the
guy over to the gates, which were opened a crack after a lot of shouting,
and the slave was let out.

I'd watched all this in silence, afraid of the strap or the prod, but now
saw this was my only chance.  "Please... Help me..... You guys in the
crew.... I'm not a slave!  I'm a free man!... I work here and Johnson is
having me enslaved illegally...."

One of the regular crew came up to me and snapped "Shut the fuck up!  You
slaves are always claiming you're free men, or that the court made a
mistake, or that the police picked up the wrong guy, or other crap like
that.  You're original, I'll say that for you, claiming to work here! And
why would Mr Johnson want to enslave you - it's all bullshit, isn't it?"

"No!  I do work here ,with Charlie and the others.... And...."

"...so why are you standing there naked, in the reception yard?"  He
laughed, and called out to the others "Let's get started, as this might be
a busy shift.  We'll do this one first....."

I tried to lash out at them as they came for me, but four of them against
one of me didn't work.  And I suppose I was lucky not to be prodded again.
I think they thought it was funny, though, as each of them grabbed one limb
and they carried me over towards the table, face down.  They'd gripped me
high on my arms up near the shoulders and almost at the top of my thighs,
so although I could wriggle and squirm, there was no possibility of escape.

They flipped me over onto my back as I'd seen so many slaves experience and
the biggest of the guards - well, like Charlie, I suppose - grabbed my
throat and forced my head down onto the table.  He trust his leg between
mine and I felt the rough fabric of his pans rubbing my naked skin, and he
forced his body against mine to hold me still.  "Now, boy, are you going to
behave?  I need you to open your mouth, and open it wide, so I can get this
little thing into it..... Now, open up...."

I knew what was coming of course, so I clamped my mouth shut and tried to
turn my head to the side in spite of the way he was gripping my neck.
"Uncooperative little bugger, aren't you...", he muttered.  "We have away
of dealing with boys like you...."

It was a real scream - not just from the surprise, but because it hurt: the
guard rammed his knee upwards into my bare balls.  And as I gasped and
struggled for breath a s you do when someone has hurt your balls, he got
the injection device and forced it home.  I began to choke and gag then as
he manipulated it down my throat, until suddenly everything went silent and
I realised the paralysing injection had done its job on my vocal chords.

This whole procedure had seemed so simple, so obvious, so kind of necessary
when Charlie and the others had done it as I'd watched, and now I realised
how painful it all was and how you ended up so totally helpless and
powerless - the way the four of them had simply used my body, and the way I
was now deprived of a means of communicating with them.

With tears streaming down my face from the pain in my balls and from where
I was still recovering from the choking and gagging, I was led over to the
side and ordered to stand still with my hands behind my head.  One of the
guards was watching me closely, as I had done so many times recently when
on duty; his prod was ready for action in his hand, and I knew that I had
no choice but to do as I had been told - I had often prodded a slave who
had dared to move when I was the guard, and I knew this guy would not
hesitate to do so to me.  Indeed, he might even enjoy doing so - our crew
usually reckoned you needed to prod at least one slave in order to send a
strong message to the others that disobedience was not tolerated.

The sun was hot as I stood there and one after the other the "merchandise"
from the van was processed.  Then they came along to collect the
"valuables", and of course there was one idiot who tried to hang on to a
wedding ring or something, and we all were treated to the spectacle of him
rolling and thrashing around after he was prodded - although in silence.  I
mean, it's pretty stupid at that stage, isn't it?  You know there's no
hope, and so what's the point?  No owner is going to let a slave wear a
wedding ring, is he?

I knew what was coming next once all of us were standing there naked: the
command to line up in a row.  And when I put my hands on the shoulders of
the guy in front of me, and felt another guy's hands on mine, was the sweat
I felt coming from the fact that the sun had been hot on our bare skin, or
was it because I was anticipating the humiliation of being sandwiched
between the two of them in totally intimate contact?  I'd often kind of
laughed as I'd watched the merchandise march into the building "dick to
crack", but now as we had to do it I realised something else: it was
another way of signalling to me that my life had changed.  I was no longer
Steve, free man, but some sort of semi-animal who could be herded around
like this with no one having any regard at all to my "rights": the right
that any man has not to have to have contact with the bare body of another.

I was resigned to being washed in the showers, and to having my pubes
clipped short and my balls shaved.  It wasn't so very different from my
"initiation" those few weeks before, although of course there was the
threat of punishment now if I dared to resist, whereas with Charlie and the
others there had been that underlying humour that underpins initiation
ceremonies however much they are designed to humiliate the new man.  The
slave with the clippers didn't take nearly as much care not to nick my skin
or hurt my balls as had happened when I was done before, either.  Well,
that's the difference, I thought: it doesn't matter what happens to a
slave, and even though I was naked and humiliated before, the slave with
the clippers had had the good sense to know that I was a free man.  And, of
course, a free man who he would be working for in the future, so it was in
his interests to take care with me.

In spite of everything it was a relief to be given the cotton shorts -
although not before we had all been lined up again dick to crack and made
to stand there for the best part of an hour, and hour in which I and the
guy behind me both sported an erection.  And in our efforts to try to avoid
it, and to try to get as comfortable as we could, our asses and dicks were
rubbed together and that action only made it worse.  I remembered Charlie
telling me how this was all designed to make the slave understand that his
life had changed, and I now knew how true this was.  And I also knew how
much I did appreciate the thin cotton shorts, as somehow this seemed to
signal that I had at least a little humanity left and wasn't just a piece
of naked flesh.

Herded into the holding cage I tried again to attract attention to my
plight, reaching out through the bars and pleading (silently!) with the
solitary guard in the corridor between us and the cage opposite to try to
get him to understand that a terrible injustice was being done.  He watched
with some amusement for a bit, but then threatened me with a prodding if I
didn't settle down, as it was disturbing to the other slaves.  So what
could I do?  I joined my companions, sitting there on the floor of the
cage, and feeling utterly destitute.

They didn't feed us - another means of sapping our will to resist, I
suppose, so when I woke up from a night drifting in and out of sleep
against the bodies of the others, I was famished.  Although they showered
us to make our bodies fresh and sweet, they didn't shave us the next
morning - I'd heard that it was considered best for slaves to be viewed and
sold with a bit of a shadow non their face as that showed prospective
purchasers that we really were men.  After we'd pulled on the thin cotton
shorts again, we were led off and lined up outside the door to the auction
room - "dick to crack" again, but not quite as bad with the shorts of
course.  I felt a rising excitement inside me - I'd never been in the
auction room as Johnson's had been really strict about not breaking the
law, and my age had prevented it.  So I had no idea of what was coming,
although from what Charlie had told me about the reason for giving us
shorts (so we could be shocked when
 we lost them!) I could imagine that I was going to have to appear naked in
front of the prospective buyers - although that couldn't be all that bad, I
reasoned, as at least I'd be up on the stage and not in intimate contact
with them.

The line gradually shuffled forward - there was no clock or anything, but
the door into the auction room seemed to open about once every five minutes
to let another of us in.  I tried peering over the naked shoulders of the
guys in front of me, but could get no clue as to what went on. And,
finally, it was my turn.

I really was not prepared for it!  I'd expected to be on some sort of
stage, on display so that the buyers could look at me, but it was a much
more "hands on" experience than that!  The guard who accompanied me had to
almost force a way through the crowd of about sixty men who were inside
(well, I assume they were all men, as whilst there was no prohibition on
women attending auctions, I'd heard it wasn't the "done thing").  As we
went through the crowd hands reached out and touched my bare skin - big,
sweaty, black hands.  Then the nigga in charge - he had a microphone in his
hand - called out for a space to be cleared, and I was in the centre of a
small circle of men who, at some sort of signal, all came closer and really
began to inspect me.  I felt fingers probing my biceps, running down my
back and pinching around my waist as if looking for traces of fat (there
were none!), lying against my belly, and cupping my ass through the shorts
as if testing
 the power of my butt.  I was commanded to kneel, and those that wanted
could then come up and grip my throat, using their thumbs to probe into the
glands there to test for any swelling that might indicate a lack of health.
Then some wanted to probe inside my mouth - I could taste the cigar and
cigarette residue on them as their black fingers probed around the sides of
my gums - I suppose the idea was to see if I had any bad teeth.  I could
not stop any of this.  I simply had to kneel there as these men poked and
explored me as if I was some sort of piece of livestock.

On my feet once more I thought the end of my ordeal was in sight when the
shorts were pulled down and two of three of the men came and began to
"jiggle" my balls up and down, as if weighing them.  And, yes, it was a
shock, even though I knew it was going to happen.  And I suppose I did look
startled, and embarrassed - an embarrassment that doubled and redoubled as,
inevitably, my foreskin was peeled back so they could get a look at my dick
head.  This must be the end, I thought, and soon I'd be auctioned and it
would be over.  But no!  One of the men who was fondling my balls and
taking a particular interest in my dick (thank Christ I was so embarrassed
that I didn't get an erection!) called out to the auctioneer "Can we have
him strung up?", and the auctioneer nodded.

As well as the guard who had led me in, there were two others standing
around who had basically kept the area around me just a little open - there
were those typical big, heavyset muscular niggers who you see a lot of -
and now one of them came up behind me.  His arms went around my chest and I
felt the fabric of his uniform and the buttons on it pressing into my back,
then he leaned backwards a bit and hauled me off my feet.  They must have a
"system" that they were familiar with, as the other guard immediately came
up and as my feet were both off the ground was able to slip something over
them and around my ankles.

The next instant something tugged at me, and as the guard continued to grip
my chest, my feet were pulled up into the air!  There were ropes around me
ankles and a motor was whining, rasing them right up.  Once there was no
danger of my head hitting the floor the guard let go of me and I was
hoisted up so that I was hanging there in the little open circle, my head
off the ground and feeling even more utterly helpless than I had before.  I
couldn't help thinking of when you see dead animals hung upside down in a
butcher's shop - that's what I was like now, a piece of mean, hanging
there, on display to the potential buyers.

If I'd been wondering why only a few of them had felt my dick before, this
was the reason I discovered: it was now so much more conveniently at a
height where they could examine it closely, and soon I was stroked to a
hard erection, and as they tested my foreskin, sliding it on and off my
dick head, I knew that I'd be starting to leak pre-cum.  It was also the
time to examine another part of my closely, too: my asshole!  Strong
fingers pried apart my butt as I hung there and I could hear the men
commenting on it; and, inevitably, I suppose, they started to probe me "to
see if he's a virgin".  There was no lubrication, nothing - just thick
black fingers pushing insistently at my sphincter until the sheer force of
it made an entrance.  I was wriggling and squirming as much as I could, but
upside down like that there was nothing I could do to stop this violation
of my most private place - and of course I could not even cry out and call
them filthy
 perverts, as my throat was still paralysed.

Finally, the auctioneer called "All ready, gentlemen?", and the press of
bodies around me backed off slightly so I was hanging there in the middle
of a little cleared circle.  The auctioneer came and stood next to me as I
hung there upside down, and curled one arm around me, letting his hand grab
by dick and balls to steady me and stop me spinning.  "So here we have a
fine twenty year old buck, enslaved for non-violent offences: he failed to
keep up his maintenance payments of a kid he fathered on some whitey bitch.
That should tell you, gentlemen, that he's virile and fertile, and will
therefore probably make a good sexual plaything once he's broken!  And, as
you can see, he's well muscled and strong - ideal for labouring, for
gracing your park lands, or of course for duties in the bath house.  And
with this slave you get a choice: if you prefer the uncut look, you can
leave him as he is, although as is customary at Johnson's the price of a
 circumcision is included in the price you pay, if you prefer - as so many
of us do - to not allow slaves to hide parts of their bodies from us.
Finally, gentlemen, the slave is not guaranteed to be a virgin, although I
know a number of you have detected that his ass is powerful and robust,
suggesting that real delights await those of you who enjoy young whiteys
like this.  Now, what am I bid....?"

I hated hearing myself described like this, especially as it wasn't "me"
but some other guy!.  But deprived of the ability to make noise, and
hanging there upside down and naked, what could I do?  I hear the bids
running around the room, until finally the "All done?  Then "Going once,
going twice.... Sold!" rang out.  There was a lot of general chatter and
laughter in the room then as I was lowered to the ground - they were
careful not to do it too quickly - then I had to scramble to my feet and I
stood there for a moment, my hands almost instinctively falling to cover my
dick (although why, I don't know, as they'd all see enough of it in the
last few minutes' I guess it's just a normal reaction, for a young naked
guy to try to conceal himself from the eyes of those older, clothed men).
The final humiliation in this room where I'd been sold just as if I was an
animal was for the auctioneer to use a tick marker pen to scrawl the name
of the guy who
 had been successful in the bidding onto my naked ass.

Like all the others I wasn't allowed to put the shorts on again - I suppose
the excitement of tearing them off no longer mattered - and eventually all
the batch of "merchandise" I'd been with were all standing together in a
holding cage.  Some of us were unashamed and just stood there, but some
still made feeble attempts to shield themselves by holding their hands in
front of their crotches.  We waited around, seeing the marks on our asses
with our new owners' names, and I saw that some of them had all been bought
by the same person - presumably as some sort of bulk labour somewhere.  As
fas as I could tell, though, I'd been bought by an individual, and this was
confirmed as from time guards came up and took away one or more of us: the
guys with the same name on their asses went off in a group.

When it was my turn I was first taken to a shower facility, where a slave
once more made me "sweet" by washing away all the dried sweat from where I
had been under such tension.  Then, rubbed down vigorously with a rough
towel so that my skin kind of glowed, I was led away to meet my owner for
the first time.

When I was led into a small room I saw a Johnson's employee - the same
light khaki green shirt and slacks I had been wearing so recently - and
sitting in a comfortable armchair, totally at ease, a big, florid-looking
nigger in those garish clothes that some of them like to wear: a standard
business suit, but in a very pale blue that contrasted with his black skin.
It's funny how you notice these things, but the first thing that struck me
was that he was a dark black: not absolutely inky black, like those niggers
who come to our country to do business from Africa; and not very, very pale
brown indicating that somewhere in his ancestry there had been some sort of
illic relationship with a whitey; but very dark, and, probably, proud of it
as he could certainly claim to be "pure".  I could see at once that he was
a big man - not just physically tall, but very wide-bodied and very broad
shouldered, and from the way his purple shirt was straining across his
 belly, he had way, way much too much fat on him: that's probably why he
was sweating so much, wiping his brow occasionally on a lime-green silk
handkerchief that was otherwise kept tucked into the top [pocket of his
suit jacket.

The Johnson's man was holding one of those clipboards with some sort of
form on it, and after a few moments said "So, sir, this is your purchase.
Formally, I have to ask - although we try not to make mistakes - is this
the merchandise that you believe you bought in the auction room?  Although
it bears the auctioneer's mark with your name, we need to be certain."

I cringed inwardly hearing myself referred to as "it", but I knew some
people did really treat slaves as if they were not men.  The big nigga
nodded, and added "Yes, that's the one", in a voice that was a deep
baritone.

"Thank you, sir.  Now you can of course take the slave away almost
immediately, except that under the law, as the site of first selling, we
are required to mark the slave's SIN - that's slave identification number,
sir - permanently into it's hide.  That's included in the auction price,
and if you want it tattooed it takes only a few minutes, but if you decided
it's to be branded into the flesh of the arms or ass, you will have to wait
a little longer as under the new humane treatment of slaves laws that can
only be done by a qualified veterinarian, and he does all of them together
at the end of the day."

"No, tattooing's fine."

"So where, sir?  Under the arms, on the shoulders...."

"On the forehead.  In big numbers."

The Johnson's man looked really surprised.  "Sir, might I suggest... Well,
sir, you will be reducing it's resale value considerably, as a future owner
might prefer something a little less visible...."

"I care little for resale value.  When I've finished with him, I'll use him
on my demesne in a role where it doesn't matter what he looks like.  But
he's going to be my body slave, and every time he's in the bathroom with me
and he looks in the mirror, I want him to be reminded that he's a slave."

I shuddered.  And if I could have protested, I would have - inking my
forehead!  And using me as a body slave to this huge, over weight nigger -
the very thought of having to slide my hand up his huge fat ass made me
feel sick.

"The other service at no additional charge, sir, is circumcision.  The
slave has a good foreskin, and if he's to be a body slave, I understand
many owners these days enjoy the pleasure of playing with it...."

"No.  'Skin him, and none of that messing around with half measures: a good
old-fashioned high and tight, so he is always totally exposed, as a slave
should be."

I wanted to scream no, and my agitation communicated itself to the two
niggers as the Johnson's man snapped "Easy, slave!  Stand still, or you'll
get prodded, even in here!  You're still our property until your new owner
signs the transfer document, and we don't tolerate slaves misbehaving."
Then turning to my owner, he went on calmly "Don't be alarmed, sir - I'm
sure the slave is not violent or anything, but our experience does show
that these young males get very agitated when circumcision is discussed.
They seem unnaturally attached to their 'skins, and do not understand that
it is their owner's choice!  And if the owner opts for gelding, it can get
a little rough - yo are not selecting tat, are you, sir?  It's an
additional charge, but our resident veterinarian has very reasonable
rates..."

I cringed, and clenched my knees together at the thought of gelding!  And I
suppose I knew that this man had the power to order even that destruction
of my manhood, if he wanted to.

"No.  I like the slave to perform sexually, and the ones I have had gelded
in the past never seem to be quite as vigorous as I like - this one's a
good muscular boy and I paid top dollar as I'm anticipating some years of
usage, and I do not want anything detracting from it."

"Quite so, sir.  And I do agree with you about the body on this one - so
fresh... So... Exciting, almost, as if he's waiting on the cusp of
manhood.... Although his age is given as twenty....  Anyway, with the
'skinning we normally recommend keeping the slave here overnight to make
sure there's no infection - and then you can collect him in the morning, or
of course use our delivery service, again included in the price."

"Can you keep him for longer?  I do not want him until he is completely
healed, as I like to start breaking in my new body slave as soon as he
arrives - 'start as you mean to continue' is very much my motto".

I was both angry and scared now - how could they be talking about me like
this ,as if I was not there?  Although I suppose that, to them, I was not -
a slave is only like apiece of furniture to some people.  And all this
stuff about using me - I wasn't a queer, and yet it sounded as if the nigga
was going to use me sexually, as well as my having to act as some sort of
personal valet or something.

"Typically a slave is ready for full sexual service after about three weeks
of a 'skinning, sir, and to assist our clients, we at Johnson's have a
special value package of three weeks full board and kennelling...... And,
at no additional charge if you take that package, we include a full body
tan: like so many men of his age he goes without a shirt in the sun, but I
can see those unsightly white areas around his loins, and so many owners
prefer an even colour.... Our high-speed tanning...."

"Stop!  I too prefer an even colour, but I bought a whitey because of that:
I like to see real white skin on my body slave.  So absolutely no tanning -
indeed, can't you do something about his arms, legs, and torso generally:
bleach them to take out that sun tan, so he's the same delicious
creamy-white as he is on his ass?"

"Yes, sir.  We can do that instead of the tan, although I have to warn you
- and it will be in the contract, sir - that some slaves can react badly to
the bleach and any damage to the skin is at your own risk."

My owner shrugged, in acceptance.

"....and, sir, I will warn you that although he's a 'whitey', he's not
really white: more that sort of pale pink you see on the ass, sir.  The
bleach will not get him whiter than that.  And even then, not all over:
like in proper men, sir, the shaft of the penis will be of a darker hue,
and the head, when exposed, darker still..."

"Indeed, yes!  And, of course, there will be that agreeable change of shade
on the penis, where the circumcision mark is."  My owner sounded very
enthusiastic now.  "What attracted me to this boy particularly is the fact
that he has those very large dark aureoles - so many whiteys have very pale
tits, barely visible: but these are so much more defined.  And his asshole,
too - a very good contrast.  Seen from behind, with his cheeks pulled
apart, his asshole is nicely prominent and the way his balls hang down so
loose.... It's all very appealing."

The Johnson's man nodded again "Yes, sir, I can see that.  A very good buy
there, sir."

"...so much so that I do not want any part of his skin obscured.  He's very
hairy, like so many whiteys, in spite of the way you've trimmed his pubic
hair and exposed his balls.  I want him totally exposed, so please ensure
that every scrap of hair is removed from his body.  And teach him how to
keep it shaved off - I do not like having to have other slaves come into my
private apartment to maintain him, and it is easier for him to learn how to
squat and shave his own ass, and so on."

"Total body shave, sir?"

"Yes, except for his eyebrows - trim them severely, but keep some vestiges
of them.  And for his head - the hair totally shaved except for a circular
patch five inches in the centre on top - no trimming of that, as I like it
to grow as it gives me something to grip when I am using his throat.

I listened appalled at the way I was going to be turned into some man's
idea of a sex toy.  But what could I do?  I watched as my owner signed the
Johnson's form, and then was led away.

End Of Part Twelve