Date: Mon, 4 Jan 2016 14:26:39 +0000 (UTC)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: PASSING - PART THIRTEEN

PASSING

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Pete

A story by Pete Brown  (petebrownuk@yahoo.com)

Part  Thirteen     More adventures in slavery.  A threatened review, and a
new job for Sam.  A new job for me and a resignation.

		       Lessons for me, and for Dave.

...and, as you might expect, Sam was amongst them - poking his head around
my door and saying cheerfully "Had a good time with Uncle Dave last night,
sir?".

I panicked for a moment, wondering how the fuck Sammy would know that Dave
and I had been to bed together, and had a three-way with Dave's young slave
boy.  But control is everything, and completely calmly I answered "Oh, yes.
That local pub's quite good, and we had the steak pie."

Sammy nodded, and then asked about Jason, and I told him I was very pleased
with the work Dave had done on him and that it had been well worth the
money.  "I'm glad, sir", he told me.  "Uncle Dave is having quite a tough
time, and he needs to move upmarket, with gentlemen like you, sir, prepared
to pay more for good slaves and excellent service.  But it's a bit of a
chcken-and-egg situation: he can't really afford to buy top-class slaves as
he hasn't got the capital, so the added value can't be all that high when
he sells them.  And not a lot of people go out to Leyton for work on their
slaves as people like Scabbard & Drass do it when you buy them as part of
the deal, even though it costs a whole lot more.  If you were to spread the
word around, sir, about the value Uncle Dave delivers... He might get more
business, make more money, be able to afford one or two really good slaves.
It would really help drive the business..."

"Quite.  But I don't know many people with slaves, so it's unlikely I will
be much use."

"You could invest in the business, sir.  I reckon it would return more than
most of the stuff we invest in here.  Uncle Dave's a really good slave
dealer, he has a natural talent for it, and..."

"Enough!  Even if you haven't got work to do, I have." And I looked at my
screen, and Sammy closed my door and went to the offices.  Still, he had
made me think.  I don't need the money as you know so investing for profit
was not of interest - I pay so much tax anyway, that any small additional
income would hardly show up.  But I had enjoyed seeing Dave at work, and I
did need a hobby.  And if I offered him money and became a partner in the
business, perhaps we would have more sexual adventures.  Or perhaps
offering money would be insulting, and we'd not have sex again as there
would be no way of me needing to go out to Leyton socially.  Whenever I've
got a problem I tend to "park it" and let it cook away in my brain, and
there was plenty of opportunity for that as the day was endlessly dreary
with all my regular reviews and meetings.

I soldiered on until the monthly Partners' meeting late in the afternoon,
and there was a very unpleasant surprise waiting!  The Financial Conduct
Authority (FCA) had been concerned about the operations of organisations
like ours and had decided to "review" the five biggest, including us,
obviously.  Their formal notice of their intent to begin the review in four
weeks time had arrived, and there was endless discussion amongst the
partners about what we were to do.  One faction - let by my chief rival -
was keen that we should conduct a thorough ongoing internal review of our
own first, going through every scrap of paper, every e-mail, every recorded
conversation so that we would at least know what we might be facing.  It
was a sensible suggestion, and one that I might have proposed myself,
except that they then suggested that because of its importance to the
company it ought to be headed by me!  My first reaction was that I might
agree with them in principle but say that my workload was already too high
so I could not lead it. But then everyone knew that after the coup I had
masterminded with Cyrus I really had not picked up any new projects of any
significance, and was only doing "routine" executive management tasks.
Equally I could not suggest that my rival should head the internal review,
as he might uncover things that would give him more power.

You don't get to the top without being a quick thinker though, so I told
the meeting that yes, the internal review was a good idea.  "But it should
not be headed by any of the partners, or me.  We are all too involved in
our projects, and might easily overlook things which, to an outsider, could
appear to be suspicious."  There were mutterings about my use of the word
"suspicious" but I went on "I said APPEAR to be suspicious.  Everyone here
knows we apply the highest ethical standards, I'm certain.  We could of
course get in an external company - one of the big three accounting firms -
but that in itself might prompt tongues to wag saying that we are worried
we have something to hide.  So instead we will do it internally, but get a
junior member of staff to lead it - someone who has not really worked on
most of our projects, but who `knows the ropes', someone who knows where to
look for things that might appear to be out of line.  My ex-PA, Sam, is
known to all of you, and he's now doing good work as a professional.  We
will get him to lead the enquiry, backed up by my authority."

There was a lot of discussion then, but on-one could come up with any
better name as anyone suggested had been on one or more of the projects, or
was too closely associated with one or more of the partners, and so on.  So
finally I spoke again.  "Enough.  I have things to do, even if you all do
not.  We need to start, and start now before the FCA comes in next month.
So no delay.  And Sam can be spared.  He will have my full authority, which
you will make clear to all your people, and I expect total co-operation
with him.  Needless to say I will be taking the degree of co-operation into
account as we enter this year's bonus discussions.  And I will ask Sam to
tell me of areas where he does not think he has sufficient access - these
are, I suppose, most likely those with something to hide and which will
then get my full personal attention."  And with that I closed the meeting.

Although this external FCA review was serious I knew we were mostly "clean"
- well, in terms of regulations and laws, that is.  We employ too many
lawyers and risk managers not to be.  However I did have concerns about
public opinion, which might not see the background to some of our
activities quite in that light!  Still, at least we would know what to
expect, and could start a briefing and "propaganda" and public awareness
campaign well ahead of any publication by the FCA of whatever it might
find.  In spite of all these thoughts, though, the idea of becoming a slave
trader, or slave trader's assistant, or backer, or whatever, as a hobby
keep coming to the surface.

When I got back to my flat later that evening it was clear that all had not
gone particularly well between my two slaves - there was such tension in
the air, which I didn't need at the end of my working day.  I thought about
fucking Greg, or Jason, but it was not yet eight and really a gentleman
does not fuck so early in the evening - what would I do afterwards?  So I
had Greg serve my dinner, and afterwards wanted some entertainment.

It would have been easy to order Greg to fuck Jason as I watched, and
perhaps a little harder to have Jason fuck Greg (although it would be more
exciting, wondering how Greg would react!).  But watching two guys fuck
ought to be something of a shared pleasure, I thought, and if I ever did
get Dave over it was something we could watch together.  Remembering how
interesting it had been to see Jason masturbate "properly" the evening
before, that seemed something that would amuse me.  And then it struck me
how much more interesting it would be to have Greg do it as he would hate
it - especially as I could have Jason show him the "proper" way a slave
should do it!

I sprawled on one of the sofas with a drink in my hand, ordered Greg to
stand in front of me, then told him to strip.

"Why?" he challenged instantly.

"Because I told you to, and you're my fucking slave, and slaves obey."

He still looked pretty rebellious so I added casually "Now I've got Jason
of course I really don't have to put up with your constant challenges you
know, Greg.  It won't take me long to train him in how to run this place -
indeed, he may even do it better than you.  And he's so much younger than
you and, dare I say it, has a more exciting body.  So if you are not
willing to obey me, perhaps I'll have Jason strip for me..."

I knew Greg would pick up on my implied threat to get rid of him, and I
knew he was even more worried about this than about what he might be
ordered to do.  So I was pleased, and amused, to see him pull off his T,
and then drop his shorts to the ground.

Jason stood there watching, which I knew added to Greg's discomfort, and I
went on "You know Greg I've been fucking you rather a lot recently, and
although you're a very competent cock sucker after all the practice you get
from me...."  Greg looked as if he might burst out in anger as, presumably,
he'd been telling Jason how he was "straight" and now it was revealed that
he took my cock.  Things were turning out well, I was enjoying it, and went
on "...but I haven't seen you cum for some time.  So I think I'd like to
see you wank.  It will be good for me to be able to check on your cum, just
to make sure everything's still in working order..."

"It is, sir!", Greg cut in.

"Well I know you would not dare lie to me, Greg, but, all the same, it
would be good to see for myself.  And I saw Jason do it at Dave's Slaves,
and was impressed with the way he had been taught.  So I think in future
that will be the way it is done here - at least by you slaves: when I want
to do it myself, I will continue to do it how I wish.  But for now, start
by kneeling in front of me."

Very reluctantly Greg got to his knees, and I said quietly "Feet together,
knees spread wide apart - as wide as you can, so I can see you exposed in
front of me."

Greg did as he said, and knelt there, head and shoulders down, looking
miserable.  "Now, I want a nice straight back with your bum resting on your
heels, and your head up, looking straight ahead, looking at me - I want to
watch your face as you wank."

It was interesting as he moved, as his expression was one of fear,
contempt, anger, and bewilderment all mixed together.  He clearly hated
posing like this, even though I had seen him naked hundreds of times
before.  It must be because I was taking such complete control of him,
giving him absolutely no freedom to do anything for himself.  I smiled at
him and said quietly "Now rest your hands, palms up, on your thighs."

"I was supposed to wank..."

"Shut the fuck up, and do as I say!"

He did, and it was amazing how much more exposed and humiliated he looked
as he continued to stare at me with that strange expression on his face.

"Now I want to see a nice big, hard erection..."  he reached out with his
hand and I snapped "...did I give you permission to move your hand?  I want
to see an erection, Greg, your cock good and hard.  Do it without manually
stimulating yourself.  You're always claiming to be `straight', so think
about some of those women you fucked.  Or perhaps you're too old, you can't
get it up without wanking....?  Getting worn out...?  Not capable of acting
like a man...? Perhaps I should get Jason to show you how a young guy can
do it.  Or perhaps I should get Jason to wank you..."

Greg was looking really worried now, and there was a little movement in his
belly, chest and shoulder muscles as if he was trying to stifle a sob!
Very satisfactory.

All three of us fell silent then as Greg knelt there, and he began to
breather hard, and finally his cock started to thicken, and then twitch a
bit, and finally to erect.  Not a fantastic erection, not even really
horizontal, but then Greg has got a big, heavy cock and he is not young and
so I should hardly expect it to reach up to his belly button like a young
guy's would.

"Right, Greg.  You can wank now.  But I want to see you do it with your
left hand, as you're to hold your right hand in front of you as I want you
to catch every single drop of cum as it comes out."

"Please, sir, I can't....  I'm right handed...."

"I don't care!  I know you're right handed, and that's why you're going to
do it with your left hand.  It will be something different for you, make
you think about it more, make it more interesting for me....  Now, get
going....."

It was really amusing, as I know for myself how hard it is to wank with the
"other" hand.  I'm left handed, as are so many dynamic, creative, clever,
driving men, and I know how hard it is for me to use my right hand on those
occasions when I do.

As Greg worked away I thought about having Jason go and stand in front of
him as the young slave boy had in front of Jason last night and have Greg
suck his cock, but I decided that it might be too much for Greg - he hated
sucking my cock, and to have to do Jason in front of me might trigger a
reaction that I couldn't control.  And I didn't want to then have to be
forced to dispose of Greg, or even send him off for a very harsh
punishment, as he was still good to have around.

His breathing went deeper and harder, and his hand was flying up and down
along his cock.  He started to sweat, with a nice sheen breaking out all
over his shoulders, chest and belly and then he moaned and his whole body
jerked as his cock spasm and his cum came out into his hand as I had
ordered.  Not a lot of it, and not with a great deal of pressure - it is,
after all, unreasonable to expect a guy in is fifties to have the same
force when he shoots, and the same volume of cum, as a guy in his teens or
twenties.

He knelt there then, his breathing calming, and a look of near triumph on
his face as he continued to stare at me.  "Good, Greg.  Now `present' it to
me - stay still, but raise your hand up and outwards to me so I can inspect
your cum."

He did, but he didn`t enjoy doing it.  And, in truth, I wasn't all that
interested in seeing a sweaty palm with his cum in it.  But it seemed to me
to be a good part of a ritual I might have the slaves adopt.  After a few
seconds I said quietly "So now lick it off your hand and swallow it - we
don't want to risk a mess on the carpet!"

I was expecting a challenge, and was looking forward to telling Greg that I
knew he'd tasted his own cum before - as all men do after all - and that
therefore there was no reason why he shouldn't do it now.  But instead he
did as he was told, although his expression looked to me like one of
contempt, rather than of anger, or resignation.  I'd clearly still got some
way to go in totally ensuring his complete unquestioning obedience to my
commands.

After than I told Greg to go and shower as he was all sweaty, and spent
some time telling Jason what his tasks were to be from now on.  "You know
how to dig for data, how to find out things how to look into a company and
see how it all really ticks, and that's what you're going to be doing from
now on as I will be engaged in a number of projects working from home.  I
will of course drive them, but you will do all the research, and get me
everything I need to know in order to make good decisions.  You were a
hot-shot working for George, and you will do the same for me."

"But I had staff, others..."

"And now it's only you.  But you have a lot more time.  No more silly
meetings, no commuting, no business lunches, no talking around the coffee
machines... And you've got a real incentive, too: no need to make a `good
impression', and play office politics so that you look good for the annual
bonus discussion.  I will see your work at first hand, not after it has
been discussed and massaged and made to `look good' by others, and I will
be the sole judge of how good it is.  And I do not have bonuses to dish out
- and even if I did, you have no way of spending them, as a slave.  But I
do have the power NOT to do things...  Not to cane you, not to whip you....
I hope you see that I expect top-class work, done quickly, accurately and
efficiently, on time... Even if that time is short, impossibly short, you
may sometimes think."

I stopped for a moment and added "Perfection, or punishment.  It's that
simple for a slave that I own.  Do I make myself clear?"

Jason said quietly "Yes, sir", and I then spent about an hour going through
with him what he was to do before the next evening in giving me a full
report on the financial viability of Dave's Slaves.

Greg came back whilst this was going on, and perhaps in an effort to
appease me he had only pulled on one of the Ts that were rather like short
tunics, so his cock was hanging out below the hem and when he turned his
bum was nicely exposed.  He stood there until I patted the sofa to indicate
he could sit next to me, and I turned the TV on so we could watch the
evening financial review - it always amused me to point out to him the
slave price index.  Jason stood there watching, until I told him he had no
time to spare - he needed to get started on my project now, as I would
tolerate no excuses tomorrow night if it was not finished to my
satisfaction, and that he should expect to have very little sleep anyway.

Greg went to go into the slave room at bedtime but I told him to get in to
my bed, and with less reluctance than usual he did, positioning himself to
go down on to my cock, but I pushed him away.  "No I don't want to cum
tonight as I have something in mind for tomorrow and I want a good big
load", I said.  Then I had the pleasure of rubbing myself up and down
Greg's hard muscles as I got ready for sleep.  It was good during the
night, too, when I woke, as I often do, and felt Greg's regular breathing,
the warmth of his skin, and his nice ass crack in to which my cock nestled
comfortingly.

At work the following day there was the usual tedium, and I was really glad
I had pushed the internal review off to Sam as I saw him rushing around
from meeting to meeting looking extraordinarily preoccupied and harassed.
Mid morning I took out my "secret" phone - the one which would be destroyed
if there was ever an investigation as I used it for calls that I did not
want traced back to my office or personal phone - and called my old mate
George and said we needed to meet.  As usual there was no suitable place at
Canary Wharf, as the risk of being "spotted" by someone was too great, and
we ended up sitting at a table in the far corner of the food court at the
big shopping centre in Stratford, eating something totally unsuitable.

I pushed a document across to George and said "Sign."

He read it, looked at me, and said calmly "You're joking."

"No, not at all.  I am about to resign from the company as I have other
more interesting things to do.  But I want to keep some contact with the
industry and so I am going to become a consultant for you.  As you will
see, two or three days a month, to a schedule to be agreed.  And for that,
a million a month.  You will soon find out that I am worth it."

"Rubbish!  We don't pay even our best people that much."

"That's as may be, George. But I'm going to do something for you that your
best people cannot.  I'm going to be your mentor and sounding board - it's
lonely at the top sometimes, isn't it?  And from time to time I will bring
in small projects for you to work on that will return you a nice, if not
spectacular, profit because I need the back-up and support services that a
big organisation has at its disposal.  And then, of course, I'm going to
enable you to keep your job."

George looked so astonished that he didn't say anything, so I flipped my
phone on and passed it to him as it played the video of Jason we had
recorded all those weeks ago, where he confessed to being a slave even
though he was one of George's top people.

"The FCA will be all over you next month, George, as they will be over my
firm.  I'd hate them to know you were illegally trading - that's what it
is, isn't it, as slaves are not allowed any participation in major deals?
I wonder how much it will cost to back out some of those transactions where
one of the parties was not totally satisfied and will now ask the courts to
set the deal aside?  And then there will be the lawsuits, the criminal
charges....  Still, it won't be your problem as you will be fired the day
the news breaks."

He glared at me as I went on calmly "A piece of advice for you, George.  If
you don't want to employ me I'd get out of the country, if I were you.  To
somewhere like Brazil, where there isn't an extradition treaty.  Those
criminal charges can result in enslavement, and I can't quite see you naked
and coffled with a lot of others, tilling the soil in East Anglia! But I
suppose you can always get someone you trust - really trust, George, if
there is someone like that - to agree to buy you, but you'd better transfer
the money to them now before the FCA decides to seize all your personal
money under the Proceeds Of Crime legislation...."

"But a million a month...  Half that?  You don't need the money - I can
only imagine how much you got from that last deal with Cyrus Williams..."

"Oh but I do, George.  I'm planning some substantial investments and I need
a nice steady income in case it goes wrong.  Now, sign - you know I'm cheap
at the price."

"I ought to turn you in as a blackmailer...."

"You'd be laughed out of Court. Why would a wealthy man like me want to
blackmail you? I haven't spent any of my cash yet from the Cyrus Williams
deal, so this money could look trivial.  Then there's the `whistle blower'
legislation, where I can rightly say that I found evidence of wrongdoing
and went to the FCA.  And in any case, you'd be finished - there would be
no way that Jason's clip could be kept secret, and you'd be fired."

George went to sign, but I pulled the document away.  "No, George.  It's
not that I don't trust you.... But I think we need this to be properly
witnessed.  So let's go back to your office and you can get your head of
Legal Affairs - she must be a qualified solicitor, I presume - to see you
sign.  After all, as I am about to become a `consultant' to your company
there's no harm now in my being in your building."

"Conspiracy?  Tongues wagging about you and me getting together...."

"Not a problem, George.  As soon as I have the signed deal, I'm back to my
own office to hand in my resignation.  They won`t like it of course, and
there will be all sorts of rumours about it being because of the FCA review
- the FCA won't find anything, I'm certain of that, so I will probably make
some money in future in suing the worst of those who publish stuff defaming
me by alleging my leaving is because of that."

Surprisingly the whole thing took almost no time after that, and by four
o'clock I was out of the office, probably for ever, and heading back to my
flat, on "gardening leave" as they call it, whilst my period of notice ran
out.  I usually avoided the shops in the shopping mall at Canary Wharf as I
went straight to the tube, but now, "at leisure", I strolled along looking
at them.  I wasn't interested in the clothes of course as mine are all
custom made or bought in expensive shops in the West End, and I didn't want
a coffee, or a sandwich in any of the numerous restaurants.  But then I was
intrigued to see that a shop that had been re-fitting for a couple of weeks
had reopened, and not as a health food store as it had been: it now said
"Slave Supplies.  Purveyors of quality products for the management and
control of gentlemen's slaves."

I went in and browsed the stock - there were a lot of interesting clothes -
or "costumes" perhaps I should call them for slaves, and I couldn't help
but smile inwardly at the thought of Greg in one of the tiny thongs - he'd
have to shave all his pubes off.  Some of the jewellery was interesting,
too, and it made me wonder about having both Jason and Greg have their tits
ringed so that they could wear some of the heavy items - or, perhaps, even
get them a PA.  I was looking at the interesting range of canes, whips,
floggers, tawses, and so on when a salesman came over.

Even though I had no immediate intention of making a purchase I was tempted
to engage in conversation with him after he'd said the usual "Can I help
you, sir?" as he was a feast for the eye - early twenties, tall and lean,
clean-cut, with very low-slung trousers revealing that he had a hard, flat
belly and a very desirable bum.

"One of my slaves has been somewhat slow to react to my orders recently,
and I was thinking of getting something to chastise him with - he's a big
beefy guy, and I sometimes think it's harder on the palms of my hands than
it is on his big tough backside!"

Clearly the man was impressed, and began to discuss with me the various
merits and disadvantages of whips, canes, tawses, and the like.  We agreed
that canes left undesirable marks, that it was too difficult to control a
whip so as not to break the skin, and so on.  "Of course a gentleman like
you could always use a belt - yours I notice is of fine calf, I see, sir.
But perhaps I could recommend this - it's relatively new, but is finding
favour with our connoisseur clients - we call it the `thrasher'."

Seeing me smile with amusement at his outrageous flattery, he continued
"You'll no doubt be aware, sir, that using your belt can cause problems.
It leaves a satisfactory temporary mark on the slave, and it certainly
hurts.  But the hard edge can lead to excess bruising, and even a break in
the skin.  And a fine calf belt is perhaps not heavy enough?"  He looked at
me for confirmation, and I nodded.  "Not look at the `thrasher', sir.  The
`blade' is flexible so that it moulds to the shape of the buttock or
shoulder, and it's heavy, being of thick rubber - something of this weight
landing on the slave will be far more painful than a light belt. But the
prime advantage is the edges - see, the rubber is moulded into a curve
along the edges so hat there's no possibility of braking the flesh.  And
then there's the handle - feel it, sir, see how it moulds itself to your
fingers so you can get a really firm grip and wield it with considerable
force...."

I did as he said, and smiled again, slapping the rubber blade against my
thigh.  "You're right. It feels well designed."

"Of course, sir, it is expensive, as you might expect for such a design.
Not everyone..."

I was tiring of this now so I didn't wait for the standard "not everyone
can afford" pitch and said simply "I'll take it".

It was interesting to watch as he wrapped the thrasher in fine tissue paper
and then put it in one of those expensive bags with rope handles, as he
moved nicely. And he was impressed with my charge card and what that
signified.  Then as he handed me my receipt and bag he handed me his card
and said quietly "If you need any help or advice, sir...."

"I may well take you up on that", I told him as I left, thinking I'd rather
like to see his naked body on my "horse" and use the thrasher on his cute
little bum.

Back at my flat I reviewed all the stuff Jason had pulled together on
Dave's Slaves, then set him another task saying I wanted that by the next
morning, and set out for Leyton.

The rest of the afternoon and early evening was considerably more exciting
that any possible things I'd normally have been doing in the office as I
"shadowed" Dave around as he showed slaves to customers - and I even helped
him make a sale by pointing out some finance options to one wavering couple
- and in-between times attended to his "service" business.  There wasn't a
real whipping scheduled which was initially disappointing, but he had three
branding. They're are pretty disgusting if you don't like the smell of
burned meat, and of shit (all the slaves lost control of their bowels as
Dave pressed the red-hot iron home) - but which were otherwise interesting.
The highlight of the afternoon though was when Dave had a `skinning to do.

Dave's big niggas hauled the slave out if his cage and he put up a fierce
struggle as they dragged him in to what looked like a big old-fashioned
dentist's chair and strapped him in.  He was a really good-looking slave,
and I could see why his owner had decided to have him `skinned as the look
of his cock was spoiled by quite a long piece of foreskin hanging loose at
the end, all shrivelled up as happens when the cock is not erect, as I'm
sure you all know.

"This is going to be tricky", Dave told me as he pushed up a small table
between the slave's outspread legs and flopped the slave's cock on to it.
"Normally, most of the `skinnings I do are the classic `high and tight' so
the cock head's always exposed afterwards, and all you need is a nice, neat
job so that the cut line on the shaft is not pronounced.  But this one's
got to have the head mostly covered when the slave's not erect, with just
the piss slit and a small piece around it kind of peeping out from the
`skin.  It's a good look on a thick, fat cock like this one, but difficult
to achieve."

"How so?"

"It's judging how much to cut off.  Too little and the piss slit isn't
seen.  Too much and it's almost a `high and tight'.  I usually err on the
side of taking too little if there's any doubt, as I can always do a second
`skinning.  But let's see...."

Dave began to pull at the slave's `skin, using callipers to measure the
length of the `skin and the cock, then stroked the slave to full erection
so he could pull back the `skin and measure again.  I could see why the
slave's owner wanted it `skinned as it had one of those very nicely dark
plum-coloured heads with a pronounced "flange" between head and shaft - a
pity to keep it covered up.  Finally Dave appeared satisfied, and opened up
a small box inside which were a couple of wicked-looking scalpels which he
proceeded to drop into a bath of what I took to be antiseptic.  He fussed
around then tightening up all the straps around the slave's thighs and
belly to make sure it was totally immobile, then offered up a bit gag to
the slave, who tried to refuse.  Dave casually pinched the tit of the slave
who shouted out with the pain and Dave said calmly "Come on, you fucker!
Open up so I can fit this - it's for your own good, as I find the noise of
a slave screaming is really distracting as I'm trying to work."

Dave picked up the scalpel and was about to start when I interrupted him
"Dave, the anaesthetic..."

"Oh no, no anaesthetic.  I used to be able to give the slaves a numbing
shot in their cocks but the RSPCS said that unqualified people treating
slaves by giving them shots was cruel, and got legislation through
Parliament requiring all stuff like that to be done only by a qualified
vet.  No one wants to pay the extra money to get a vet in here as I work,
so no anaesthetic.  It's the law of unintended consequences in action
again!"

"But you're going to operate... That scalpel.... `Skinning...  Don't you
need a vet for that?"

"Well you can take a slave to a vet to be `skinned but it costs a hell of
lot. And it's easier and less hassle for the owner if it's all done at one
time, so that the branding and `skinning can heal before he takes
delivery."

"No, I mean you will be operating..."

"Oh, there's an exception in the law, allowing `skinning to be done by `any
appropriate person'.  And I'm certainly an appropriate person!  No one
wanted to upset the Jews by forbidding `skinning...."

"But that's babies...."

"Sloppy legislators, then.  It doesn't say that it's only babies. Did me a
real favour, as I make money on this, and can offer a `full service' to
customers."

Dave stopped talking then, and used the scalpel to delicately slice at that
little triangle of skin underneath the cock head that kind of "tethers"
part of the `skin.  I watched as the slave's body desperately tried to
break free by thrashing and tensing, all to no avail, and he tried to
scream and shout but was mostly prevented by the gag.  Dave then slipped a
small metal cylinder over the cock head - it must have really hurt as it
went over where he had already cut judging by the slave's reactions -
pulled the `skin up over the cylinder and used a circular metal spring to
hold it in place, then briefly stopped.  I watched in fascination as he
used the callipers to measure the length of `skin on the cylinder and then
a "magic marker" to draw a neat circle all around it.

He gave me a grin and said casually "Right, now for the cut...." and before
I was really aware of it used the scalpel to slice through the `skin all
along the line he'd marked.  The slave's body seemed to be in a frenzy
then, and sweat was pouring off him.

There was a lot of tidying up then as Dave pulled the cylinder off and used
a fine needle and thread to sew along the cut ends of the `skin - he showed
me the difference between the surface layer and the underneath one which he
was joining.  Then as the slave strained and tossed uselessly again and
again and tried to scream, he rubbed some sort of dry powder into the
bleeding ends, which seemed to staunch the blood flow.

"There.  Another one done", he told me, and turning to his niggas said
casually "Take this one off to the recovery cell then, and give him an
aspirin".  He walked out then, with me following.

I watched him as he showered and pulled on a polo and jeans (no underwear
as usual) and said casually "Right, then - off to the pub, for something to
eat...."

"Actually, Dave, I wondered if you'd like to come back to my place for
supper.  I've got something to show you."  That meant that he had to call
the niggas in again and give them more orders for the evening, then we
eventually set off to walk to the tube.

He was astonished when we got up to my flat and he looked out of the huge
windows at the Thames and Houses Of Parliament, and gave a low whistle.
"Fucking hell - you didn`t need to go out and capture that slave - you
could come down to my place and buy any number of them if you can afford
the rent on a place like this."

I didn't tell him it was owned, not rented, but simply said "Ah yes, but it
wouldn't be as satisfying."

Dave then couldn't help but quickly appraise Greg and Jason - I thought
Greg would refuse when Dave ordered him to drop his shorts so he could
examine his cock properly, but it all went OK. And with Jason he ran his
hands all over the large "S" brand on his flank and complimented himself on
what a good job he'd done as it was so crisp and dark.  "You ought to have
your other slave done too", he told me.

"No, I've had Greg for some time, and I don't think he's going to try to
escape."

"That isn't the point.  Particularly for a big slave like this and after
owning them for a few years - having them marked reminds them that they are
a slave.  It can be easy for a big male to start to forget his real status
and begin to try to take control.  The pain of a new branding reminds them
who's the boss, and that they are your property and that you can decide to
have that done to them."

"Oh I have no problem with things like that", I said looking directly at
Greg as I did so.  "He's extremely obedient, obeys me first time, every
time, without any quibbles."

We had supper then - nothing elaborate, just some smoked salmon (the wild,
organic kind of course), steak and salad, and proper strawberries all ripe
and fragrant flown in from somewhere that morning and not the usual hard
tasteless "bullets" you get when the British season is over, all washed
down with a rather good Puligny Montrachet and my favourite Chateau Palmer.
Greg served it properly and only once made the mistake of almost sitting
down to join us - I felt certain Dave would never allow a slave at his
table as I did when I was alone.

After dinner I sat Dave down on the sofa and started to go through some of
the data that Jason had collected and collated.  At first Dave demanded to
know where it had come from and I mentioned public sources such as the
general trading statistics of all slave trading enterprises, then the
information he filed at Companies House about his annual results, and other
stuff like the amount of local taxes he was paying from the Council
records, and so on.  Finally, I said quietly "I think the conclusion is
inescapable - you're going broke.  Slowly but surely, year by year...  You
don't have the business volumes to support your expense base..."

"Bull shit!" he blurted out.  "I'm doing fine. I'm always busy...."

"There's a difference between being busy and being profitable.  And being
profitable, and being profitable enough to support yourself...."

So I tried again, and again, to talk him through all the numbers, and he
seemed to be flatly in denial and was getting angrier and angrier about my
"interference".

Finally, my own patience snapped - something very unusual for me - and I
found myself almost shouting "Look, whether you like it or not, the numbers
say clearly you're going broke.  Either that or you are not declaring all
these other bits of income you go on about - some of the `skinnings for
cash, hiring slaves out to `nice old gentlemen in Hampstead', and so on.
And either way it means one thing, Dave: you'll end up a slave."

"Either Dave's Slaves goes bust and you won't be able to get any kind of
job as you're not trained or skilled for anything else, and the kinds of
work that is available to unskilled men in their mid thirties doesn't pay
enough to really live on.  You've pointed out all those men in the pub who
are in that state. Or you're not declaring all your income, and one day
you'll be found out."

"So go bust, run up debts, and get sold into slavery.  Or the Revenue will
find out about undeclared cash and prosecute and you'll be sold into
slavery.  Either way you'll end up a slave."

"Bull shit!...."

"Is it, Dave? So you tell me where I'm wrong."

"Mind your own fucking business.  What do you know about running anything,
living in this fancy place...?"

That's typical, trying to avoid the truth by changing the subject. I'd made
enough allowances for the fact that he had drunk most of the two bottles of
wine - I enjoy wine with dinner, but I am a little abstemious - and he
needed to be taught a lesson.

"You are so typical of the kind of small business man I meet many times -
`small' still being many, many times bigger than your business is.  They
deny the facts, then bluster and get personal to cover up.  And they
usually end up broke as they do not take the advice I give, don't go along
with the plans my company can make to get them out of the deep shit they're
in, and back in to profitability."

"Fuck you...."

Well, that was that.  Calmly I said "Strip."

"What?"

"You heard me.  Strip. Get naked.  Remove your clothes, all of them."

Dave did nothing, but looked at me as if I was joking.

"Greg, help my guest out of his clothes", I ordered.  Greg looked as if he
might not obey, but then stood there looking menacing - remember he's a
big, tough guy still.  And he had been in the forces and was a physical
instructor.  Then he moved, very quickly, and had Dave held, and literally
ripped his polo off.  And in another instant Dave's jeans were pooling on
the floor around his feet.

"What the fuck....", Dave started but I cut in.  "Remain silent, Dave, as
you need to listen.  One more word from you and I will have Greg here spank
you."

I called Jason in then and ordered him to strip, and then ordered Greg out
of his T and shorts, too.  I told them to line up, with Dave in the middle.

"You see, Dave, this is how it's going to turn out for you.  When you're
enslaved, I'll buy you, if you're not too expensive - and guys about our
age are not all that much, generally.  Then I'll have a choice of slaves to
fuck - young, slim Jason, you, and older, bigger, tougher Greg."

Dave went to say something but I held my finger to my lips and slapped one
hand on the other, and he seemed to get the message.

"So, Dave, I think it would be fun - well fun for me, at least - to give
you a little practice at what being a slave is like.  You'll notice how I
keep my slaves minimally clothed about the place, or naked on occasions,
and that will apply to you, too.  But I do notice something you're
lacking...."

I went to my desk and got out a "magic marker" pen, went up and stood next
to Dave and made a mark on his upper arm.  "That will be my personal brand,
of course, just as I had you do to Jason and Greg.  And you do know all
about branding."

I stood there a moment contemplating him, then went closer and drew a big
"S" on his flank.  "And when I have you branded with the general slave
mark, I guess that will be painful for a day or so.  But then I will have
the pleasure of running my fingers along it when we're in bed and I'm
fucking you."

I was warming to my theme now and sat down on the sofa and sipped my drink.
"Now, Dave, do you recall how you taught Jason to wank properly in front of
his owner?  When you're my slave I will occasionally want you to wank for
me, too.  So let's see you practice, shall we?"  Dave glared at me and did
not move, so I snapped "Kneel, you fucking slave!  I don't want to have to
get Greg to discipline you..."

Dave got slowly to his knees, and I barked "Knees wide, remember, and heels
together.  Then bum down on to your heels, and a nice straight back...."

"I'm not going to wank for you!"  he said, sounding very determined.

"Very well, Dave.  But I did warn you that my slaves get disciplined if
they disobey me.  So perhaps we will practice that.  Greg - take this slave
over to the horse!"

I think I've told you that I have a rather good punishment and fucking
"horse" by one of our premiere modern designers in a corner of the living
room, and Greg now pounced on Dave, pulled him to his feet and dragged him
across the room.

Dave put up some sort of struggle, but I guess Greg was used to dealing
with disobedient soldiers when he was in the forces and he easily subdued
him, but watching one naked man haul another around was in itself
interesting and erotic.

Soon Dave was lying on the horse, with his wrists shackled to the front
legs.  Greg then bent to fasten his ankles to the rear legs, but I stopped
him, saying, so that Dave could hear "No, leave his legs free.  It will be
more exciting if he can throw himself about a bit - it will help him see
how futile it is to try to oppose your owner."

Moving over to the horse now and standing where Dave could see me I called
Jason over.  "Kneel down and masturbate this slave for me.  And be sure to
catch every drop of his cum, as I will need it."

"You can't do this to me...", Dave began.  And he continued shouting as I
picked up the stout rubber "thrasher" I'd bought earlier.

"I told you to remain silent. And you need a lesson in obedience, Dave."
And I struck him twice on each buttock with the heavy thrasher, really
enjoying the loud "slap" sound as the blade hit home.

End Of Part Thirteen