Date: Thu, 26 May 2011 18:16:43 -0700 (PDT)
From: Christian Debus <servus4u@ymail.com>
Subject: "the Aftermath" Chapter 12  Gay Male/Authoritarian

THE AFTERMATH
(Or What Follows Next)

Chapter 12

This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of
eighteen years.

Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris)
"To see all my stories go to groups.yahoo.com/group/SlaveNow"

Chapter 12:  Slave "327" (Part 2)

Fearfully, the slave stood alone in the middle of the room. Placed there by one
of the assistant slaves, he was ordered to assume the display position and wait
in silence. And he was grateful for the food and water he'd just been given; the
first since leaving Dave Matheson's slave pens the previous day.

With his eyes caste downwards he had very limited vision; his spatial awareness
of his surroundings was more of an assumption rather than an actual
recognition.

He gauged the room's drabness and overall ugliness. His nostrils wrinkled at
the faint, stale smell of charring; at first it was vaguely familiar and then
suddenly his memory recognised it as the smell of branded flesh. Filled with
terror, he realised he was in the branding room; his body shook violently.

Around him were the furnishings necessary for the processing and branding of
slaves. He stood alongside the waist-high branding table; its long, wooden
length worn smooth and polished by the struggles of countless slaves; its
surface darkened by the fear induced sweat of its many, hapless victims. Lying
atop the table were the leather straps and chains that would soon hold him in
their grim embrace.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a wooden, reclining chair also equipped with
straps and chains - he could only guess at its use - and alongside it was a
small table on top of which was placed, ready for use, a chrome tray of
gleaming surgical implements.

Panic-stricken, he began to quake in fear; his trembling legs barely able to
support him. Fighting for air, his chest rapidly rose and fell as his belly
bellowed in and out with each gasping breath. Sweating profusely, he fought
hard to control his bladder and bowels. Feeling trapped, like a cornered animal,
he looked around for some means of escape even though his brain told him there
weren't any. He was convulsed with his loud sobs and his tears streamed down his cheeks.

The slave was truly at the nadir of his existence. Then, suddenly:

"What the fuck is all the fuss about?"

Somehow, for the slave, there was an unexpected air of re-assurance in Sam
Norton's question.

Again the question was asked. "What's all the fuss about, slave? Lift your head
and look at me."

"I'm sorry, master. But I'm afraid."

"What are you afraid of?"

"O -o -o -of what is going to happen to me, master."

"Nonsense. You're here to be fitted out as your master requires - that's all.
There will be some pain but that can't be helped. But I'm not going to damage
you. You're far too valuable. Now pull yourself together and let me get on with
my job."

"Yes master." The slave sniffled, not completely re-assured. For the first time
he noticed the assistant standing slightly behind Sam holding a small basket.

"First of all, I'm going to fit you with your collar so let's have you down on
your knees."

As the slave knelt he watched as Sam retrieved a collar form the assistant's
basket.

"You're in luck, slave. Your master is giving you a shiny, brand new, platinum
collar that's never been worn before and it has your number on it. I engraved
it there myself. Now bow your head."

The slave shook as the collar was fastened around his neck. Was it only
yesterday that his old collar had been removed from him? At first, he'd felt
naked without it but he had soon grown used to it not being there. Now, once
again, he felt the physical weight of his slavery as this new collar was locked
around his neck. He knelt patiently as Sam ran a finger around the inside of the
collar checking that it wasn't too tight.

"It's a perfect fit and it suits you, slave. Now up on your feet and what do you
say?"

Scrambling to his feet, the slave simply said. "Thank you, master."

"You'll need to remember the number `327' that your master has given you. From
now on that's what you'll be called. So what's your number?'

"It's `327' master."

"Good boy. Now let me check your cock and balls. We need to get them `ringed'
don't we, 327? You want them to `look good' for your master's clients, don`t
you, slave?"

"Yes master."

The slave stood placidly at display and looked straight ahead, not knowing what
to expect. Was he to feel pain or discomfort as the rings were fitted, he
wondered? Would it take long? He was now very aware of the weight of the new
collar fastened around his neck. Would his cock and balls feel a corresponding
weight?

He flinched nervously as Sam gently eased his genitals through the tight
fitting platinum rings. Then, the inevitable happened; aroused at Sam's touch,
his cock began to harden into an erection.

"Keep it down, slave," Sam laughed, "at least until I get you ringed. When
that's done, you can show for all you're worth"

Then after a few more adjustments. "There now, we're all done. That didn`t hurt
- did it slave?"

"No master." the relieved slave answers.

As Sam stood back to survey his handiwork, the slave was very conscious of being
"off balance" - the placement of the rings had forced his genitalia forward and
upward into a prominent display. Once more, fully aroused, his cock was showing
hard and he ached for the release denied him earlier.

Not quite satisfied, Sam stepped forward to adjust the rings on the slave. He
checked to make sure that the cock-ring, encircling both the cock and balls, was
flat against the plain of the lower stomach. Then, with a gentle tug, he ensured
that both testicles were positioned at the bottom of the ball-sac and
permanently confined below the cinch ring. Finally he ordered the slave to.

"Turn around, spread your feet, bend and grab hold of your ankles."

Ever the perfectionist in these matters, Sam scrutinized the slave from behind.
And he liked what he saw. Both balls hung low and heavy below the cinch and were
individually contoured through the stretched tautness of the hairless
scrotum - just the way Simon liked them. Sam reflected Simon will be pleased at
the slave's "new look" and, no doubt, it will also be appreciated by the
patrons at the Patroklos Club. Stepping up, Sam took them in his cupped hand,
playfully bouncing them up and down, before making one final and imaginary
adjustment to the cinch. Then with a pat on the buttocks, the slave is ordered
to.

"Stand, face the front and display."

"Well slave that was the easy part. Now comes, what for you, will be the hard
part. We need to get these ringed." Sam tells him, almost maliciously, as he
pinched both nipples.

White-faced, the slave plaintively pleads. "Please master, don't do this, please
master."

"Right then, into the chair and be quick about it. Your master will be here in a
couple of hours. So let's move it along."

"Please master, please don't." The slave vainly continued his pleading. "Please
Mast....ARGHH!"

Ignoring the pleas, Sam nodded to his assistant standing behind the slave..
Totally unprepared, the slave heard the gentle `swish' of the cane passing
through the air just seconds before the `loud thwack' as it cut across his
buttocks.

"ARGHH! O shit." the slave cried out at the second stroke of the cane.

Furiously, Sam roared. "MOVE! Get your ass into the chair, NOW!

The chastened slave, ruefully rubbing the red criss-crossed stripes on his ass,
hastened to obey.

Moving quickly, the assistant soon had him constrained within the chair; with
straps fastened around his ankles, wrists, belly and neck. Fearfully, the crying
slave watched Sam's every movement and trembled as he felt Sam`s fingers fondle
his nipples..

"You have beautiful tits, slave. After I've enhanced them, I'm sure they'll be
very popular with your master's clients. Let's get started shall we?"

The slave gasped in surprise as the chair was inclined backwards, lowering his
head and raising his feet, but placing his chest at the right level for Sam to
work on. With his neck held fast by a high leather strap, he was unable to raise
his head and had very limited sideways movement. Out of the corner of his eye, he
nervously watched as Sam stood at the adjacent table examining the instruments
on the tray. Suddenly he needed to urinate.

Sensing his distress, Sam ordered his assistant to help him by holding a bucket
between his legs and correctly positioning his now flaccid cock to enable him
to piss. Sam wasn't surprised; in his experience, most slaves reacted to the
threat of pain by losing control of their bladders and bowels and this slave
wasn't any different. However, from long experience, he knew the tell-tale signs
of when a slave was about to lose control and he always took steps to minimise
any mess. After all, he hated working on a slave who had fouled himself.

"Have you finished, slave?"

Humiliated, the slave answered. "Yes, master."

"Good! Here we go then." Sam replied as he used an antiseptic swipe to sterilise
both nipples and their surrounding areas.

Sam was very particular with hygiene when working on a slave. His record to date
was impeccable; he'd never had a slave suffer from an infection as a result of
any of his procedures. He was proud of this and he wasn't about to spoil it now.
With his acute business acumen, he knew this emphasis on a slave's well-being
was valued by his many customers and because of it, they didn't have any qualms
about entrusting their slaves to his care - a fact that Sam greatly appreciated.
After all, as a businessman, he stood or fell by the quality of his workmanship.
Consequently, he ensured all the instruments he used were of the finest quality
and that they were sterilized immediately before and after each use. After all,
slaves are valuable and represented a considerable investment of their owners'
money; another fact that Sam - himself a slave-holder - appreciated.

Apprehensively, the slave waited as Sam worked on his nipples. Unable to raise
his head to see what was happening, his chest rose and fell in time with his
rapid breathing and he was covered in a sweat sheen born out of his fear. Had
he been able to see, he would have seen Sam using a black felt tipped pen to
mark the entry and exit spots for the needle on each side of his sensitive
nipples. Sam ensured these spots lined up perfectly with each other and were
carefully positioned where the nubs of the nipples met their surrounding
aerolae.

Sam took his time in doing this. From his point of view it was essential to get
the preliminaries right - he would never jeopardize his work with sloppy
preparation. Satisfied that the marks were in line, he then used a set of
callipers to determine the thickness of the nipples - he needed to know what
length and diameter of needle to use. He decided to use a 16 gauge needle; the
slave's tits were large and thick enough to take this size and anyway, Simon had
stipulated the slave was to be fitted with heavy gauge rings.

Sensing what was to happen next; the slave arched his back and struggled in a
futile attempt to free himself from the chair. Once more, he began to plead
although he knew his pleas would be ignored.

With a re-assuring "STEADY! STEADY!" Sam stroked the slave's sweating, straining
chest. Then, not unkindly, he placed a piece of leather strapping between the
slave's teeth with the instruction to. "Here, bite down on this. It will help to
ease the pain."

Then, disgusted at this display of sympathy for a slave, he gruffly added "It'll
stop you from biting your tongue. We don't want you damaged, do we?"

Sam had never shown compassion for a slave. Why then did he just do that?
Looking into the slave's fear-filled eyes he felt an inexplicable attraction to
the slave -certainly the slave was very appealing. He decided that the only
"cure" for this attraction was to fuck him. For that to happen, he'd need to
visit the club at the earliest opportunity. Now, once more in control, he picked
up a needle and approached the slave. The slave steeled himself for what was to
follow.

Sam worked swiftly; he never prolonged this procedure. In his experience, it was
better for a slave if it was performed quickly; not out of any consideration for
the slave's suffering but rather to prevent him going into shock.

The slave's expectation of pain was greater than the reality. Certainly, he
felt the quick, penetrating pain as the needle passed through both nipples but
it wasn't as severe as he'd anticipated. However, this was followed by the deep,
throbbing pain of his lacerations. As Sam worked on him, the slave bit down on
the leather gag and jerked as Sam inserted the heavy, five centimetre rings
through his perforated nipples. Finally, satisfied with his work, Sam stepped
back to appraise the slave.

He was very pleased with the slave's transformation. This time yesterday, the
slave had been a rough field slave; his superb torso unkempt and covered with
body hair. Now, his beautiful, glabrous body displayed the perfection of his
musculature and his new body jewellery enhanced that perfection.

Sam always took pride in his work and over the years he'd transformed many
slaves into objects of beauty for their owners. However, this slave was
exceptional; Sam couldn't recall another to beat him. Many others could come
close to matching him - but not quite. Sam was extremely gratified and he knew
that the slave's new owner, Simon would also be delighted.

"Well `327' that's done and I've got to say, you look even better than I thought
you would. Your master will be pleased with you."

The slave flinched as Sam moved the new rings through his painful nipples with
the advice to him to "move these from time to time until you're healed. I'll
also mention it to your master before you leave."

As Sam leaves, he instructs his assistant.

"Let him settle down for twenty minutes or so, then move onto the branding
table. And don't forget to heat up the branding iron ready for when his master
arrives."

                 >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Now, the fearful slave lies strapped to the branding table and waits.

The only sounds to break the silence of the room are his nervous breathing and
the occasional "click" of the thermostat on the branding iron as it cycles
through its heat settings. Like a moth's attraction to a candle, his eyes are
fixed on the glowing end of the brand; he shudders violently as he anticipates
its inevitable use on his body.

In his misery, he reflects that three days ago he was happily - well, as happy
as a slave can be - employed as one of Andy Trevorrow's farm slaves. There, he
knew the affection and companionship of his fellow slaves - especially that of
the two blond cousins. Once more, tears well in his eyes as he thinks of them.

Although his life as a field slave had been hard and the labour repetitious, he
had, however enjoyed a degree of certainty and stability in his life.
Monotonously, each day was the same as the one before it; he would be woken
before dawn, fed and watered and then driven into the fields to begin a long day
of back-breaking labour under the supervision of his master's overseers. This
supervision had been "benign" in that the Trevorrow's, conscious of the good
appearance of their slaves, had always insisted that they not be punished
unnecessarily; whips and canes were to be used only when warranted. Then, at the
end of the day, once more, he'd been fed and watered and locked in the stables
for the night. There, lying between the two cousins, he'd enjoyed the warmth
and comfort of their hard, naked bodies pressing against his own. And of course
there were the many, happy hours of sex with one another. He weeps at his loss.

Suddenly he hears approaching footsteps and voices. Turning his head, he sees
his new master and Sam Norton enter the room.

"Well Simon, what do you think? Does he `come up' to your expectations?" Sam
asks.

Simon leaves the question unanswered as his hands move over the slave's body
testing it for its new smoothness. He fingers the collar around the slave's
neck before moving down to his chest. The slave flinches and yelps as Simon
`toys' with the rings now piercing his swollen nipples.

"I've instructed the slave that he must move the rings from time to time to
prevent the flesh from adhering to them as he heals. I suggest you make sure he
does so, Simon."

"Thanks Sam. I'll make sure he does. Or I should say, I'll make sure his `buddy'
does."

"A buddy? What's a buddy, Simon?"

"Well, I usually pair a new slave like this one with one of my more experienced
slaves. It's that slave's job to serve as an example to the new slave and show
him the ropes so to speak. He'll instruct the new slave in the things he needs
to know to be the perfect pleasure slave. He'll teach the new slave the
different positions that he'll need to adopt in front of my clients - and things
like walking and displaying his body seductively - the proper manner of address
and speech to my customers, how to serve as a valet, work as a waiter and as an
assistant in the club's pool and bathhouse areas. You know - things like that.
But most importantly, he teaches the new slave how to service a patron's cock."

"That sounds like a good system to me, Simon. Does it work?"

"You bet it does, Sam." Simon laughs." As part of the training, I adopt an
inflexible policy of `if one slave offends both slaves are punished'. Take it
from me, this exercises their minds and ensures they remain focused on the task
in hand. It never fails to work."

"Do you have a `buddy' picked out for this slave, Simon?"

"Indeed I do, Sam. I've chosen my most popular slave to pair with him. This
particular slave is a firm favourite with the patrons which, however, is
unfortunate for him."

"How so, Simon?"

"Well he's so popular that `supply can't keep up with demand' so to speak."
Simon chuckles. "I literally have to take bookings for his services and I'm
hoping that this new slave will prove as popular. Somehow, looking at him I
suspect he will. Although, he'll need to do better than this." Simon adds, in
disgust, as he fondles the slave's disinterested cock.

"I wouldn't worry on that score, Simon. You should have seen the show he put on
for me earlier when I fitted him with his cock-rings. It was very impressive,
believe me. I guess it`s the thought of the branding iron that's keeping it down
at the moment."

"Good! I'm glad to hear it. And to answer your first question Sam. Yes, he is
everything I expected of him - and more. I'm delighted with him As usual, you've
excelled yourself. My congratulations and thank you for a job well done."

"It's my pleasure, Simon. The slave was a delight to work with. But I guess you're
anxious to be on your way back to the club with him. I see the iron's ready, so
let's get him finished."

The slave, fully aware of his imminent branding, plaintively begs his new master
"Please Master, please?"

Straining against the straps holding him to the table, the slave hears Sam
ordering him to open his mouth. Defiantly, yet futilely the slave disobeys.

"Open your mouth, fuck you." Sam angrily shouts as he pinches the slave's
nostrils and waits for him to begin breathing through his mouth. Then, as he
does so, the slave once more, tastes and feels the leather strap between his
teeth. Desperately, he bites down hard in anticipation of the brand.

"Where do you want the brand, Simon? On the usual spot?" Sam asks; indicating a
spot on the right side of the slave's chest.

"Yes Sam. Right about there. On his right pectoral about five centimetres above
the nipple should be right."

"I'll just wipe away the sweat before I apply the brand; it takes better if the
skin is dry."

The slave raises his head and watches in horrified fascination as Sam retrieves
the branding iron. Desperately he begins to thrash around; struggling against
the tight straps holding him to the table. Arching his back and thrusting
his chest upwards in a vain attempt to break free, his musculature is
highlighted by the stress of his struggling. Through the confusion of his
panic he hears Sam telling him to

"Settle down, slave. It'll soon be over." This serves as an incentive for the
slave to struggle even harder.

"Simon, the slave's struggling means I'm going to need your help. If you could
just hold his legs steady, I'll get my slave to hold his shoulders down long
enough for me to apply the brand."

Now, as the slave struggles helplessly in the hands of his master and Sam's
slave, he curses unintelligibly through his gag.

"I think the slave is abusing us, Sam. Do all slaves re-act like this?"

"Yes usually, most of them do. Their fear overcomes their normal good behaviour.
But then, some slaves accept the inevitable and just lie placidly as they are
branded. That type makes my job much easier. But those slaves are the exception
rather than the rule. Most of them act up just like your slave here."

"Well then, Sam he's just earned himself a caning for his bad behaviour. As soon
as we arrive back at the club he`ll receive ten of the best delivered by my head
trainer and believe me he doesn`t hold back when applying the cane to a
recalcitrant slave"

"It makes good sense to punish him right at the outset. It fixes in his mind
that you are the master and that you won't tolerate this type of bad behaviour
from him. My guess is that his `acting up' is fear induced and completely out
of character. Nevertheless, a caning will be good for him. I believe slaves
should receive a periodic whipping or caning. All mine routinely receive one,
whether it's warranted or not. It does wonders for their attitude. Now just hold
him steady. Steady... Here we go..... NOW!"

The slave screams into his gag as the iron sears itself into his chest. Lost in
the intensity of his pain; his suffering borders on the unendurable. For the
slave, his mind clouded by shock and pain, time stands still. He is unaware that
Sam has withdrawn the brand - it grim work done; the severity of his pain
convinces him it is still searing itself into his flesh. Then there is the gradual
realisation that the actual branding is over. With his body aflame, he is
sweating profusely and through the fog of his pain and confusion he hears
himself crying. Looking up, he sees his master and Sam, engaged in conversation,
gazing down at him.

"Well that's it, Simon. He's finished. I know the brand looks a bit angry at the
moment, but it'll heal up cleanly." The slave cries out in pain as Sam, placing
his fingers just above and below the brand, stretches his tortured flesh.
"Great! Crisp and clearly outlined - just the way a brand should be. Just keep an
eye out for infection until it heals over. "

"The slave looks distressed. Is that normal, Sam?'

"He's alright, Simon. He's just a bit sick and sorry for himself. But he'll
soon get over it. Slaves are resilient and I've never lost one to branding." Sam
laughs "We'll let him settle down for a few minutes and then we can have him off
the table and you can be on your way with him."

"Excellent, Sam. And he'll be even sicker and sorrier when I get him back to
the club; he'll have a sore ass to think about after his caning. But once
again, thank you for a job well done. And don't forget that my thank you
invitation to you to visit the club and use the slave still stands."

"Thank you, Simon. I'll certainly take you up on that. I look forward to
spending time with him."

"Look Sam, I've just had a thought. Why don't you come to the club for the
slave's initiation? I'm sure you'd find it interesting and entertaining."

"It does sound interesting, Simon. What happens?"

"Well, as I was explaining to Dave Matheson only yesterday - by the way, he'll
be there - it's a charity fundraising night. When this slave is introduced to
the club's patrons for the first time, we'll auction him off to the highest
bidder. The winning bidder gets to fuck the slave before anyone else does. I
guess I should qualify that a little. As the slave's owner, I get first bite of
the cherry, as you'd expect. Anyway it's a fun night and all the money raised
goes to a worthwhile charity. So what do you think; how about it?"

"Simon, count me in. I'd be delighted to attend. It'll give me the opportunity
to see how my handiwork has turned out. When is it?'

Not until he's fully trained. I'd guess about two to three weeks from now.
Naturally, I'm keen to get him started as soon as possible. I need to start
getting a return on my investment in him, so his training will be speeded up.
Anyway, I'll let you know in advance so you can arrange to be there, Sam."

"Simon, I look forward to it and thank you."

"No! Thank you, Sam for your excellent work I guess all that needs to be done
now is for me to settle up with you for your work on my slave. Shall we go to
your office for that?"

"Certainly, Simon. By the way, are you going to tomorrow's auction? I hear
there's some interesting stock being offered for sale; some captured soldiers
from the north."

"Yes, Sam. As usual, I'll be there. I attend all auctions as I'm always on the
look out for suitable recruits for the club. Occasionally I find an outstanding
specimen but mostly they're just run of the mill stuff. But I keep an open
mind and attend as you never know what you'll find on offer. And, actually
you're right about the soldiers. I took a quick stroll through Dave Matheson's
pens yesterday and saw a couple of possibilities for the club. I'll check them
out tomorrow and decide then if I'll bid for them. You`ll be there of course?
And you'll have your new display boards?"

"Yes Simon I`ll be there. And yes, I`ll be introducing my displays to the
general public tomorrow."

"Good. I'll make sure I look in on your booth tomorrow and see what reaction
you've had to them. They should prove to be quite a novelty."

"Before we go to my office, I'll just instruct my assistant to make your slave
ready for you. What do you want done with him, Simon?"

"Oh! The usual I think, Sam. Fasten his wrists behind his back, put a leash
around his neck and fasten him to my waiting rickshaw if you don`t mind, Sam. He
can run alongside my ponies back to the club. No doubt, the exercise will be
good for him"

"Consider it done, Simon."

Once released, the slave clambers painfully off the table and stands waiting.
As his hands are fastened behind his back, he yelps with pain at the strain this
places on his tortured chest. Then, leashed he is led to wait alongside his
master's rickshaw.

Within the hour, he'll be at the Patroklos Club and his life as pleasure slave
`327' will begin.


To be continued.......