Date: Sun, 27 Jan 2002 00:05:38 -0800 (PST)
From: Brown Pete <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Story: Training The Marine, Part 2

TRAINING THE MARINE - Part 2

By Pete Brown.  petebrownuk @ yahoo.com


I had intended to leave the marine overnight, cuffed
and in the dark.

But after my private dinner party for the senior
partner of the consulting firm, I was restless (the
man had been as inventive as I had expected, and we
arranged to discuss "opportunities" the next day).  I
don't think it was the "daisy chain" of naked oiled
athletes all fucking each other that made it hard for
me to consider going to bed immediately, as I was used
to seeing spectacles like this quite frequently -
indeed, in my "set" such shows were becoming rather
rare as they were considered boring:  there are, after
all, only so many things that a group of totally naked
men can do with each other and in our mutual
entertaining we had seen it all many times before .

It was more that I was eager to get on with the
training and make real progress.  If I went back to
the office, I could perhaps move on to the next stage
immediately, and not have to lose another eight hours.
 So I went out to the garage and got into my car.

Alerted by the other house slaves of my progress
through the house, the chauffeur ran in just as I was
settling in.  He was still naked, of course, as he had
been bedded down for the night, but I told him he need
not bother with the uniform as I was in a hurry. I
must consider having him drive me this way more often
- I had chosen to sit in the front alongside him, and
he's a well hung fellow.  It was amusing to tease his
cock as we sped through the city, and I almost thought
it would be interesting to see if his concentration
wavered if I were to bring him to climax and then
continue jerking him as he shot his cum. Some men then
have incredibly sensitive cock heads in these
circumstances, as we know, and I wondered if he, like
me,  was one of them. No slave would dare to tell a
master to stop, of course, and I wondered if that
incredibly intense sensation verging on acute pain
would distract him from driving.

But before I could arouse him further we arrived and
drove down into the garage.  I waved away the flock of
security guards and my "on duty" PA who was there to
greet me, and took the elevator down into the fourth
basement.

As I opened the door and turned on the lights, I saw
him blinking wildly from their brightness.  He had
sunk down to the floor and was lying on is belly,
looking rather uncomfortable:  I suppose it was better
than sitting against the wall as there his hands in
the middle of his back would make it difficult.

He struggled to his feet, and I could see dark urine
stains still clearly visible on the front of his
uniform trousers:  he could of course drink from the
slave spigot, but would not have been able to urinate
or defecate with his hands restrained as they were.
If he was worried about humiliating himself by
referring to himself as a slave, how much worse must
it be for him to know that I had seen that he had
soiled himself, I wondered.

I realised to my annoyance that he had not been
totally in the dark - the pilot lights on the controls
on the control panel were shining quite brightly, and
there would have been some residual illumination -
albeit very faint - all the time.  Whilst I thought of
it, I strode over and flipped the switch that turned
them off.

Approaching the bars, I said "Well, slave?  Have you
been sleeping?"

He looked back at me, and I could see the defiance in
his eyes.  He would, I thought, be a very handsome
brute once he had been shaved and trimmed, and
encouraged to smile.  But now he just looked at me.

"Last time I was here I was telling you how a slave
requested a master to remove his cuffs", I went on.
"You declined to petition me to do this.  Do you have
anything to say now?"

"Get these cuffs off!"

"Not good enough, slave!"

"Please get these cuffs off.......  Sir."

"Do you remember the proper form of address for your
master, slave?  'Sir' wasn't quite it, was it?  I'll
give you one more chance - if you would like to spend
another eight hours cuffed like that, it's your call."

I could see the struggle going on in his head.  He
must be desperate to crap by now, and was already
humiliated by having had to urinate in his trousers.
Could he stand any more time cuffed, or would he
submit?  Defecation, and the rituals surrounding it,
are a powerful taboo in Western society.  Even though
as a marine I assumed he would have been on harsh
missions far removed from the comforts of western
"bathrooms", I doubted that he would ever before have
been faced with defecating in his shorts.

Grimacing and glaring, and lowering his voice as the
sentence neared its end, I heard "Please take these
cuffs off..... Master."

"That's better, slave!  Back up to the bars here."

I unclipped the restraining chain from the slave
collar, but decided to leave the thick leather band
around his neck (a small padlock held it closed, and
without access to tools the slave could not remove it
or cut it off himself).  As a conscientious owner I
did of course run my finger lightly around inside the
collar to make sure it was not chafing, as the slave
stood there twisting slightly as I did so as my
attention was clearly unwelcome.  No, let me be honest
with you, reader:  I relished the sensation of his hot
flesh against my finger.  He had not shaved for days,
and his stubby growth was exciting to feel.  I
lingered at the front, and fingered his Adam's apple.
And at the back I pressed several times into the bony
top of his spine to gauge its power.

With his hands now just above his arse, it was easy to
snap the quick release fixings on the cuffs and pull
them away onto my side of the cage - I didn't want to
leave potential missiles in there with him.

He was quick, I'll say that for him:  as the cuffs
came off he whipped around with a lightening fast
movement and tried to grab me through the bars.  Even
thought I was expecting something  like that, he would
probably have succeeded had not his muscles been
severely cramped from being held high on his back.

I was glad he failed, and cursed myself for not being
more considerate:  he could hardly have caused me
serious harm as I could have touched the panic button
I always carry in my pocket and guards would have been
there in moments. No - it's more that a master has to
be careful not to place a slave in a situation that's
life-threatening to him, especially whilst he's
training.  If the slave had succeeded in grabbing me
and I had had to summon help, I would have had to have
the slave put to death.  Attacking a master, or even
attempting to attack a master, is a capital crime for
slaves.  And with the room full of guards, there would
be no way of avoiding the facts from becoming widely
known;  and so to secure my own reputation as a fair
master I would have needed to enact that ultimate
penalty on the slave.

I said nothing, as I considered that I did not want
the slave to even think that he might have succeeded.
Instead, calmly looking at him, I asked

"Are you hungry, slave?  I think you were probably not
fed on the way to the slave merchants, and he was
unlikely to waste food on you as he sold you on to me
almost as soon as you arrived.  Ask me, if you would
like to eat."

Still rubbing his arms,  he just said "Fuck you!"

I smiled.  He probably thought that now that his arms
were free he could at least defecate if he wished, and
he probably wanted to explore his cage more completely
to see if he could escape.  I know that slaves can go
for long periods without food (although their work
rate drops off alarmingly, so most masters do not
starve slaves for protracted intervals), provided they
have access to water (as this one did).

Without saying another word, I simply walked out and
closed the door behind me.  After a few more hours,
this time in total, absolute darkness and complete
silence, perhaps he would be more compliant.

As I took the elevator up to the garage, I was
rehearsing in my mind the experience I would have with
the chauffeur.  But when I got there my PA started
telling me of an urgent situation in one of the South
American subsidiaries, and to avoid wasting my time I
told him to continue briefing me in the car as I was
driven home.  I instructed the PA to implement a
rescue plan - we would simply shift large sums in and
out of the country to destabilise its currency
further, so the troubles of our subsidiary would go
unnoticed in the general panic.  And as an
afterthought I told the PA to remind me to command the
chauffeur to my bed one night soon (I was too tired
now):  I hadn't seen him without his clothes before as
in response to the sensibilities of the many
foreigners in our capital, slaves who appeared outside
the house were now generally clothed.  Like all my
personal slaves, 'appearance' had been a key factor in
selecting him for purchase, but I had not before
appreciated what a good body he had and I had found
his high-held pectorals, topped with large dark tits,
particularly pleasing.  It's good to have a change
from the usual range of bed slaves occasionally, and I
was looking forward to having my hands on his thick
cock again - I like a slave to have a thick cock, and
always choose a shorter, thicker member over a longer
thinner one.  This slave would provide a delicious
diversion for a night or two, especially as he was
probably not used to taking a master up his
firmly-muscled, pleasantly shaped ass.

After an excellent night's sleep, I was ready for
anything the next morning.  In my eagerness to see how
"my" slave was progressing, I even dismissed the
handsome slave who was waiting kneeling by my bedside
to provide relief for my morning erection:  quite
apart from saving me a few minutes, I thought it would
be interesting to proceed with the training whilst I
was in a state of heightened sexual arousal - it's a
long time since I started a day without a quick shag
of a handsome slave.

I breakfasted in the car - although I am abstemious at
this meal and usually only take fruit and coffee so
this is not a particular problem.  Arriving at the
garage in my HQ, I was eager to go down immediately to
the fourth basement, but the usual crowd of assistants
and directors was waiting to greet me and tell me of
today's problems.

Well, they could just sort it out for themselves, for
a change!  I told them I would review whatever
decisions they wanted to make "presently", and took
the elevator down.

As I opened the door, I could tell immediately that
the slave had reacted badly to the isolation:  as well
as blinking wildly in the light, he looked very
disoriented.  The total lack of light after I had
turned off the pilots, and the lack of sound, was
clearly getting to him.  I began to realise what a
powerful tool this was, and how much more effective it
would be if the slave were also to be deprived of any
ability to move, or to have sensations in his body.

"Good morning, slave.  I will start where we left off
last night.  Are you hungry?  Ask me, if you would
like to eat."

I thought it was with considerably less anger than on
the previous occasion when he again spat out the now
familiar "Fuck you!"

My compassion for the slave did, I admit, get the
better of me.  My father always used to tell me that
you never bargained with a slave, never reasoned with
him, and never explained:  masters commanded, and
that's all they did.  But I felt something for this
marine, and against my better judgement said

"Look, slave, I will give you one more chance to
consider your situation.  As you will know from
exploring this cage last night - and I assume that's
what you did do - there's no escape from it.  No one
is going to come and rescue you - even if anyone knew
you were here, which they don't, no force in this
country is going to break into my building:  I am one
of the three most powerful men in the place.  And your
fellow country men are not going to risk an
international incident by sending in a rescue force -
we are an ally of yours, you know, and an exceedingly
rich, exceedingly powerful one.  In any case, your
press are flatly denying that any soldiers were ever
sent here on a secret reconnaissance mission in the
first instance:  so if you never came, you're not here
to be rescued!"

"And there are no 'friendly slaves' and no 'secret
friends' to come and help you, or slip you a lump of
sugar to keep your strength up, or anything like that:
you only see that in movies. No one, and I mean no
one, can get in here without my express authorisation.
 So unless I choose to feed you, you starve."

"I've only made a small investment in buying you, as
you were not expensive because you are so disobedient.
 And so I will let you starve, unless you show me that
you accept, at least in some measure, your new status.
 You need to ask me, and ask me properly, to feed you.
If you do that, I may feed you, or I may not.  But if
you do not ask, I definitely will not."

"Now, you have one last chance.  I have a day's work
ahead of me, and I'm leaving here in two minutes."

I could see he was thinking about what I had said.  He
clearly did not like it, but could see the sense in
what I was saying.  He looked like a clever,
resourceful sort of a man, so I imagined that he, as I
would in his position, thought that staying fit and
healthy was for the moment more important than "mere
words".

Lowering his voice, as if in shame, he whispered

"Master, please feed me."

"Louder, slave!"

"Master, please will you feed me?"

One does not of course acknowledge slaves or reply to
their questions unless one wishes.  Instead, I went to
the steel cupboard, opened it, and concealing the
other contents from the slave as I wanted them to be a
surprise late, took out three slave biscuits.

"Normally slaves get four of these biscuits in the
morning and four in the evening.  But that's when
they're working hard - until you start to exercise
properly again, I will ration you to three.  That will
be adequate to prevent starvation and loss of muscle
bulk."

"You'll find them bland and uninteresting, as they are
specially formulated to ensure that a slave gets no
pleasure from his taste buds whilst eating - that's
reserved for other activities!  But they are
nutritionally complete, providing everything you need
for a healthy body."

"We have even ensured that slave feeding time is at a
minimum, as you'll see they are quite small - which
also reduces the expense of storage and handling of
slave food.  But they will expand in your stomach, so
you will feel 'full' after eating:  but you must drink
plenty of water to enable this to happen."

As I had been explaining this, I casually tossed the
biscuits through the bars - later I would want him to
feed from my hand, but I could not currently risk
going within arms length of the bars, for the reasons
I related earlier.

He had to scrabble around the floor to retrieve the
biscuits, and crammed them into him hungrily.  He
really must have been on the edge of starvation, I
realised - perhaps he had had to go for several days
without food even before he was captured.  But I was
not going to ask him this, as I wanted no reminders of
his former life:  he needed to focus on being a slave.

As he crunched away, I continued

"Good!  It's my plan to visit you at least twice a
day, and, providing you ask me respectfully as you
just have, I will feed you.  Any time you want to miss
a meal, just disobey an order:  from now on, if I tell
you to do something, you do it.  If you do not, I will
leave, immediately and without hesitation.  If you
have then not yet been fed, you will miss a meal.  If
you have been fed, I will skip the next visit to you.
 So it's entirely up to you.  Do you understand?"

He did not reply, and I felt my anger rising.

"I said, 'do you understand?'.  Slaves always answer
masters!"

"Yes."

"Slave, this is the last time.  You will either answer
me in the proper fashion, or I will leave now and not
return for an indeterminate period.  Do you understand
the need to obey me, at once and instantly?"

"Yes.... Master."

"That's better.  Now, I think it would be a good idea
if you got out of those clothes.  I want to have a
good look at my new purchase."

"Sir... Master... I don't want to be disrespectful.
But I would remind you of one of the conditions of the
Geneva Convention covering prisoners of war - they
must not be subject to degrading or humiliating
treatment...."

"The 'master' in that sentence saved you, slave!
Otherwise I would have considered it grossly
impertinent for a slave to speak to a master without
permission.    But let me point out two things:  you
are not a prisoner of war, so this 'Geneva Convention'
does not apply to you: you are my slave.  And it
cannot be considered to be degrading or humiliating
for a slave to appear naked before his master - why
should it?  The master owns the slave, and the master
has the right of complete access to the slave's body."

"Now, get naked, so I can inspect you properly."

"Fuck you! .... Master!"

I liked his spirit - that ironic use of master in his
reply.  This could turn into a fine sport.  But he had
to learn that I meant what I said.  Without another
word I turned and left, leaving him once more in
isolation.

It would have been much better really if I had left
the slave isolated until the end of the day, but my
interest in progress got the better of me and I went
back at the lunch hour.  I went in, and simply sat on
the couch, looking intently at the slave.

"Look, let me out of here...."

"Call my ambassador....."

"Fuck you, don't just sit there....  Talk to me!"

"Look.... Please let me out...."

The slave was up against the bars, shouting out all
these absurd pleas to me.  I didn't even bother to
acknowledge him, and just continued to read the
briefing papers I had brought down with me.

He'd tried shaking the bars with anger or frustration
during some of this, but there was no possibility of
them breaking and I knew they were so thick and solid
that  they would not even have quivered under his
assault.

He gave up, and went and sat against the far wall of
the cage.

I allowed some more minutes to pass, then said,
quietly

"You disappoint me, slave. I thought that earlier on
you were beginning to understand the situation you are
in, and how important it would be to your future
existence to learn that you owe me proper respect, and
should obey all my orders instantly, without
question."

"Now, when I come in, you start this whining about
'letting you out'.  And you have even dropped the
respectful way in which you address your master.  You
are lucky that I am a considerate master, as some,
faced with this insubordination on your part, would
have immediately decided to allow you to starve in the
dark for a couple of days.  I have decided to make
allowances for your inexperience, and this time - and
it is just his once - I will forget the last few
minutes.  I will remind you that you are totally under
my control:  I need not feed you if I do not want to,
and you know that there is no possibility of any
outside agency interfering in whatever I decide to do
to you.  I could, for example, simply turn out the
lights, close the door, and leave for a month's trip
to my US subsidiaries.  Then where would you be?"

"So I am now going to give you one last chance.  I
will forget the past few minutes, and you will begin
to act like a properly respectful slave.  This is what
will happen: I will go out, and come in again.  When I
enter you will immediately kneel, and touch the floor
with your forehead - that's the way slaves greet their
master for the first time each day.  You will do this
now, and every time I come in here after an absence.
When I have given you permission to get up, you will
stand with your hands clasped behind your back, feet
apart, respectfully looking down at a point a bout a
metre in front of you:  this is the 'rest' position,
and you will normally assume it each time there is
nothing else for you to do."

"If you do these things, and then obey my orders, I
will continue to visit you, and will continue to feed
you.  If you do not, I will consider that your case is
indeed hopeless and simply not bother to come again."

"Now, and think carefully before you answer, as this
is a life-changing decision:  do you understand
everything that I have just said?  Do you understand
the consequences for you if you fail to respond
properly?"

The slave just stood there, and I thought I had
perhaps lost - would the foolish man indeed opt for a
long, slow death from starvation, alone in the dark,
rather than simply buckling down?

I'm not one who ever backs down after making a
decision, and I knew that if the slave did not obey, I
would indeed have to go through with it and allow him
to die.  Was it worth making one final effort, I
wondered.  Somewhat surprisingly, I found myself
saying

"If you opt for disobedience, and the consequence of
that, death, that is of course final.  You might
consider it more honourable to obey now, however
distasteful that is to your ethical code, in the hope
that you can then survive long enough to escape and
once again become of use to your country.  I know
marines in the past have often chosen 'death before
dishonour', but perhaps death is now the easy way out
for you:  I can promise you that the revulsion that
you currently feel at being treated as a slave is as
nothing compared to what lies ahead as I proceed with
your training.  You are perhaps not sufficiently
strong to take that training - there will be no harsh
physical punishments, but there are some weak men who
are simply incapable of taking the mental stress under
which I will put you."

"Only the very strong can accept the inevitability of
slavery and the total dominance of their bodies by
their master.  I will make you feel totally humiliated
and 'used'.  I have no more regard for your
sensibilities than I do for those of a pet animal, and
you will discover that I intend to make use of your
body in ways that you probably now would consider vile
and disgusting.  As I said, it is only the truly
strong who would continue down this path in the hope
of ultimately breaking free and once more regaining
their pride as a marine."

"But the choice is yours."

As I spoke those words, I turned and went out of the
room, closing the door behind me.

I'm not known as the most skilled negotiator in our
country for nothing, and I felt certain that my
exposition of his position would mean that the slave
would in fact obey and not choose death.  It was of
course all rubbish - escape was totally impossible,
ever.  But I needed to give the slave a reason for
accepting my proposition:  if you back your opponent
into a corner from which there is no way out in any
business negotiation, he will continue to fight.  I
had long since learned that I always needed to give my
opponents, even those who I have just utterly crushed,
some way of "rationalising" their decisions to do what
was in any case inevitable.

I allowed a vital three minutes, to make the slave
think that I had perhaps gone away in spite of what I
had said - such a time would be to him, in the dark,
subjectively much longer.  And of course I didn't want
to waste my own valuable time in waiting longer.

The door slid open and the lights came up.  The slave,
still standing near the bars where I had left him,
seemed to ponder and waver.   Then, to my relief,
dropped to his knees and touched his forehead to the
floor.

To emphasise to him that he had started down a track
from which there was to be no turning back, I allowed
him to stay like that whilst I settled back into my
position on the couch, and read another of my briefing
papers.  I wondered if he would dare to make any move,
or even try to look at me, and continued to read
calmly for at least five minutes.  I knew that the
longer I made him stay in this position of shame the
more it would emphasise to him that he was acting like
a slave.  But, equally, I did not want to pass the
whole of the remaining 30 minutes I had at my disposal
like this as I was eager to proceed.

"You may get up, slave"

He scrambled to his feet, and did, as we had
discussed, assume the "rest" position, eyes cast down
humbly.  I let him remain like this for another five
minutes, as I continued reading.

Getting to the end of a particularly boring paper on
our organisation's moves to destabilise Venezuela and
thus increase the importance of Gulf oil further, to
our benefit, I put it down and looked at the slave.

"Since I have owned you I have not had the pleasure of
fully inspecting my property.  Get naked, so that I
can see what I have bought in its entirety."

Even then, I thought it was touch and go and he might
refuse my order.  When a newly-enslaved man is first
stripped for display to potential buyers it is often
the first moment that he truly realises what has
happened to him.  This marine had not been through the
public auctions, and so had no experience of standing
nude in front of the buyers who would naturally want
to feel and fondle his body, including of course his
most intimate parts.

I didn't doubt that he was used to appearing naked in
front of other men, as he would be used to a fairly
"public" life in barracks rooms and in communal
showers and the like after military training
exercises.  But there's a huge psychological
difference in being voluntarily naked, with your
fellow men all in the same position, and being
commanded to strip in front of a fully-clothed man:
especially when that man has told you that the reason
for your nakedness is so that he can inspect you!

He bent down and undid his boot laces, and slipped
them off his feet.  Slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt
and slipped it off his shoulders.  Touchingly, he
turned around as he dropped his trousers and stepped
out of them - I don't know why, as he was still in
close-fitting knitted khaki-coloured boxers.  Then he
just stood there.

"Turn around, slave"

He turned around, reluctantly, and I saw a very
satisfactory bulge in the front of the boxers. I was
also pleased to see that he had big nipples in the
centre of large aureoles, in a very nice dark tone,
that were mounted on pecs that looked invitingly firm
and were held high - I do hate men with small nipples,
or even big nipples in the middle of aureoles that are
the same colour of the surrounding skin so they are
not properly differentiated.

I waited, and when it was obvious that nothing more
was going to happen, said

"Slave, I thought you were learning!  I'm pleased with
your progress, but I told you to get naked.  When I
say naked, I mean naked:  get out of those ridiculous
boxers and take off your socks - I need to be able to
see your entire body."

He went to turn around, and I continued "Stay facing
me!"

He was , I'm sure, blushing as he put his thumbs into
the elastic waistband of the boxers and pushed it over
his hips, then shrugged them to the floor and stepped
out of them.  I was exceedingly pleased to see that he
had an above-average cock, both in length and
thickness, and that he was uncut!   I am of course
circumcised, as all of our race are done shortly after
birth, and I routinely have all my uncut slaves
circumcised as part of their initial processing - I
don't like to think of them hiding heir cock heads
from my gaze when they're not erect!  But the beauty
of having an uncut slave, especially a very "wild" one
like this, is that you can order the circumcision at
some point in order to emphasise the complete control
you have over the slave's body.

An added bonus with this slave was that his foreskin
extended well beyond the end of the penis - with many
men with very thick cocks like his, the foreskin often
stops abruptly.  With this long skin, I could have two
cuts:  first, I would have his foreskin trimmed to a
more fashionable shorter length, so that it was still
present but was short enough to reveal his piss slit
even when the cock was at rest.  And then, later, I
could have it removed entirely.  There would be two
opportunities to show my mastery of his body.

It's always a mistake to make decisions about what to
do with a slave's body in a great hurry, especially
when you have not had an opportunity to fully probe
the musculature with your own hands.  But on first
sight, this one looked very promising.  He would have
to lose the medium thatch of hair that partially
concealed those nice tits, but I thought I would
probably allow the treasure trail to remain as it made
a nice dividing line across the middle of his
washboard belly.  I also noted that his midwife had
done a good job, as his navel was a deliciously small
pit - I hate it when the cord was clumsily tied and
you get one of those navels where there is no depth
and it looks almost like a pucker on the surface.

As is usual in slaves where no attention has been paid
to the pubic hair, his was a complete mess.  It was
thick, black and wiry like the hair on his head and
straddled the whole of his groin area from hip to hip.
 There was a veritable forest of it all around his
cock and balls, to the extent that, even though they
appeared to be satisfactorily big and hung low down
underneath the penis, it was difficult to see his
balls fully.  Still, this is a minor matter and easily
attended to:  I always insist that all my slaves have
totally shaved balls, and only allow a token patch of
pubic hair, trimmed to  a neat length, on top of the
cock.

"Turn around, slowly, and then face the front again."

As he rotated his ass came into view - nicely
muscular, and held high, with a good differentiation
between it and the top of his thighs.  I could see the
thatch of public hair extended here, too, as there
were curls of it appearing from between his ass cheeks
even when he had them clenched closed, as now.  It was
good that there did not appear to be any hair on his
shoulders and back (although with most slaves a little
electrolysis can cure this permanently, to avoid the
necessity of endlessly shaving the entire area).

Where the base of his spine met the top of his ass,
there were those two small "dimples" that I personally
find attractive in a man - you don't get them on every
slave, just those in good shape, like this one, with a
high, tight ass and generally firm musculature.  He
also had one of those little patches of hair at the
base of his spine - a few short, wispy strands.  I'm
never certain what to do about this - I usually order
it to be shaved or removed totally with electrolysis,
but, on occasions, when I have been lying with a slave
after intercourse, I have found it pleasurable to toy
with these hairs.  If you're lying with the slave
facing you, you can play with a nipple with one hand
and gently run your finger tips  of the other hand
through those hairs - it makes a change from just
stroking and grasping at the ass muscles.   Well, no
need to decide that now, I thought.

Generally, he looked to be in superb condition and all
his body looked to be nicely toned.  There were no
visible signs of fat, or even of incipient fat that
might be a problem later.  The skin tones were
unpleasing, as his forearms, and his chest to some
extent, were a very dark brown.  His lower legs were a
lighter brown, but the whole of his arse, cock area,
and a considerable part of his upper thighs were all
deathly white:  I supposed he did some work in the
marines in T shirts, some  shirtless, and some wearing
long shorts.  Still, this is all easily fixed as soon
as his entire body is exposed to sunshine.

It was unfortunate that he had one of those silly
tattoos on his upper arm - "Semper Fi" it said, which
I believe is some sort of marines motto.  It's almost
impossible to eradicate heavy tattoos like that
completely, and the perfection of the upper arm would
for ever be spoiled.  So I made a mental note to
schedule him to have a bigger, "tribal" tattoo all
over that arm and shoulder, that would disguise it.

The slave had stopped, and was again standing looking
down, obediently.

"Good, slave.  I'm pleased with what I see so far.
Now, I expect you'd like to shower:  it's been days
since you last had an opportunity to clean yourself,
I'd imagine, and even I, from over here, can smell
your rancid stink - it must be much worse for you.

I went over to my cupboard and got out a plastic sack
, and brought it over.  Poking it through the bars, I
continued

"Put your boots and clothes in here so they can be
taken for cleansing."  What I meant, of course, was
"for disposal", but "cleansing" implied he might get
them back!

He did as I commanded, and I got my first opportunity
to observe the movement of his muscles as he bent down
and then shovelled the clothes in to the bag.  Sadly,
he remained facing me, so I did not get an opportunity
to see the ass muscles in action.  I thought of
telling him to do a few simple exercises so I could
observe him fully, but decided that "slowly, slowly,
catchee monkey" was the best plan.

He brought the bag over towards the bars, and I was
again careful not to stand too close.

"And the wristwatch, slave!   Slaves do not need to
know the time, and anyway do not have possessions like
that of their own."

I saw him struggling for a moment, then I heard

"Master.... Master, please allow this slave to keep
the watch.  It was my graduation present from my dad,
who died shortly after...."

Good.  Another test that he needed to pass.  Things
were falling nicely in to place.

"Slave!  How dare you speak to me without being asked,
especially about something trivial that does not
affect my comfort or convenience.  Put the watch into
the bag, as I have already commanded you to:  you have
no need of reminders of your former life, as you
should be focusing on performing a slave's duties
properly."

Very reluctantly, I thought - but that was better than
disobedience - he snapped open the clasp of the metal
watch bracelet, took it off his wrist, looked
longingly at it, then dropped it into the sack.

"Good.  But did I not say 'naked'?  You have something
around your neck still!"

"Master... It's my ID from the marines.  A marine
never takes off his dog tags...."
"Slave, I don't care what a fucking marine does!  And
neither do you - you are not a marine, you're a slave!
 So take that off, and put it in  the bag."

As he was doing so, I continued

"I do not find it pleasing to see slaves with wrist
watches or tags - I am going to ornament your body
later, but it will be with things that I choose.  And
they will be fixed a lot more permanently that those
toys you have just taken off!"

The slave was now standing obediently, and I decided
that his nakedness was in fact enhanced by the heavy
leather collar that he still wore and which had been
used to hold his cuffs up his back.  I decided not to
remove this collar now, as when he felt it against his
skin, especially when it was wet, he would be reminded
of his position as a slave.

His obedience so far merited some reward a reward.
Going over to the control panel I turned on the
shower, and said "You may shower."

He was soon standing under the stream of water, but
was looking for something.  Hesitantly, he said

"Master.... Is it possible I might have some soap?"

"No, slave.  I do not provide it in your cell.  One
earlier occupant of your cell became so desperate for
food that he ate the soap, and since that time I have
not provided it.  It was a most unpleasant way for him
to die, as it was a disinfectant soap that badly
affected his already emaciated stomach.  But you raise
a good point, and I assume you are asking for the soap
only so that your body will be cleaner and more
pleasant for me.  So I will introduce a cleanser into
the water stream for three minutes."

Another touch on the control panel and I could see the
cleanser foaming lightly on his skin.  I always like
to see men showering and washing their hair - as well
as making their muscles move in a most pleasing way,
the wet sheen on the skin makes it look better, I
think.

The water turned back to "plain" automatically, and I
expected to see the slave wash away the suds.  But he
seemed to be having some problems - and then I saw
what it was:  all that running water had made him want
to pee!  He turned around very slowly away from me,
and I saw the flow of water running off his body
increase and change colour - he was having to piss.  I
saw another opportunity for humiliation, so I quickly
cut the water!

Like most men, he couldn't just stop himself in mid
flow, and the sound of his piss splashing on the tiles
was very loud in our deadened environment.

"Did you piss in the showers when you were with your
marine buddies?", I asked him.

"No, master!"

"Turn around when you address me, slave!"

He turned, and I saw he was blushing deeply.  He had
wanted to stay facing away from me as he was still
doing that squeezing action that uncut men have to do
to get the last drops of piss out of their cocks - us
cut men can of course just do the familiar little
shake.

"There is no need to be embarrassed, slave.  You will
learn that a slave's body, being the property of his
master, is always fully open to his master.   You will
learn to piss, crap, jerk off, and even fuck in front
of me, and as many others as I select, if I choose."

"In fact, there are two parts of your body in which I
am particularly interested, and my time with you now
is short as I am due at a meeting.  So come closer to
the bars, and pull your foreskin back so I can see
your cock head properly."

I thought he was going to start disobeying me for a
moment, but he approached and, now flushing red all
over his face, proceeded to take his cock in one hand
and push the foreskin back with this thumb and
forefinger.  For some reason, men with foreskins often
seem to be especially embarrassed at showing their
cock heads to other men - a problem that us uncut men
don't have, of course.  Perhaps it's because it's
usually only exposed at time of sexual arousal, so
it's something normally shared only with a sexual
partner.  But I did see it, and was pleased that it
was big and fleshy, with a nice big piss slit, as it
sat there shiny and moist.

"Good, slave.  Very satisfactory.  And now I need a
quick visual inspection of your anus.  Turn around,
bend over from the waist, and pull your ass cheeks
apart."

Now I knew we must be making progress - if a man is
ashamed of revealing his cock head to you, how much
more so his asshole!  Of course the slave was not then
to know that he would have to do much more than expose
it to me in due course, but for the time being, making
him expose it was a further step down the road to true
slavery.

I couldn't see much, actually:  the forest of hair in
his ass crack and the thick hairs extending from his
ball sack along his "taint" almost completely
concealed it.  I'd deal with that next time, but for
now, I kept him in that humiliating position for a
couple of minutes before telling him he could resume
the rest position.

"We will continue with your inspection tonight, slave,
as important matters now require my attention.  Would
you prefer me to leave the lights on?"

"Oh yes, please, master."

"Very well.  You should know that I am pleased with
you, and I will additionally do something else for
your comfort:  this room is maintained at a steady 20
degrees, which is a pleasant temperature.  You are now
feeling cold, as the water from your shower is
evaporating and cooling your skin, but even after that
you will, for the first few days of your nakedness,
find 20 degrees on the cool side.  As all slaves do,
you will soon get used to the air on your skin and it
will not be a problem.  But I do not want you
shivering.  So I will warm one area of the floor
slightly, so that you may lie on the concrete in more
comfort now that you are in a proper state of nudity."

Without saying another word, I set the controls
appropriately and went out.

End Of Part 2