Date: Fri, 9 Jun 2006 23:49:19 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Slave Show, Part  Twenty Seven

THE SLAVE SHOW

By Pete Brown.   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

Part  Twenty Seven


Life seemed to resume its normal pattern once more,
and in the next year or so Andy really stepped up to
being head slave.  I noticed that above his bed just
outside my door his own prize-winning certificates on
the wall had been "promoted" to be alongside Joe's,
rather than being half-hidden as they had been before,
but that was about the only outward sign.

He made a number of good suggestions for changing to
the course, too, so it was no longer only sheer power
and strength that could get you through - some agility
was required as well, and Andy reckoned that this was
good for the big hunks that we had as it made them
more subtle and interesting to look at, rather than
just being big slabs of muscle.

As we'd got bigger, I was having to spend more and
more of my time visiting dealers looking for suitable
new slaves to train into show champions - it's not
something you can easily do on the internet as so much
of a slave's appeal for this type of work depends on
his "presence" - you can have two apparently almost
identical slaves, same height, weight, etc., but one
clearly has "winning potential" waiting to be
unlocked, whereas the other is always going to be dull
and unexciting.  It's probably something to do with
intelligence - even though slaves are shown for their
bodies, I have this theory that an intelligent slave
has brighter eyes, a subtly different curve of the
mouth, and that sort of thing:  the small important
differences  that judges notice, and which separate a
champion form the merely good.  And we were interested
in champions, remember?  That's where we made the real
money - we wanted the prize money, and the added
resale value of the stock, to turn our profit:  you
might think it's relatively cheap to train slaves ,but
you've got to remember we were burning a lot of money
every month in terms of interest on the capital
employed to buy them; the property taxes on the
centre; electricity, gas and water (and slaves are not
economical at all, taking very long very hot showers
when they've been out on the course); food; and then
all those extras like vet's bills, transport to and
from the shows, and so on.  You can economise on a lot
of it, I think : make them have cold showers, don't
heat the slave's living quarters, that type of thing,
but we were in the business of turning out champions,
and a happy slave, who feels good about life, shows
better. It took a lot of time and energy to go around
to the dealers, even when they knew to be on the look
out for the kind of material we were interested in.


Anyway, I was at one of the largest dealers we used,
in Colchester, and where, although the quantity of
slaves  I bought at any one time was small, I'd been a
regular over the years and so was a valued customer.
The sales manager had offered to buy me a sandwich and
a drink at lunchtime, and we sat in a pleasant country
pub, we talked about the business, industry trends,
all that sort of thing.  At a lull in the conversation
he suddenly said "Would you do me a favour?"

"Ask, and I'll tell you."

"Well the problem is my nephew.  He was always a wild
one, and all the family was terrified he'd do
something stupid as he was growing up and get
enslaved.  It was part of his 'revolt' that he refused
to go to university, even though he's a bright lad,
and I reckon he deliberately made a mess of his exams
so his parents couldn't make him.  We were all glad
when he joined the army, as they know how to deal with
unruly lads like that - no real harm in them, but
determined to prove themselves as men, I suppose. I
expect you have some of the same problems with your
slaves sometimes."

I nodded.

"He seemed to be doing well, once he'd accepted the
discipline, he began to enjoy it.  He went on a couple
of overseas postings, did well in fighting, and was
made a corporal six months ago.  Then he did something
really stupid - probably proving himself again - he
began to fuck the sergeant major's wife... Secretly,
of course.  They were found out inevitably -
Colchester's not that big a place, and everyone in the
garrison kind of knows each other.  So the sergeant
major began giving him a really hard time,  giving him
all the crap duties, bawling him out for trivial
things, refusing him leave, all that sort of thing.
But when my nephew found out he'd beaten up his wife -
well, slapped her around a bit, as men do - he just
lost it. The next time they were all practising
unarmed combat, he went for the sergeant major and
when the instructor told them to 'break' he didn't -
just kept piling into the bloke with his fists and
boots."

"As I said, he's not a bad kid at all.  And the army
has its own way of dealing with that sort of thing -
the sergeant major came into the barracks a few days
later with a couple of sergeants, and really worked my
nephew over.  Sort of paid him back for the bruises
and stuff on the sergeant major.   Being a bright kid,
that ought to have been that - he was over the woman
anyway, and he'd satisfied his sense of honour by
beating up the sergeant major, and in turn had been
'punished'.  But something got into him and he went to
the commanding officer and ratted on the sergeant
major and the sergeants - he said he didn't mind
taking a fair beating, but three on one was too many.
You're not supposed to do that sort of thing in the
army, as you probably know - rat on your fellow
soldiers."

I nodded.  "Yes, I was in the army myself.  I can see
it all now."

"That's why I'm talking to you, Steve.  Anyway there
was a court martial, but no witnesses came forward,
even though the barrack room was full at the time:
they'd all been got at.  So my nephew was found guilty
of making a false statement prejudicial to military
order and discipline, and got six months in the brig.
Even so, it ought to have been all right, except one
of the sergeants kept riding him, as he was on the one
who ran the lock-up at Colchester:  always made him
clean the lavatories, got him extra weeks in the brig
for some imagined fault in his uniform, that kind of
stuff.... And all the time saying 'this will teach you
not to complain."

"They can be real bastards...."

"Yes.  And at the first opportunity, my nephew took a
swipe at the sergeant... And of course all hell broke
loose."

"Let me guess:  another court martial, 'unprovoked
attack', a year in the brig this time?"

"That may have been how it was in your time, Steve,
but under the new military discipline codes introduced
with the involuntary servitude things started, they
can throw a guy out of the army and straight into
servitude!  My nephew went from being a tough, trained
soldier to a fucking slave, overnight!"

"I know the feeling.  It happened to me, too."

"Yes, Dan told me something of your background.
That's why I hope you can help.  You see my nephew
didn't take it well - at the initial processing centre
he tried to escape before he was tattooed with his
SIN, and he was given a severe caning for that.  But
before he could be auctioned,  and whilst he was still
nominally under the army's control, he broke out again
- this time, injuring one of the guards."

The dealer took a deep breath.  "They ordered a
flogging for him - sixteen strokes of the bullwhip.
You know how terrible that is.  It normally completely
breaks a slave, turns him into a cowering thing that
is so totally subservient that most owners find it
pretty sickening as they like a slave who's obedient,
but still has some spirit.  But just occasionally it
has the opposite effect - the slave goes 'wild', and
once he's been flogged, there's no other punishment
left.  And no one will buy a 'wild' slave like that,
as what are you going to do with him?  He probably
won't obey orders, and there are no sanctions left to
make him do so."

"So where is he now?"

"At Colchester barracks still, waiting to be shipped
out to South Africa, to the mines.  The new gold mines
there are so deep and so dangerous they can't even get
niggers to go down them voluntarily, as they used to
for the old ones, which were bad enough.  So they buy
up slaves from all around the world and use them -
send them down the shaft one-way and discipline is
easy:  send up gold, or we don't send down food.  The
poor bastards never see the light of day again, and
they're worn out within a few years as the quota of
gold is so tough, and the conditions are vile:  the
mines are so deep that the temperature is thirty five
down there."

"You seem to know a lot about it..."

"Yes - my sister asked me what was going to happen,
and I did some research."

"It sounds as if your nephew's had a raw deal.  And I
do understand....  But what do you want me to do about
it?"

"When I say they're waiting to ship him to South
Africa, what I mean is that he's in Colchester,
waiting for the next army surplus auction.  In
practice, of course, it's only the South Africans who
will bid as no one else wants a slave like that.  So
I'd like you to go along and bid for him.  It's easy
- the sale's tomorrow, and the process is simple:
he's in the catalogue, along with a lot of surplus
PCs, a pile of unused army kit, some jeeps which are
being sold for scrap, that sort of thing.  It's a
public auction...."

"So why don't you bid?"

"Ah, well, there is just one tiny detail.  Just as
those who bid to buy guns have to demonstrate they
have a legitimate interest in the arms trade, so
bidders on army surplus slaves have to demonstrate
that they have a legitimate interest in slaving.   His
family can't do it personally, of course, as that's
always illegal for relations to buy slaves.  And I
can't put it through the company, as if it was found
out, I'd not only be out of a job but I'd be hauled
into court.  So I'm looking for someone who's not
related, but with a legitimate interest in slaving....
Can you help me, Steve?"

"It's difficult - I'd like to help, but there's my
partner to think about.  We really only take on slaves
who have the potential to be winners, you know."

"I haven't seen this nephew for a couple of years, but
he was pretty good looking even then.  I reckon that
after a couple of years in the army he'll have firmed
up his muscles and should be really fit - I reckon
he'd do well."

"So what am I supposed to do after I've bought him?
Turn him over to you?"

"No... He's going to be expensive, I should think, and
we can't afford him.  We'd like you to train him, and
then, even if he's not a winner, perhaps you can find
him a good home, one where he's properly appreciated.
We'd rather have him here in England, than in those
terrible mines which I think would be the only
alternative.  It's tough enough that he's been
enslaved, but we can at least make sure he has as
comfortable life, and as long a life, as possible."
He paused again, seeing that I was wavering still, and
then looked earnestly at me once more.  "Steve, help
me out here, please!  The lad doesn't deserve never to
see the sunshine again. You yourself know how terrible
it is to be enslaved, and facing a life in the mines
is even worse than that.  And we'll make it right for
you, I promise -  I'll be forever in your debt, and
you'll get the first pick of the new stock, I
promise...."

"Well I can at least go and take a look at him....  If
he's half way OK, I'll try to help you out...."

So I drove with the dealer across the town to the
garrison headquarters, but he didn't come in with me
as he said he didn't want to get too close to the
transaction.  I explained why I was there to the
guard, who directed me over to the admin offices, who
in turn gave me a little map of the vast place, and
directed me on to the surplus sales section.  This
turned out to be one of those totally nondescript
institutional buildings, and when I went inside there
was "stuff" everywhere:  broadly, it was divided into
marked bays, and each bay had one of the kinds of
merchandise they were disposing off.  A lazy-looking
corporal at the door tried to sell me a sale
catalogue, but when  I said I was only interested in
the slave, he gave a little laugh.  "I wouldn't worry
about him if I were you, mate!  He's a fucking wild
one, and totally out of control.  And after the
whipping they gave him, he's not in good condition
physically, either.  If you ask me, he's only good for
scrap - the South Africans will buy him I think, and
that's the best place for rubbish like him."

"Well you're evidently not in sales!  I think I'd like
to take a look at him myself, though."

"Bay twenty seven they've got him in."

I nodded and started to make my way down the huge
building.  As I counted up the bay numbers, I started
to hear sounds of shouting and laughing, the shouting
very angry indeed, larded with lots of foul
expletives, and the laughter kind of jeering and
derisory.    Then, as I got very close, there was the
sound of water, followed by more angry shouting and a
lot more jeering.

At the bay, I saw what was going on: the slave was not
in a conventional cage, but was held in the middle of
the space by four elastic cables - one on each of his
ankles, pulling his legs apart  by tethering him to
the metal supports of adjacent bays, and two to his
wrists, holding his arms up in the air and apart, so
he looked like a giant "X".  The elasticity in the
cables allowed him some movement, but not much:  he
could pull his arms down a little, but it was clearly
hard against the tension, and they were soon forced up
again.  But what was causing all the invective from
him and the jeering from the men was that another
soldier was there with a hose pipe, which seemed to be
at a high pressure.  Periodically he would direct the
jet at the slave splayed out in front of him, and it
must have been extremely unpleasant as it was both
cold and harsh, especially when directed it at the
slave's genitals!  The slave was shouting and swearing
as the water hit him, and this only served to excite
the watching men, and encourage them to egg the
soldier on to spray him more.

I watched in horror, as the slave didn't deserve this,
whatever he'd done.  He was totally naked, and as I
went around the back of him I could see the vivid red
lines across his back and bum where the whip had
evidently cut deep into his flesh.    I went over to
the soldier, and said quietly "Hey, mate, how about
stopping that?  The slave looks all done in - that
cold water, and the power of the jet...."

"He deserves it, I reckon!  Ratting to the Colonel
about blokes in his troop.  And he's a cocky bastard -
listen to him:  it's a good job there are no ladies
present!"  Even as he said this he turned the jet on
the slave again, and the man began his useless
writhing and twisting to try to get out it, although I
must say this activity really did show his body off to
good advantage.  He was one of those medium-height
blokes with compact bodies - everything in nice
proportion, and you could tell he was used to
exercising as his muscles were well defined without
being obscenely overdone - his muscles everywhere,
that is, as you couldn't say that one part was over
developed compared to any other.  In spite of all the
water he looked to be agreeably hairy, with a nice
thatch on his pecs and a dark trail leasing across his
belly to his pubes.  There was no hair on his back,
thank goodness, but his arms and legs were glistening
with drops of water showing that they were hairy, too.
 He had long thighs, always something I like, and his
bum flared out rather seductively, with the transition
to the bony backbone making a most agreeable sight.
He had broad shoulders with nicely pronounced shoulder
blades, and a thick neck, corded with muscle and a
good sized Adam's apple.  He wasn't a blond, but
neither was he dark:  his hair was that light brown
that easily turns blond in the sun, and at first sight
there didn't appear be anything wrong with his
features generally - his head was neither too small
nor too big for his body, and there was nothing odd
about the set of his ears or anything like that.

I wasn't sure he was championship material, as there
are a lot of handsome blokes with quite good bodies
like that around, but there was a certain "something"
about him that attracted me: perhaps it was his
vulnerability as he continued to be jeered at by the
watching men as he thrashed around,  stretched out
there, trying to avoid the icy water;  or perhaps he
had that ill-defined quality of being "a bit rough",
something that always offers a certain excitement,
especially to nice well-off middle class owners.  Or
perhaps it was his cock - I'm always drawn to men
whose cocks are nicely in proportion to the rest of
them, neither too big nor too small, and this was
certainly so in this case.  It wasn't easy to see
clearly as he was thrashing around so much, but all
did seem to be well there, especially as he had nice
low-hanging balls that, when he was occasionally
still, seemed to reach the end of his cock.

I could feel my anger rising at the way the slave was
being treated, and went to the soldier to remonstrate
again.  "Actually, I do feel a bit sorry for him", he
confided, "But the Colonel has ordered it, as he wants
to send a warning to anyone else in the ranks that
starting a punch-up with a sergeant isn't on.  A lot
of the regiment have been past here, and that's why
he's naked - they want to emphasise that any one of
them can get turned into a slave, like this poor
buggar, if they break military discipline."

"When's he actually going to be auctioned, then?"

"Tomorrow, at about ten.  He's one of the first lots."

"...and you're going to keep hosing him like this
until then?"

"Well, until viewing closes at five, anyway.  I don't
know what they've got planned for him then - although
I suppose he'll go back in the cage overnight.  I
don't know which is worse- stretched out like this, or
cramped up in that tiny cage".  As he spoke he
indicated a very small barred cage standing to one
side, and I wondered how on earth a human body could
actually fit in it at all - he'd certainly have to be
bent double, and then there'd be no room to move at
all.

"Can't anything be done?"

"Well yo could ask the Colonel, but I doubt he'll be
much help.  No,  I reckon he's stuck here unless
someone buys him first."

"What do you mean?"

"If anyone pays the 'buy now' price, rather than wait
for the auction, they can take the slave away
immediately."

"Do me a favour, will you, please?   I want a few
words with him, and I can't do it when you're hosing
him like that."

"It's at your own risk, though.  He's vicious and foul
mouthed - there's not much physical danger with him
spread out like that, but he might spit at you..."

I nodded to show I accepted the risk, the soldier
turned the hose off, and I walked over to the naked
man.  Now the water had stopped a lot of the fight
seemed to have gone out of him, and he hung there
sullenly, seeming to have slumped.  I could see the
strain in his shoulders as they took most of the
weight of his body.  Water seemed still to be running,
and at first I thought it was just the water draining
off him, until I realised he'd had to piss, and that
was what was spilling onto the floor between us:  a
nice, hard hosing kind of piss, like a real man does,
not some pathetic dribble.  He raised his head
slightly, and glared at me.

"You might say sorry for pissing on my shoes!"

"You're fucking lucky to have shoes, not to be bollock
naked, like me."

"For a slave, you're not very respectful."

"I'm not a slave!  And I've got no need to be
respectful of you."

"You're up for sale as a slave.  And rumour has it
that all the potential buyers have ruled you out
because of your foul mouth and those whip marks - so
you'll be knocked down to the South Africans, for the
mines."

"I should care!  How much worse can it get, strung up
here, naked?  If I'm a slave, I don't care if it's the
South Africans or anyone else."

"You should.  I hear those mines  are tough."

"I'm a tough bloke.  I'm an infantryman, and they
teach you to be tough."

"Tough enough to never see the light again once you're
down the mine?  To lie there toiling away in thirty
five degrees, and die down there?  And tough enough to
fight for your share of the food they drop down to
you?"

"Yeah."

"Well it doesn't sound like much of a life to me.
There are some alternatives - I could buy you, but
then you'd have to give me your word not to try to
escape, and to behave...."

"Fuck you!  I don't bargain with blokes who're trying
to buy me."

"Suit yourself!  I like a man with spirit, with a bit
of fire in his belly.  But not so much that he's
prepared to fuck up his whole future life."

"I should care.  Just fuck off, will you, and leave me
in peace."

Faced with stupid bravado like that I did feel
inclined to simply walk away, as  I wasn't sure I
could tame this slave - the bullwhip had failed, after
all.  But something in his defiance reminded me a
little of myself, so I stepped back in front of him
and gripped both his nips between my thumbs and first
fingers, and began to knead and tug at them.  He went
totally wild, trying to break away from me -
unsuccessfully as he was unable to overcome the
elastic ropes, and because the more he tried and
twisted and squirmed, the tighter I held on to his
nips.  He began to shout and scream at me, calling me
a faggot pervert and all sorts of other names, but I
kept calm, and simply remained staring at him as he
writhed in front of me.  When  I did let go,  I saw
his nips were agreeably erect, jutting out from their
neat dark aureoles, and just as I was admiring them,
he spat at me!

You've only got two choices when a slave does
something like that, haven't you?  You can complain to
a guard and schedule for him to be whipped, or you can
take action there and then.  As you know, I'm pretty
much of an "action" man, so without showing any
emotion at all I reached down and grabbed hold of his
balls, starting to squeeze them gently.   I'd been
thinking of examining them anyway to make sure that
there wasn't some scam on and he'd been fitted with
prosthetic ones, which makes a slave almsot valueless
for show purposes.

"Let go, motherfucker!", he creamed, and I instead
tightened my grip and squeezed gently, not enough t
cause him real pain, but enough to signal quite
clearly to him that I could do so, if  I wished.

"Now, boy, I want some respect!", I told him, gritting
my teeth so I sounded fierce.  "They've tried to break
you with whips, and with keeping you tied up like
this.  But I'm a skilled slave trainer, and I know,
boy, that the one thing that makes a slave like you
sit up and take notice is  when a man like me has his
balls in my grip.  Now, you can either be civil, or I
can hurt you.  Personally, I don't care which.  But
I'm thinking of buying you, and I need to examine your
balls anyway, and after that I'm going on to do your
cock - I'm going to 'skin you back and take a good
look at your cock head...."

I never got to finish the sentence, as my hand began
to feel warm and wet.  I glanced away from his eyes,
and saw he'd managed to find more piss from somewhere
and was deliberately pissing on my cuffs and wrist as
I held on to his balls!  He was lucky I'm not one of
those blokes who lose their tempers instantly, or I
reckon I might have ripped his balls off.   Instead, I
let go, shook my hand to get rid of as much of the
piss as possible, and stared at him again.

"You asked for this", I told him calmly.  Then with
one hand I lifted up his cock, and used the other to
slap his balls as they hung down between his spread
thighs, really hard.

His shout of anguish was half strangled by the way he
began retching as the pain shot through him, and I let
go of his cock and took a pace backwards and stood
there.  It took him a few moments to regain some sort
of composure, and then he stood there glaring at me,
his face contorted with pain.

"Listen, fucker, and listen well.  I've decided to buy
you, against all the odds, as there's something about
you that I like.  But you need to understand that
you've got to start behaving like a slave if you and I
are going to get along.   And if we don't get along,
it will be you who ultimately comes off worse from any
encounter with me.  I used to be a soldier, too, and I
understand fighting.  But since then I've trained more
slaves than you've had hot dinners, and I know
something about controlling men.  You've had a session
with the bullwhip, and I know it will be useless to
use that on you again.  But you're sensitive about
your balls, and, believe me, there are a whole lot of
things I know about that you probably can't even guess
at when it comes to beginning to control a slave that
way."

He just stood there, continuing to look sullen, but I
thought I had won a small victory - a very small one,
of course, as he was effectively helpless and I'd
taken advantage of that.

I turned and walked over to the admin office, and
found that he was astonishingly reasonably priced.
The clerk seemed bored, and explained that army
surplus never went for much anyway, and there was no
effective market in the country for army surplus
slaves  - especially not for "wild" ones who hadn't
been tamed by the bullwhip.  "I don't know why folk
wait for the auction", she told me "The prices three
aren't that much lower than the 'buy it now' prices,
and you can have the satisfaction of taking the goods
home with you today."

She seemed happy to take my credit card for the slave,
then pressed a few keys on here PC once the
transaction had gone through, handing me a sheaf of
paper as it spewed out of the printer.  "Certificate
of ownership, log book showing army history,
injections, that sort of thing, six month guarantee
against major illnesses or defects, provided there are
not caused by you, authority to remove army property
from the site.... I think that's all."

"What do you mean by 'illnesses provided they're not
caused by me'?"

"Oh, we're happy to guarantee that ex-soldiers are fit
when they leave here, as far as we know.  But it saves
a whole lot of hassle if we agree to take them back if
they develop faults. Unless, that is, those faults are
caused deliberately - it's primarily to stop one of
the big drug companies who used to buy a lot of our
surplus, use them in drug trials, and then send them
back when things went wrong."

I nodded, and thanked her.   "Just show the authority
to remove property to the guard with the slave, and
again at the gate", she called after me.

There was a problem when I got back to the guard,
though.  He pointed out that the slave I now owned was
potentially dangerous, and that although he could
release him from the elastic ropes, what was going to
happen then?  "At best he'll run off, and at worse,
he'll attack you, and me, and then run off.", he told
me, almost cheerily.

"So what should I do?"

"Search me, mate!  He's your problem now.  But if I
were you, I might consider making a donation to the
mess beer funds, and then I might see my way towards
lending you that travelling crate over there:  if we
got him inside that, he couldn't run, could he?"

"How about a donation of twenty quid then, towards the
mess funds?"

"Sounds good to me."

I took out my wallet and handed him a note which he
folded and put into his uniform pocket, then he went
over and hauled the cage to sit in front of the slave.

"Now you know what this is, don't you?" He began
cheerily.  "And you remember how last night we had a
few problems in persuading you to get in it?  Well, if
we have any of those problems again now, I'll adopt
the same solution:  I've got my electric prod here,
and my emergency alarm.  And, as you know, whilst
you're twitching on the floor, my mates can get over
here from the mess and they quite enjoy putting the
boot in - they don't have too many opportunities to do
that in the brig these days with all the fucking TV
cameras everywhere, but most of them became guards as
they like a bit of extracurricular violence....  I
reckon you were lucky not to get any ribs broken last
night, but  I wouldn't guarantee the same tonight..."

"Look here", I protested.  "This is my property now,
and I don't want him harmed."

"Sir, until he's out of here, he's my responsibility.
And you can always bring him back if he's too badly
damaged, after all.  That's part of the army's
guarantee, I think.  So please stand away, and let me
do this...."

I've seen electric prods before, and once watched a
demonstration at the Ideal Slave Show.  You don't see
them at the normal slave shows we attend, as the Slave
Owners' Club frowns on them and has banned them at
major shows - so as owners can't use them when they're
probably most necessary, they tend not to use them at
all. I think they're really vicious things,
especially when turned right up to "stun", and we
don't use them at all.  It's too easy for an owner to
get into the habit of giving his slave mild shocks to
control him, rather than going to the trouble of
properly training him, and then over time you have to
start really winding up the charge, which is no good
for the slave or the owner.

Although I didn't agree with it, I stood back as the
soldier had said, and watched him in action.  To my
amazement, he went around behind the slave who was
spread out there, and forced the end of the electric
prod up the slave's arse, causing the slave to break
out in a new torrent of abuse, mainly focussing on the
slave's probable parentage.  Having seen the effects
of a prod n the normal skin, I could only imagine the
agony a slave would experience if it was fired into
that specially sensitive area of his anus.  The
soldier held on to the end of the prod, using it
rather like a handle, then bent down and undid the
cables around the slaves ankles.  He then ordered the
slave to pull down hard on his left hand, so he could
more easily reach the cable on that wrist, and then,
finally, did the same for the right.

I noticed the soldier now had a very tight grip on the
end of his prod as he used it rather like a handle to
"steer" the slave towards the cage.  Then he said,
rather menacingly, "OK, boy, now keep it nice and
cool, and I won't have to hurt you again.  You know
the form - down on your hands and knees, then crawl in
slowly into the cage, and once you're inside I'll pull
my prod out from your bum, and lock the read door.
And monkey business, and I'll zap you:  even with the
prod pulled out of you I can get to some of that bare
skin of yours before you can get out of the cage."

There was another torrent of abuse, but I'm sure the
slave had understood the conditions - perhaps he
hadn't the previous night, but his whole posture now
said that he knew that resistance was useless at this
point.

We don't use close confinement cages in our training,
so I watched with interest as the slave slowly got
down to is hands and knees, and then crawled forward
into the open end of the cage - it was only just tall
enough to accommodate his body and his back almost
scraped along the bared top as he made his slow way
in.  The soldier had to bend down and kind of follow
him, as the slaves bum went inside, and as he carried
on crawling slowly forward until his face was pressed
against the bars at the front, when his feet were just
inside. The soldier then pulled the prod out of the
slave, and quickly slammed the door at the end of the
cage, snapping the catch shut.

"Here's the special opener, sir", he told me.  "And
there's a trolley over there - that slave's got a lot
of muscle on him, and muscles' heavy... Let alone the
weight of the cage.... So I reckon you'd better wheel
him to your car."

I looked down at the slave, now looking really
uncomfortable all cramped inside the cage.  He'd tried
to lie down, but couldn't quite make it as there
really was no room, and was wedged awkwardly at an odd
angle, the bars really pressing into his flesh all
over the place, really adding to his misery.  "OK,
boy, try and relax.  I know it isn't easy.  But once I
can get you to the car, I'll let you out...."

"Fuck you!  I can take it.  I was in this fucking
thing like this all last night.  Do what you want, as
far as I'm concerned."

I bent down and looked at him, and saw pure hate in
his eyes.  "Boy, I'm trying to be nice to you, but you
don't make it easy...."

"I don't make it easy for fucking slave owners...."

I reached in to the cage, through the bars, and cupped
his balls in my hand as they swung loosely.  There was
so little space in the cage that he couldn't move
away, and neither could he get a hand to try to stop
me.

"I don't expect gratitude.  I don't need it - I treat
slaves humanely, as I think that's the right thing to
do", I told him.  "And I don't care if you hate being
a slave, or hate having me own you.  That's a fact of
your life from now on, and sooner or later, you'll
accept it.  But I will not tolerate a slave being rude
and abusive to me, or indeed to any free man."  I
squeezed his balls gently and went on "You saw a few
minutes ago what I can do to your balls.  Now behave,
or, if you can't behave, at least remain silent.  I
really do not like hurting slaves, but if that's the
only way of doing it, I will.  Do I make myself
clear?"

He remained hunched there, silent.  "I asked you a
question, boy", I reminded him, gently squeezing his
balls, to add a little emphasis."

"Yes."

"Boy, you've got a lot to learn.  What did yo say when
you got an order in the army?"

He remained silent for a long few seconds, then
muttered "Yes, sir."

"Good!  That wasn't so hard, was it?  Think of me as
an officer, if it makes it any easier for you.  But an
officer who has complete and utter control of your
life from now on."

Before he could make any further comment and possibly
ruin what I hoped had been a good start to his
training, I let go of his balls and stood up, and went
over and got one of those two-wheeled "sack trolleys"
that was standing idle.  I manoeuvred the blade
underneath the cage, trying to make sure I didn't trap
and injure any of the slave's flesh that was squeezed
between the bars as I did, then tipped it, and wheeled
it out of the building towards the car park.  It did
seem almost surreal to be wheeling a man away like
this, as if he were some package or parcel, and,
what's more, wheeling a man that I owned.

Outside the gates the dealer was skulking around
behind some trees, and he beckoned me over and told me
he reckoned it would be better for his nephew if the
man didn't know where he was being taken, and did not
know that his uncle had had some part in his "rescue".
 He had a blanket with him, so I threw this over the
cage, before the dealer and I lifted the cage into the
luggage compartment of the SUV - no easy task, even
for both of us, as the slave was solidly build as I've
said.  It was easier at the dealers, as there were
experienced slave handlers there to lift the crate
over to my car.  But as they were doing so, a wave of
compassion swept over me.

I borrowed some cuffs from the dealer and reached in
and cuffed the slave's wrists together in front of
him, then undid the cage and told him he could back
out, which he did very  slowly.  Considering he'd been
cooped up in such cramped conditions, he was amazingly
agile and leapt to his feet, and tried to run off!
I'd been expecting something like that, though, and
just put out my leg and tripped him up, so he fell
with a sickening crunch onto the concrete of the
dealer's yard - it certainly winded him, and may even
have hurt him as he was unable to cushion the fall
with his hands.

There's a special restraint harness available - you
may have seen them - that buckles around a slave's
upper body, and you can then sit him in the seat of a
car and thread the seat belt through it.  Provided you
turn off the "inertia" bit of the seat belt so it's
rigid, like an aircraft seat belt, the slave is then
effectively immobile.    The slave's back and bum were
still a bloody mess, though, so I had a slave fetch a
lot of old newspaper from the dealer and spread them
over the seat of my car before he was "persuaded" to
get in and was strapped down securely.  I saw his face
contorting from the pain as he settled down into the
seat, but it seemed he was trying to appear macho, and
not make any noise.

He sat there in sullen silence as we drove along
towards home, until, after struggling for some time,
he muttered "Fucking disgrace - locked in here like
some kid!"

"I'll remind you that you're a lot better off than
cramped up in that cage", I responded.  "But at the
next service station there are slave handling
facilities, and if you'd rather go back in to the
cage, that's fine by me."

He said nothing, and I moved my hand over and rested
it on his naked thigh.  I stroked it up and down,
feeling the underlying hard muscle, and he winced.

"Painful, where they beat you up yesterday?"

"Yes."

"What did we say about respect, boy?"

"Yes.... Sir." He managed.

I thought about letting my hand slide to enjoy his
cock and balls, but thought this might set me back in
the small amount of progress I seemed to be making.

End Of Part Twenty Seven.