Date: Sat, 10 Dec 2005 06:50:20 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Steve Grows Up, Part Eight

Steve Grows Up

By Pete Brown        petebrownuk @ yahoo.com


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


Part 8

The blow fell about six weeks later.  Cliff had
recovered from the pain of his 'skinning and branding
- he hadn't gone back to school of course as he was
now a mature male slave, and so was helping out around
the forge, and spending a lot of time working the
vegetable garden as mom and Kate were quite far gone
in their pregnancies and were finding it difficult to
do all the bending and such like.  We'd never really
got on before and I've told you about how he was
always laughing at things I did and making snide
remarks - well, I did feel sorry for him as I knew
what he must be  going through, so one night, instead
of going down to the slave barn for a bit of
relaxation, I went instead to his narrow room in the
forge.

It was really good, after we got talking properly.  I
told him how I'd felt when all this stuff was done to
me, and I think it really helped him come to terms
with what had happened to him and how his future was
likely to shape up.  He grinned, and said "Well it
didn't work out so bad for you, Steve - you've got
Kate every night, and now my brand's healed I've got
to go and let all the girls know I'm available
again...."

I had to tell him then that he'd been used by his
class mates, just as I had, and that he wouldn't be
seeing any of them again.  And I explained about Kate,
and how I was forced to fuck her or be caned, and  he
fell silent.  "Still, Cliff, it will be OK for you, as
you like fucking women.  Once the Colonel has bought a
mate for you, you'll be well away..." I said, slapping
him on the back as we sat there.

"But will I still have to fuck with you and dad,
Steve?"

"Well I guess so - the Colonel likes to entertain his
friends, as you've already seen...."

He seemed strangely silent, so I asked him what was
wrong.  And he sat there, his head down, and told me
that it hurt, that he didn't like taking dick, and
that it wasn't right...  I put my arm around his
shoulders, just as dad did to me when he wanted to be
serious and tell me something, and said "Cliff, you've
got to face it - if the Colonel orders me or dad to
fuck you, we will.  And if he orders you to fuck dad
or me, you'd better do it.  And there's nothing wrong
with it really - it's a whole lot of fun, or it can
be, if you stop worrying about it and just relax and
enjoy it!  It's perfectly natural for two guys to fuck
each other, after all.  Fucking women is just to
breed, but fucking a guy is... is.... well, kind of
special.  You know how the other guy feels, what he's
experiencing, what turns him on....

To emphasise the point I slipped my hand up his T and
started to gently tease his nips, as that's a real
turn on for me, and as he responded as I did, I used
my other hand to feel his dick through his jeans, and
as I expected, it was rock solid.  It didn't take much
effort to move on from there to getting him naked, and
even though he protested a bit and tried to make me
take my hands off him, I smoothly and effortlessly
started to fuck him.  Afterwards as we lay close
together on the narrow cot, covered in sweat and wit
the smell of our sex coming up at us as the thin
blanket covered us, he was grinning and muttered
"Wow!  You're right, Steve  - that was pretty
fantastic."

His fingers were playing around on my hard belly, then
they began to slip down, but instead of stopping at my
dick he was probing around my ass.  "Hey, Cliff, what
are you doing?"

"I'm getting you ready, Steve - stretching you a bit,
so  I can fuck you..."

"No way, little brother!  I don't take dick..."

"...unless the Colonel orders it, presumably?  What
happens if next week he tells dad to fuck you, or me
to fuck you, or us both to fuck you?

"Well that's different.  We've got no choice, as dad
and I have explained."

"So I want to practice, Steve...."

Well, I was in a good mood, and so I let him carry on
and it was kind of interesting to see my little
brother's face changing expression so much as he knelt
between my legs and looked down at me as I lay there
on my back and took his dick up me.

Anyway, we started to get on well - I took him and
introduced him to Sam and Dob and he other guys, and
on nights when we didn't want to walk there and back,
we'd just get together  in the forge.  I was actually
beginning to enjoy life a bit more, especially as with
Kate pregnant I could have sex without first having to
service her, but then, as I said, the blow fell.

The Colonel had ordered all three of us up to the big
house, and we stood there in the tiny tunics outside
his door, expecting that we were going to have sex, I
suppose.  But when we were lined up in front of him
and had pulled our tunics off, the Colonel walked up
and down in front and behind us, occasionally stopping
and playing with a nip, or feeling a dick, or running
his fingers over our butts.  Finally he stood there
and addressed us.

"I bought the blacksmith with the intention of
breeding slaves, as you know".  His voice was sort of
matter-of-fact, and he continued "Whiteys like you
three, especially tall, well muscled handsome ones,
are worth a lot of money, and fetch a premium price in
the market.  There isn't enough work at the forge for
three of you, and it would be a waste to use an
expensive whitey for routine wok on the plantation
that can perfectly well be done by niggas.  So I'm
going to start realising some of my investment in you,
and I've decided to sell one of you.  The problem is,
which one?  I thought that if I inspected you today it
would be easy to decide, but it isn't."

He paused, and went on "The blacksmith would be one
possibility, but he's still in excellent condition and
his breeding ability is undiminished.  Steve has
blossomed out into an excellent piece of man flesh,
and I'm pleased with the way that he's proving very
fertile - albeit after some initial encouragement.
And Cliff there holds out great promise - he's still
got that freshness of youth, but promises to grow into
another fine specimen like Steve.   So I find it hard
to make a choice.  But one of you has to go, as
there's a succession of other siblings coming along -
especially if Steve's progeny are taken into account."

Another long pause, and he added "Normally an owner
would just decide this and that would be that, but I'm
finding it very difficult.  So you can choose for
yourselves - a slave transporter will be a t the forge
tomorrow, and one of you will go on it to the
auctioneers.  Choose for yourselves which one."

He made a gesture of dismissal then, and all three of
us pulled out tunics back on, and walked out.   On the
way back home, dad was silent but suddenly burst out
with "Look after your mom, you boys...  She'll be
terribly upset tomorrow...."

"No dad!", both Cliff and I burst out.  "You can't go
- mom would be destroyed.  And what about the little
ones?"

Dad was determined, though, and argued and argued,
until I said firmly "Well, dad, if you do go, I don't
suppose it will be a problem for mom for long -
without you to service her, I expect the Colonel will
sell her on, too:  after all, Kate can bring up the
little ones.  Unless he decided to keep her, that
is.... I don't suppose he'd really make Cliff or me
mate with her, but it's a possibility..."

I thought dad was going to hit me for even suggesting
such a thing, but  I could see it had got him
thinking.  Then he looked worried, and kind of mumbled
"We've got to think of your mom, guys.... I think
Steve's right - and either of those alternatives would
be pretty terrible...."

"Right, dad", Cliff broke in.  "So you're not going.
So it had better be me."

It was m turn to protest then.  "No, Cliff.  You're
too young.  You're only just sixteen, and not fully
grown!  I've heard terrible stories about men buying
young kids like you...  Some of the things they'd do
to a young kid they wouldn't try with me, so I'll go."

Cliff did exactly what I'd done with dad, two years
ago.  He burst out "I'm not a kid, Steve!  I'm a man -
I've got the 'S' to prove it!  Don't call me a kid,
Steve - I'm just as much a man as you are - you know
that... Think about the other night...."

There was only one way to end this , so I said "Dad,
tell Cliff to shut up, will you?  I'm going - it's the
only way out for me.  You know I hat fucking Kate, and
I can't bear the thought of having to do it over and
over again, for years to come, breeding new slaves for
the Colonel.  It's OK for you and mom as you love her,
dad.... But it's not like that for me, dad, you know
that - you're not going to condemn me to that, for
years to come, are you?  Let me go dad, and then the
Colonel can sell Kate, too, and you can all be a
family together again as you used to be."

"But what about your son, Steve, and the one on the
way?"

"Look after them dad, you and mom, as if they were
your own... I can't really feel anything for them, I
hate Kate so much..." Well, we talked on and on, but I
knew I'd won.

It was really terrible the next morning as I ate my
last breakfast at home, and I told mom and dad that it
would be better if I went to the end of the lane and
met the slave transporter there, so the little ones
wouldn't be disturbed and worried.  As mom hugged me,
she was crying, and whispered in my ear "You're a good
son, Steve!  Thank you for making your father see
sense, and keeping him here with us... I hate losing
you, but I don't know if I could have survived without
him...."

"Mom, stop it!  You're making me cry now, too... All
young men have to leave home sooner or later, mom - if
I'd gone to college, I'd have been off now.... Think
of it like that..."

Dad came with me down the lane, and Cliff wanted to
come, too, but dad and I both told him to stay behind
and look after mom.  There was a kind of awkward
silence as dad and I stood there waiting, until he
finally said "I guess this is goodbye, son - it's
unlikely that we'll ever meet again.  They'll sell
you, and you'll go off to a new owner somewhere - and
it's not like we've got a phone or anything, so we'll
never even know where you've gone, and you won't be
able to tell us...."

"Yes, dad, I guess it is goodbye..."

"Steve, I'm sorry..."

"Dad?"

"Sorry for being so fucking stupid when I was young.
Then I wouldn't have been enslaved, and you wouldn't
be going off to be sold, like an animal... I'm sorry,
son, I wish...."

"Dad, it's not your fault - it's the system!
Enslaving people isn't right, dad, is it?  I wish I
could get to Canada... I'll run for it....."

"Steve, don't!  Remember what I told you about the
microchip.  And what they do to escaped slaves....
I'm sorry, son, but that's it, you're going to be sold
as I was so fucking stupid..."

"Dad, it's OK.  You brought me up right, dad, you and
mom.... And if you hadn't been enslaved, you might
never have known her..."

I guess we could have said more, much more, but at
that moment we saw the salve transporter making its
way toward us, and dad and I hugged each other, quite
spontaneously, and stayed like that until it stopped.


"You're really  a man now, Steve", dad said, choking
back the tears.  "Toy always thought you were with the
'S' on you, but a man really only grows up finally
when he leaves home and makes his own way in the
world.  I didn't want it like this.... But I'm proud
of you, Steve:  you're a real man, a grown up who's
going to make his own way now...

I could just see through the slats in the side the
faces of other slaves peeping out, and the big legend
on the side that said "Caution - live slaves in
transit".  That sent a shudder through me as I
wondered why they ever transported dead slaves.  The
driver got out, and said "One slave to be collected
from the Colonel's estate?" And thrust some papers
towards dad, on a clipboard, for signature.

"This one, sir", dad said politely, pointing at me,
and the driver at once realised his mistake.  "You're
a fucking slave too then, are you, boy?  I've heard
tell of some whiteys around here!"

"Sir, yes, sir."  Dad replied, almost unconsciously
falling into the "slave rest" position, with his head
bowed.  The driver looked at me and snapped "Strip,
boy!  We carry slaves bare-assed."
He turned to dad and went on "And you, boy - take
these clothes back to your owner - they're too
valuable to be left here."

I hopped around pulling off my boots and jeans, then
my T and boxers, and stood there feeling the breeze on
my bare skin.    The driver looked at me
appreciatively, and muttered to himself "Some man's
going to have some fun with this one -  I wish I could
afford it, as it looks as if there's a whole lot of
pleasure to be had from that ass!"

Dad couldn't restrain himself. He threw his arms
around me for one last hug, and I felt the tears
welling up inside me. His jeans were stiff against my
bare dick as we  clung together, but the driver broke
us up by a hearty slap to my bare butt.  He unlocked
the rear of the truck, and motioned me to climb in.

It was quite exciting, actually, as I'd never
travelled very far before and I must have been inside
that truck for a couple of hours as we sped along the
highway - like all the niggas I had my face pressed to
the open slats in the side so that I could see what
was happening, and I suppose the Colonel had decided
to send me to the city for sale, as you need a
"premium" kind of slave dealers, not one of the local
ones, if you're going to get the best price for a
slave like me.  I wasn't used to seeing all the
traffic, of course, as in our small town there wasn't
very much, and as we sped through the suburbs I was
amazed at how the trucks, automobiles, motorbikes, and
other powered stuff threaded in and out of the drays,
traps and pedalos with their slaves pulling them - it
looked really dangerous to have such mismatched
traffic on the streets;  but then, I suppose that if
you're a transport slave in the city, you get used to
it.

When the truck slowed I saw that we were turning in to
an alley running down the side of a huge, glossy
building that proclaimed itself to be "Scabbard &
Brass, Inc.  International dealers In Fine Slaves."
We all just stood there then for quite a long time
until the rear door was opened and we were herded out
to stand there - males and females both, of course,
and I found this really distressing as although I had
had to appear naked in front of a lot of men since I
was sixteen, in our rather conservative town male and
female slaves were never mixed publicly naked like
this.  It's not that they particularly excited me -
indeed, there was a rather good looking guy who'd been
standing next to me in the truck and who I might have
got somewhere with if our journey had been longer -
but somehow it seemed another level of degradation to
make men mix with the women like this.

It started to rain but they still kept us there as
they went through all their paperwork and stuff, and I
have told you already that - rain's always cold, and
it's really unpleasant on the bare skin.  Some of the
men used it as an excuse to go and wrap themselves
around the females, which caused a lot of laughter
from the guards who said that "niggas just couldn't
resist trying to use their dicks".  I wondered if I
should try to get close to the guy I liked, but just
then a guard grabbed me by the arm and pulled me out
of the group.  "This one's easy, at least!", he
chortled to his colleague. "Easy to pick him out,
isn't it?  I wonder what he did to get enslaved - he
must have been  a really wild kid as it says here he's
only eighteen.  Still, I blame the parents for not
keeping control of them."

Well, I blamed my parents too, I suppose, but not in
the way he meant.  "We'd best just check, though", he
went on, and they held a small instrument close to my
shoulders - it felt cold, and I flinched
involuntarily.  The men consulted their clipboard and
said "OK, his chip responds properly with the right
number.  This is the one.  Tag him."

I felt utterly humiliated.  They were treating me just
as if I was a package, reading my code - I mean, they
could have just asked me if I was the slave Steve,
couldn't they?  But then I suppose they needed to
verify that my chip was working, so it probably saved
time later.  The "tag" was gross, though - it was like
one of those luggage labels you see on suitcases,
about three inches by an inch, in metal.  It was
numbered in big numbers, and one guard handed it  to
the other who promptly grabbed hold of my left nip and
began to pull at it.  I'm so sensitive there, as I've
told you, and I instinctively jerked backwards, and
the guard was really pissed off and snapped "Stand
still, boy, if you don't want a taste of the slave
prod."

Well I knew what the prod could do to you of course,
as occasionally they used it on new niggas on the
plantation, but with my background it had never been
used on me before as I was considered to be well
behaved, and the cane was the worst I ever received.
So I didn't want to experience it now, as I could tell
from seeing the niggas writhing around that it must be
fucking awful.  So I gritted my teeth as he pulled and
twisted at my nip, and then when it was stretched and
erect, the fucking tag was attached to it with a screw
clip.  It hurt, I can tell you, and my face was
grimacing with pain.  "Now boy, be careful!", the
guard told me.  "Don't mess with that tag.  If you
lose it, it's the prod, understand?"

"Yes, sir", I muttered, and he smiled.   "Perhaps
you're not such a bad kid after all..."

"Sir, I'm not a kid.  I'm eighteen.  I've been a slave
for two years, and have even sired kids for my
owner..."

He looked a bit surprised, and said "So you were a
bred slave, were you?"

"Yes, sir.  But 'family reared',  I think they call
it.  Mom and dad were 'wild', but..."

"I don't care!  You'd better learn to keep silent
unless you're questioned, as some folk don't like
slaves who show any signs of being uppity!  Now, in
through that door, so we can start procession you."

I turned to walk away, and he slapped my butt with his
hand in dismissal - I was to find that a lot of the
guards at the dealers did this - just the light slap
on my bare ass, as if they were demonstrating that
they were in charge.  Which they were, of course.  But
as I walked across the yard it wasn't just my dick
that was bobbing up and down - the metal tag banged
against my chest, and sent little shivers of sensation
through me as it hung down from my nip.

Scabbard and Drass were totally thorough - they
claimed to offer a premium service for the discerning
buyer of "fine slaves" and were not active in the mass
market for field slaves, factory workers, and so on.
All of those of us in their facility were destined to
be "special purpose" slaves, such as ponies, masseurs,
butlers, chamber maids, or fit for other similar tasks
that the rich slave owner needed performing around his
demesne - and there was of course the obvious
implication that such slaves would of course also
service their owners sexually if required.  From the
first moment I arrived, therefore, I was subject to an
intensive programme of "tests" to ensure I was fit for
the purpose.

The first three days, like all new arrivals, I was in
the "quarantine" area whilst blood, urine and semen
samples were taken for analysis to verify that I
wasn't suffering from any communicable disease.  My
teeth were examined - mine were in excellent condition
because of my good diet - and I was X-rayed to make
sure there was no TB or other lung disease.
Electrocardiograms assured my heart was in good
condition, and then, when all these medical tests
showed that I was indeed the superb physical specimen
that I appeared to be, I could be moved out of the
quarantine area and into the mainstream of their
selling activities.

I'd spent those first three days bathed in artificial
sunlight so that my pale white butt and thighs were
already starting to go a darker shade, but photographs
were needed for the firm's on-line catalogue of
merchandise.  So after they'd trimmed my hair to a
crisp perfection and re-shaved my balls and restyled
my pubic hair to a "slave minimum", a make-up artist
toned my skin to an even colour for the photographs.
I expect you've seen the sort of thing - almost all
the dealers adopt the same set of poses:  full front,
full back with the slave making a big "X" with his
body; sideways, erect and flaccid;  and then close-ups
of the face and profile, of the genitals, and of any
other parts likely to be of particular interest to
buyers:  in my case, of course, as a well-muscled male
these included the butt, flexed biceps, pecs, belly
braced to show my six pack, and so on.   Scabbard and
Drass were very exclusive dealers, and there was no
"public viewing", as prospective purchasers were
expected to review these shots and then make an
appointment to view stock that seemed to fulfil their
needs.

Finally, then, there were the "performance tests".  At
first these seemed easy - how fast could I run, what
weights could I press, what was my "endurance" - all
standard tests done on the exercise machines and the
results carefully noted for the catalogue.  But then
they started to asses my ability for sex, and although
I did well when presented with a nice butt to fuck and
showed that  I was fully experienced in using the test
nigga in various ways, it was pretty disastrous when
they wanted to see how well I'd take dick:  you know I
hate that, but of course there in the Scabbard and
Drass test facility I had no choice, especially as
their guards stood watching, their prods at the ready.
 But it was noted that I cried out unnecessarily, and
not with pleasure and joy, and was deemed a "failure".
 When we then went on to the tests to determine my
skills with women I expected to do well, but in fact
was marked down disastrously - I'd been used to
fucking, and had sired children, as you know.  But my
skills at exciting the female slave with foreplay to
her nipples and so on were non-existent as I'd never
done this, being  a straight "fuck" kind of guy.  And
when they saw the look of distaste on my face when I
was told to pleasure her with my tongue, it was
concluded that my particulars should carry the words
"Satisfactory for stud, but would require extensive
training if to be used for pleasuring a lady owner".

So then there I was - I was moved to the "ready for
sale" section, and waited.  Or, rather, I didn't just
"wait" - Scabbard and Drass believed that top prices
were only paid for slaves in first class condition, so
those of us in the sale pens spent most of the day on
the exercise machines.  And we were only allowed
sexual relief  on a very limited schedule - those
males who were destined to be sold as pleasure slaves
for women owners were put with the female slaves (who
were always expected to be sold to males and used
sexually)  once every two days.  It was not considered
necessary for those of us who were to be sold for use
by males  to be allowed to go with other men at all
during this time (which was a pity, as there were
several guys there who I thought would be fun to
fuck), as we could just jerk off.  But because it was
known that fit healthy youngish slaves like we mostly
were would jerk off more frequently, and this was
considered to be a "bad thing" as we should normally
display in a state of sexual interest, we were fitted
with chastity cages that were only taken off for our
permitted jerk-off sessions:  a perforated metal
sheath was slid over my dick and held in place by a
lockable ring around the top of my sac.  It was
uncomfortable to have this extra weight as my dick
flopped around during exercise, but the sheath was big
enough so that I could erect without pain - it's just
that I couldn't jerk off when it was on.  All of us
tried to get a little pleasure by poking our fingers
up the end and teasing our piss slits, but this is
almost as frustrating as going without sex at all, as
it takes so long to get an effect.  And it was so
unfair, too:  it was only us guys who were like this,
as when they were not being fucked by the male salves,
the females could just lie there on their cots and
pleasure themselves as much as they liked.  It made it
worse, actually:  once they'd turned the lights out in
our block, to lie there in frustration listening to
the sighs and moans of the females as they enjoyed
themselves.

I suppose it was a fairly relaxed regime, as we were
only locked in our individual cages at night and the
rest of the time we were kind of "together", in the
showers, in the exercise room, and so on - not that
you normally had much breath available for talking, as
it was pretty strenuous.  I did get over my natural
shyness at being naked in front of women, though, as
the cage area and showers were not segregated.  Up
until now of course I'd led a normal "family" life,
and I've told you that even dad did not go naked
around the house, and certainly mom and my sisters did
not!  So I suppose this idea of communal living was a
good thing in preparing me for what might be ahead in
my working life.

The only change then from the routine of exercising
and sleeping was when we were going to be viewed.
Viewing hours were from ten in the morning until noon,
then from two until five in the afternoons, except on
Wednesdays when there was an additional "late night"
viewing session from seven until eight.  Scabbard and
Drass was closed on Saturday afternoons and Sundays,
too, as it was assumed that folk purchasing expensive
slaves as we were could always find the time during
the week if contemplating a purchase of this
magnitude.  During viewing hours the guards would come
and take a slave from the cages or exercise room off
to the showrooms, and often they did not return -
frequently the buyers bought on the pictures and
information on Scabbard and Drass's site, and of
course on their reputation for fair dealing and honest
representation of the merchandise, so the "viewing"
was more of a formality and was just a final check
before signing contracts and taking the slave away.
But there clearly were times when a prospective buyer
had asked to see two or even three potential
purchases, so there was a reasonable traffic to and
from the showrooms.

I suppose I'd been there a couple of weeks - it's hard
to keep track of the days when you're in a cage,
naked, with nothing to write with or anything,  when
my turn came to be sent up to the showroom.  I was
exercising on the running machine - a fearsome thing,
surrounded by electrified prods to keep me on track
and ensuring my pace did not slacken - and I was
soaked in sweat as this was an endurance exercise:  I
wasn't required to run fast, but I did have about
fifty pounds in a rucksack on my back.  I was
therefore taken to be "prepared for show", and as you
might expect this included a re-shave of my balls and
ass to ensure I was totally smooth, thorough cleaning
out with four changes of water in the enema, and a
long shower and brief sauna to really clean my skin.
There was a lot of fussing about as I was made to keep
my mouth open so they could floss my teeth, they
cleaned out my ears with a cotton "bud", and probed my
navel, too, in case there should be any "lint" lurking
in there - I hated it, as all these things are so
personal, and it's not the sort of thing one guy
should do to another.  My penis sheath was taken off,
I was given a light rubbing of slave oil all over to
make my pelt really shine, and then, rather
surprisingly, I was told to dress!  It seems that a
male slave's big, strong bodies like mine showed
better if the purchasers first saw them clothed, and
so I was first given a minuscule silk triangle "posing
pouch" (whose string was very irritating to my ass
where it went up my crack!), and then a tiny pair of
very sheer white silk shorts that were very low cut to
emphasise the length of my body and to display my
belly to its best advantage, and extremely brief to
display the power and strength of my thighs.

The salesman came to collect me then - a very
clean-cut "preppy" guy in his early thirties, I think,
in a sharply cut suit, immaculate shirt and lavish
silk tie.  He looked at me very carefully, and said
quietly "Now, boy, this is your first time, I think.
So I want you to be on your best behaviour -  just do
exactly as you're told, and there'll be no problems.
But at the slightest sign of disobedience or trouble
I'll prod you - and that's not good, if you want to
secure a sale for yourself.  And I assume you do want
to get sold here, as a potential owner who bothers to
come in having seen your details on our site is
probably going to be a good one.  We only keep you
here a month or so as we like to have fresh stock, and
if you get a reputation for 'trouble' and then get
'remaindered' and sold to another dealer, you might
not find such a good owner in future.  So behave, and
you'll stand a good chance of coming out of it well."

He led me off then from the preparation area to the
sales floor, and across the elegant reception space to
one of a series of rooms bearing simple numbers.
Inside there was a woman waiting - a small, blond
woman who was probably in her forties, I would guess.
She was dressed in an expensive looking designer
dress, had lots of gold  bangles and necklaces, a big
leather handbag, and her tiny feet were in pointed
shoes with incredibly high heels.  She was sitting in
an easy chair by a coffee table, on which there sat
what looked like a martini as it had an olive in it,
and cigarette smoke curled up from the cigarette that
she was smoking through a long holder.

The salesman at once said "Mrs Fairbrother, I do
apologise for the delay...."

"Oh not at all.  The traffic was light and the
chauffeur made good time, so I was early... And the
slaves here are so well trained:  this is one of the
best cocktails I've had for a long time:  if I don't
buy this slave, I must make you an offer for the boy
who mixed this."

She and the salesman both laughed, and she went on
"But he is certainly a handsome specimen now I see
him.  I thought he had a nice smile when my butler
showed me the pictures as he thought the slave would
interest me - but in the flesh, he's even better!"

She got up from the chair and came over to where I was
standing.  The salesman at once ordered me to the
"display" position we'd been taught - legs slightly
apart, hands clasped behind my neck so that my chest
was thrust out, my belly sucked back - and I stood
there looking at her.  Now it's wrong, I know, as we'd
also been taught that you shouldn't look at the
prospective purchaser but should keep your eyes cast
respectfully down, but as this diminutive woman, who
was old enough to be my mother, advanced on me I just
couldn't help staring at her.

Her thin fingers with their long nails, painted deep
scarlet so they were almost like talons, ran lightly
right down my chest, across my navel, and came to a
halt resting on the top of my shorts.

"He's got nice skin", she observed somewhat
unnecessarily to the salesman. "But I'm not sure I
like this little trail of hair down here in his
belly..."

"Oh that's easily removed, ma'am.  It can just be
shaved off, or we can have it permanently eradicated
by electrolysis.  But what kind of work were you
planning for the slave, if I might ask?  It's becoming
very fashionable to have gardeners, pool boys and
other outdoor slaves now rather more hirsute..."

"Oh no, this one would be strictly indoors.  I'm
looking for a bath slave for my boudoir, one capable
of performing all those little intimate services that
a lady on her own requires..."

I thought I saw the salesman blink in surprise!  After
all, she was so much older than me, and so much
smaller and shorter.  But the woman went on "Is he
trained to properly please a lady?"



The salesman was lying, of course - and evidently the
woman had not read the small print in my description
where it had said that I would be all right for stud
but not for pleasure with a woman!  But the words
tripped off his tongue:   "Oh yes, ma'am...  All our
slaves go through the training.  And of course, ma'am,
if he's to be used for pleasure, rather than breeding,
we can arrange for him to be vasectomised.  Most of
our clients prefer that, as it means that when they
choose to use the slave there's no annoying delay and
unpleasantness whilst condoms are fetched..."

"Quite.  He's very satisfactory from the front, but I
do like my pleasure slaves to have really nice, tight
rear ends..... Command the slave to turn around."

I hated this.  Being talked about as if I wasn't
there.   And having her tell him to have me turn
around, as if I was incapable of doing anything for
myself.  This sounded serious, too - the thought of
fucking this woman made my insides churn!

The salesman snapped at me to rotate, so I did so,
keeping my hands on my neck.  I knew this would show
off my shoulders to good advantage, and my classic "V"
shaped back.

"No, I need to see his butt properly!", the woman
sounded a little impatient, and the next instant the
salesman simply reached around me and yanked the tiny
silk shorts to the floor.  Now it's one thing to
undress in front of a lady - humiliating though that
is - but quite another level of degradation to be
stripped like that.  I felt myself starting to blush,
especially when the talons scraped across my butt
muscles, and  then rested lightly on the top of my
crack.  She moved her other hand around to rest on my
belly, and it felt hot and unpleasant, and she
observed to the salesman that there was no fat on me
at all. I felt somehow controlled like that - I mean,
I could have hit both of them and knocked them down
easily, but with her hands resting lightly on my belly
and butt, it was as if I was already falling into her
clutches.

"Very nice!", she was saying.  "My current slave is a
nigga, but I've just got the divorce settlement from
my fourth husband so I've decided to treat myself to a
nice piece of white flesh for a change.

The salesman coughed politely and said "Forgive me for
asking, ma'am, but aren't you just a little concerned
about having a very large, strong slave like this for
personal services?  We do tend to find that refined
ladies such as yourself usually go for very young,
slim slaves..."

"Oh no, I have no problem on that score!  I'll do the
same with this one as I do with my current nigga - I
have a hobbling set fixed to him:  nice strong ankle
cuffs and a very short chain connecting them, and then
a belt around his middle - which is why it's so
important to have a good strong butt so there's no
possibility of it falling off - to which his wrist
cuffs can be attached, when they're not attached to
his collar, that is!  I keep the slave locked in a
cage in my boudoir until I want to use him, then my
butler reaches in and attaches his handcuffs to either
the belt, or the collar, depending on how I'm feeling
and how he's to perform.   Then, when he's let out,
he's pretty helpless as he can't move his arms and can
only move in very short steps.  Of course it's a
problem as far as muscle tone is concerned - even
though I'll keep him almost starved, being locked in a
tiny cage for most of the twenty four hours means that
his muscles go very quickly, but he should be good for
about six months, I suppose.  The current nigga's
lasted a couple of years, as when I go on vacation I
send him off to a specialist slave exerciser who soon
licks him back into shape again - although I don't
always like the way that the whip marks are left when
they return him.  Still, it's worth it, to get some
good musculature back, I suppose."

She had me rotate again so I was facing her again, and
by now I was devastated.  I mean, being kept in a
cage, shackled, a plaything for this hag....

"He doesn't look very happy", she remarked to the
salesman, who smoothly answered "Oh, he's had an
excellent record so far, but a change of owner is
always unsettling for a slave.  I'm sure that once
he's got used to his new home...."

"Quite so."  She was staring at the tiny silk triangle
that was covering my dick and balls as she spoke, and
looking at the salesman said, as if it was the most
normal thing in the world, "I'm inclined to take this
slave, even though he is a little dark - still, caged
up in my boudoir, completely out of the sun, I'm sure
he'll revert to a nice pale white within a few months.
 But perhaps I had better just look at the important
parts... After all, that's why, primarily, I'm buying
him."

If I hadn't seen the salesman's other hand resting on
the hilt of his slave prod I think I'd have protested
or tried to stop him or something as he quickly undid
the tiny bow holding the string around my waist, then
yanked the triangle off me so I was there completely
naked.  He reached down and teased my dick away from
my balls, and I saw the woman looking at them
intently.

"My, he is big, isn't he?"  She commented, and her
thin fingers reached out and wrapped themselves around
my dick.  I shuffled uneasily and stated to blush
furiously, and the salesman said "He was family
reared, ma'am, so he's perhaps not as used to being
handled as a slave would normally be."

"Oh, I think it's quite charming.... He's nineteen, I
believe?  Such a good age for a young man to be -
really at the height of his powers sexually, but
somehow so vulnerable and inexperienced still..."

"Oh no, ma'am, he's sired two children already.  Not
inexperienced."

Her fingers were teasing my balls now, and I was
almost squirming with anxiety, as it's so easy to hurt
a guy doing things like that, as we all know.  "Of
course these will get even bigger after a
vasectomy..", she mused.  "And I suppose it's got to
be done.  But it will detract from his value, I
suppose, as he'll be no good for studding, and I do
like to breed from my maids."

"There's always the new device, madam - the tiny
stainless steel disk with a long pin on it:  that
sounds as if it might be ideal for this slave,
especially if he's caged:  every morning your butler
can wait until he's urinated, then slips the pin right
down his urethra and glue the disk to the tip of his
penis with superglue.  He's all ready for use then -
you won't detect the disk on the head of the penis as
it's relatively small, and he can pleasure you for
hours and hours:  the slave soon learns that it can be
quite painful to ejaculate, as there's nowhere for his
semen to go!  Then, when you've finished with him your
butler or a maid can use a solvent to unstick the disk
and pull it out from him.  That way he's always ready
for you, and yet there's none of the unpleasantness of
condoms, and, many of our more discerning lady clients
tell us that it's much preferable to having a young
buck like this spraying semen everywhere even if he is
vasectomised."

"But doesn't it hurt the slave?"

"Oh no, not really.  The tip of the penis gets very
inflamed and raw and sore from the gluing and
unsticking, but it's covered with the disk when "in
use", so to speak, so it's not at all unsightly. And
that's a positive advantage - if the slave isn't going
to be 'stuck' that day, there's less likelihood of him
bringing himself to climax, as his penis head is so
sore.  That way he's more ready for performing his
proper duties when you need him, ma'am.  Of course you
have to carefully control his fluid intake as he can't
urinate with the device in place, but as you're
keeping him mostly caged, that should be no problem."

I saw the woman nodding, and thought I was going to do
something ,anything, to stop this!  I couldn't bear
the thought of just being converted into some almost
emasculated pleasure thing like this.  Caged up all
day, some vile thing stuck down my dick, having to
fuck this hag.... But she was beginning to stroke my
dick now, and in spite of my rage and shame and
embarrassment, you can I am sure guess what happened!

She continued to finger my dick and my erection was so
hard that it was almost painful.  She began to look
doubtful, and the salesman asked "Is there something
wrong, ma'am?"

"No... I was very impressed with the slave's genitals
when they were first revealed, but now he's aroused he
really is very big indeed.... I'm wondering if he
isn't just a little too big...."

The salesman came over close to us now and slid his
fingers along my shaft, remarking  "Well, ma'am, you
do need to remember that his is fully mature. Some of
the younger sixteen year olds we sell he do grow a
little, but this one has a mature penis now...."

I couldn't help it.   In spite of the embarrassment, I
felt myself responding to the fingers that were
working my dick.  That familiar tightness began in my
balls, and I tried to warn them, but only got an "Oh
yes....." out, as I sprayed a huge load of cum - I
hadn't been allowed to  jerk off that morning, so I
was completely primed, and a very large volume of
ejaculate was produced!

The woman screamed, as all down the front of her
immaculate dress was a thick, white trail of my cum.

"Get this disgusting animal out of here!", she
screamed at the salesman.  "This is a designer model
dress, and it is ruined.  You'll have to pay for it.
And how dare you sell wild, untrained animals like
this...."

The salesman looked flustered and then pressed the
"panic" button on the wall.  Within seconds guards
rushed in and dragged me back to my holding cage, and
the last thing  I saw was the salesman trying to calm
his irate prospect.

They caned me, of course.  Even I could see that my
behaviour was not acceptable.  But as I lay there on
my belly, my ass throbbing, at least I  thought I was
safe for the time being.  Surely no new prospective
owner could be as bad as that!

End Of Part Eight.