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A story written by Pete Brown (Part 3 of 30). (Here you can find all the parts of this story.)


When I got back to reception and found the salesman I had to endure some bullshit about a “rare and valuable specimen” and how “the price reflected the years of service I could expect from him”. Then he quoted a totally ludicrous price, which, he claimed, was the “market rate for virile whiteys”.

“Look”, I countered, but I assume they send you on negotiating skills courses before they give you a job like this? So let’s assume you know what a reasonable opening offer is, and that furthermore you understand what a client’s walk-away point is: your opening offer is way, way above reasonable, and substantially more than my walk-away point., So let’s start over, shall we?”

He began with some more bullshit, and I had to make a move towards the door before he took me by the elbow and suggested we sit and have coffee. “I’m sorry, sir, I underestimated you….”, he managed to say.

“Negotiation is a way of life for men, as I’m sure they taught you. We all do it, all the time. But you see my dad is also a hotshot lawyer, so, all my life, if I’ve wanted anything from him, I’ve really had to negotiate, – I’ve had a lot of practice. And then when I read ‘Principles Of Negotiation’ and got all the theoretical unde-pinning of all that practical experience, it’s even easier. So we can do this one of two ways – either we can negotiate for a couple of hours, and I’ll get what I want; or we could cut the crap, you could spend two hours of your time earning commission from another client, and I can get what I want.”

I saw him smile, and went on “So we both know that although this is a handsome piece of manflesh, a whitey that a lot of men would like to own, you aren’t going to make a sale because he’s not ‘broken’ and anyone you show him to will soon find that out. So Scabbard & Drass have decided to minimise their exposure, and sell him to the mines: I guess they buy a lot of slaves from you, given the replacement rate they have because of the working conditions. So I imagine that not only do they negotiate hard, but you want to keep their business as the revenue ‘underpins’ your total revenues and is a real help, especially when times are hard. So if I offer two hundred bucks more than the mines’ price, everyone is happy: Scabbard & Drass make a little more profit, I get a bargain, you get two hours of your life back, the risk of failure as you geld and stub him is minimised….”

“Four hundred…”, the salesman cut in.

“Ah, so now we’re only haggling about the price, as we’ve agreed the principle. But no, two hundred is a fair uplift on the mines’ price, and that’s what I’m sticking at. But as we should ‘negotiate’ rather than ‘haggle’, I’ll throw in the fact that I’ll take him home today, and won’t require you to keep him whilst his brand heals…. Take it or leave it – and I mean it!”

The salesman smiled again, and reached out with his hand. “A pleasure to do business with you, sir. We’ll have the documents drawn up, and if we could have your credit card…..”

“Who do I speak to about the required stuff – the branding, the SIN, the…”

“You were with Jacob, I think. He’s a good man. If you’re happy to continue dealing with him, he can make the arrangements, and get the process started…. I would of course do this if you wish, but….”

“….but you have other deals to cut!”, I smiled. “No, Jacob’s been most helpful, and I’ll go back down to the viewing room.”

I drained my cup, got up, and went back towards the viewing room – just in time to see Jacob leading the slave out. Clearly Jacob didn’t trust him, as the slave was now wearing a metal collar, from the back of which hung a chain which was holding his cuffed wrists high up his back – almost painfully high up the back, I guessed. The slave was still naked, and the effect of the chain was to cause his torso to be thrust forward. Somehow he seemed so vulnerable like that, utterly unable to defend himself or prevent his body being so humiliatingly displayed.

I told Jacob that the slave was now mine, and that the salesman had said that he was to make the arrangements. “Idle fucker!”, Jacob commented. “He gets the commission, and I get the work. Still, it will be good to see this one through to the end.”

He pushed at the slave, and we walked along a couple of corridors, then through a set of swing doors marked ‘Processing’. I watched the muscular butt of the slave as he strode along, hearing the ‘slap’ of his bare feet on the concrete floor, and thrilled with pride that this piece of manhood was mine – but it did make me wonder about how utterly humiliating it must be for him to be walking along totally naked like that (well naked except for the chains!).

Once in the room Jacob showed me a display of collars, adding “They are individually priced, and not included in the purchase price. But there’s a good choice, sir – heavy black metal for a rugged, ‘work’ look, through to these thin silver ones more suitable for the bedroom… I wouldn’t recommend those for this slave, though, as they’re kind of out of scale for a body like his. And, of course, owners who are considerate to their slaves tend to order one of the chain ones rather than a solid – they’re less likely to cause chafing and sores as the rest on the collar bone…”

“I’ve been reading up on all of this – I understand the law requires a slave to be readily identifiable at all times, and that the current practice is for owners to use permanently attached collars as one way of doing this. But not so long ago it was always a brand that distinguished a slave, and that’s what I want: the big ‘S’ seared into the skin. I think branding is part of your standard service here, so I save a few bucks on not buying a collar”, I smiled as I said this, and went on “And also it’s important for the slave: ‘Train Your Slave’ says that the pain of doing it and the fact that the slave can then feel the brand for the whole of the rest of his life is one of the important ways of signalling to the slave that he is indeed something different: his life has changed irrevocably, and he is no longer a free man. That’s really important for a slave like this one.”

“You’re right, sir. As you said, you do a lot of reading! So it’s a brand, then. On the left butt cheek, as is customary?”

“No. I will almost certainly not keep the slave naked all the time, and yet I want him to be easily recognisable as a slave.”

“You mean I’m going to be naked some of the time? And would you mind talking about me as if I was actually here, and not talk about ‘the slave’? I’ve got a name, you know, you could try calling me….”

I reached out and took Jacob’s prod off him, and touched it to the slave’s bare butt. He screamed. I reached down and grabbed his balls, and trying to sound fully in control (although I was almost shaking, whether it was from the excitement of actually using a prod, or from the sexual charge it had given me, I don’t know) said “You’re lucky that the prod was only on low power. Next time I won’t be so gentle. One of the rules you need to learn is not to speak unless spoken to – that again shouldn’t be so different from what you were used to in the service.” I squeezed his balls gently, to emphasise the point as I added “Remember, you’re lucky I bought you. You heard all the discussion about prosthetic balls – even if I decide not to have you ’stubbed’, there’s still the option to take one of these….”

“Actually, Jacob..”, I added, turning away from the slave but still holding his balls – as I’ve told you, he was utterly vulnerable, chained as he was. “…the slave is almost right in one sense, as it’s not sensible for me to keep referring to him as ‘the slave’. He does need a name….”

“I was going to tell you! Mine’s…..” The slave stopped in mid sentence, as my grip on his balls tightened and he realised the potential difficulty he was in.

I ignored the slave and addressed Jacob “Actually, ‘Train Your Slave’ subscribes to the view that you should always rename slaves. For one thing, if you then replace a body servant, you don’t have to remember what the new slave is called as you continue to use the same name. But the main reason, I suppose, is that’s another of those signals to the slave that it’s all different – a name is pretty personal after all, and most of us think of ourselves by our names. So giving the slave a new one helps him adjust.”

“That sounds like a lot of sense. Have you thought of a name for him?”

“Actually, yes. When I was a kid I had a hound – a big, tough kind of dog that was bought for hunting. It was dad’s really, but I lusted after it. Dad called him ‘Rebel’ as he said he had to work really hard to make the hound obey, and I really liked Rebel and cried and cried – I was still only a kid – when some other hunter accidentally shot him in the woods. ‘Rebel’ has got all the right attributes for a male slave name – short, kind of masculine…. But of course it’s wrong for this slave, as it might reinforce his stubborn tendencies to think about being a ‘man’ and not a slave. But I reckon I’ll call him ‘Reb’ as that’s got a pleasing ring to it.” I looked at the slave and said “So you’re now called ‘Reb’. And if you hear me calling for you, you’d better drop what you’re doing and respond, or else I’ll punish you.”

I didn’t add “OK?” to the end of that, deliberately, as I wanted to drive home to the slave that I expected total obedience and compliance, so there was no need to check with him that he had understood.

Jacob smiled. “OK, Reb – get that body of yours – or should say that body of your owner’s – over here, and we’ll get started.

“Please, sir”, Reb began “Please don’t brand me. I do accept that I’m a slave and need to show it, and a collar will….”

“You condemn yourself, Reb! If you really accepted that you were a slave, you wouldn’t be questioning my decision as you are doing. Try to get it in your head that I don’t care what you think, I’m not interested in what you want: you’re a slave, my slave, and you’ll do what I want you to, and accept all the decisions I make, without question.”

Still holding his balls, and to stop further discussion, I led the slave over to where Jacob had indicated, one of those very big padded chairs of the kind old-fashioned dentists used to use. This one was a bit different, though, as there were straps hanging off most parts of it. I let go of his balls, and indicated he was to sit, but Jacob stopped me.

“Actually, sir, before he does that, he needs to go over and piss into that sink over there.” I shrugged, and indicated to Reb that he should do this, and I had another opportunity to admire the play of his muscles as he strode across the room. He clearly didn’t like having to stand there and piss into the sink as we watched, though, which is stupid as presumably his buddies would have seen him piss when he was in the service. Perhaps it’s the kind of ‘forbidden thrill’ of pissing into a sink as most of us do sometimes if we’re standing there shaving, for example. Jacob went on “A lot of slaves lose control of their bladders when the iron sears their skin, and this way it saves a lot of mess.”

Reb finished pissing, and I was faintly displeased by the time and effort he took to play with his ‘skin to get the last drops of piss out. Still, that was about to be fixed! Jacob undid the chains holding the slave’s wrists and he stood there flexing his muscles to relieve the cramp, and then he was soon seated in the chair. Jacob fastened both his wrists to the arms, then ran straps around his thighs (“to stop him kicking out”), and tightened a band around his chest (“it needs to be really tight, to top any body movement”). I watched in fascination as he then most carefully used some additional straps to fasten Reb’s right arm down – on his forearm, his elbow, and just below his biceps. He fetched a length of rope, threaded it under Reb’s armpit and pulled the two ends back over the top of the seat, to haul on them hard and tie them off to the frame of the chair. Jacob stood looking at his handiwork for a moment, then picked up a small knife from behind the chair and stabbed it into Reb’s shoulder. Reb shouted out with the unexpectedness of the attack and a bit of blood flowed out, but I noticed that there had been no movement of his shoulder.

“You need to test”, Jacob told me. “The shoulder must be absolutely immobile before branding, else the slave will move and the brand will never be crisp and clear. But I think we’re ready now. I watched as he went to a cupboard and got out one of those disposable syringes, and approached Reb.

“If that’s a painkiller, keep it for later”, I said. “It’s important the slave feels the pain of the brand, ‘Train Your Slave’ says – it’s another one of those things to signal his change of life, that his owner can deliberately inflict pain on him. I guess a marine like Reb – I mean of course a former marine – was probably in pain during his service on several occasions. But that would be from battle, or injury in training, or whatever – the brand is different: it’s a pain which I, his owner, choose to make him experience.”

Jacob nodded, fiddled around, and pushed a small bar of hard rubber towards Reb’s mouth. “Here”, he said not unkindly, almost as if he was on Reb’s side in this and thought I was wrong, “Bite down on this, as it will help.” Then he turned to me and added “…and will cut down the noise of the screaming!”

Some of you think I’m being a bit sadistic in all of this, but, honestly, these things are important in establishing control, and I knew that I would have a hard time anyway with Reb given his background, and the fact that he was so much older than me. And that’s why I insisted that Jacob actually let me press the iron into Reb’s upper arm – well ‘iron’ suggests something old fashioned and vaguely barbaric: some glowing piece of metal pulled out of a fire, or something. Of course a modern electric brander is simply plugged in and the whole of the end heats up quite quickly to a bright, bright red. I knew I had to do it, and I think I was getting a bit used to this slave stuff by now as my hand was not trembling at all as I took the handle of the thing from Jacob.

“I really think you should let me do it”, he told me. “It’s really important to press the whole of the brand evenly across the skin. And you need a firm pressure to break through the upper layers of the skin to make the brand permanent, but not so much that you go really deep and cause a wound that will be difficult to heal, and which will result in a ‘fuzzy’ result… I’m not saying you’d be like this, sir, but the last owner who wanted to do it himself sort of chickened out half way through, and there was a terrible mess when he dropped the iron onto the slave – the poor guy’s pubes caught fire….”

“I’m in control of myself”, I replied, rather primly, perhaps. “But to be certain, as I want this done properly, perhaps you could hold the iron too, and sort of guide me?”

So that was how we did it – and it was thrilling, actually – the handle of the brander was not all that long , so Jacob’s hand had to lie on top of mine. And naturally we were so close together that his body was pressed against mine, and I could feel his hot breath on my neck as we stood there with the brand poised above Reb’s skin. Somehow the intense masculinity of Jacob with him so close to me was affecting me as much as what we were about to do to the slave was.

Well I reckon it was fortunate Jacob was there to guide me, as when the brand touched Reb’s flesh and the oily black smoke fumed up I almost let go if the brander. And the muffled scream of utter desolation that came from Reb was somehow very, very upsetting indeed, especially when I saw his muscles in spasm as he thrashed uselessly against the restraints holding him still. I managed to stop myself from retching when it was all over – and, in fairness, the brander was only in contact with Reb for about ten seconds (although it seemed longer to me, and no doubt it felt like an eternity to him).

I picked up the needle that Jacob had got out earlier, and even though he said “Let me do that” I insisted that I should do it. “It’s important that Reb learns that his owner can inflict pain, but that his owner can also be the source of pleasure”, I told him. I pressed the point into Reb’s upper arm, noticing how it made a little pit before the needle broke through the skin, and this seemed to hurt Reb, too (I later learned that you are not supposed to press these things in slowly and steadily – you’re supposed to ‘throw’ the needle quickly at the skin so that it punctures instantly. Still, I didn’t know that, and it’s not as if it matters a whole lot in the greater scheme of things).

We stood there then watching as Reb’s muscles gradually calmed, the muted cries stopped, and his ragged breathing returned to normal as the pain killer started to work. Jacob found a jar of some sort of cream, and rubbed it over the brand mark, telling me that it was a combined antiseptic and protector, so that the wound would not get infected, and that the scar could heal properly without risk of damage. He then produced a shiny metallic capsule, about an inch long and as thick as a pencil, took the rubber bit out of Reb’s mouth, pushed the capsule in, and said “Swallow that, boy.”

Reb did try, I think, but the sheer size of the thing was a problem. “They’re all like this”, Jacob commented “…but watch this – it’s a good technique if you have to give an animal of any sort a pill.” I stood there looking in fascination as Jacob first positioned himself so he could get a grip on Reb’s head and keep his jaws closed – Reb could do nothing to stop him, but again I was amazed at how all the muscles on his torso and belly were in action as he struggled futilely against Jacob. Jacob then pinched Reb’s nostrils together, and said calmly to me “Now stroke his throat – long strokes, downwards. With air supply cut off he knows he’s suffocating, and stroking the throat triggers the swallowing reflex….”

I bent over to do as Jacob had said, feeling the violent contortions of Reb’s body as he fought, futilely, against the restraints, and put the flat of my middle finger under his chin and moved it down over his fluttering Adam’s apple. “More!”, Jacob told me “Keep doing it, until you feel him swallow.” So I did, in spite of the terrible muffled noises coming from Reb and the evident distress he was in.

I felt Reb’s throat expand as the big shiny thing finally went down, and Jacob did too as he released his hold on Reb, who proceeded to gasp and gag as he sat there. “It’s always a problem”, I was told. “The tracker is mandatory, but it’s quite big in spite of all the new technology. This model is good, though – no known failures, as cutting out a failed one is messy and expensive for the owner. It’s not so much the electronics – it’s the attachment mechanism that takes the space.”

Jacob stood there then with something that looked a bit like a tennis racket, with electronics in. He waved it around over Reb’s torso and belly, watching the little lights on it, until they turned from red to green. “Right, he’s done”, he told me. “The capsule fires little prongs out after a couple of minutes to latch itself into his gut, and it won’t then fall out – the sensor here confirms it’s worked.” He slapped Reb on the belly – not hard, kind of playfully – and added “With that inside you, boy, escape is impossible. If you go missing your owner here can get the authorities to track you, so you’ll soon be found. And I assume you do know that escaped slaves are always put to death!”

As he had been doing this and I was just standing around I’d picked up a shiny metal thing – a rectangle about five inches by four inches with a big round hole in the middle, and was idly fiddling with it as we waited, and even poked a finger through the hole in the middle.

Suddenly Jacob noticed and struck at my hand, causing the thing to fall to the floor where it emitted a kind of clicking sound, rather like you get from a camera shutter, but much louder.

Jacob bent and picked the thing up and handed it to me, laughing. “Here – take a look…. See where your finger was?”

The hole was now no longer there, and an iris-like metal plate filled it. “That’s a stubber”, Jacob explained, “And you almost had a real live demonstration on your finger of just how effective this gadget can be on a dick! It was stupid for the veterinarian to leave it lying around ‘wound up’ and ready to go like that, as it was an accident waiting to happen. Still, that’s typical of the guy – he’s shit at his job and I reckon it’s only S & D who will employ him now: he’s OK to do routine stuff on the slaves, but you wouldn’t want him performing delicate operations on family pets. It’s typical of this place – all glossy out front where most of the customers see it, and not very high quality out here.”

“This stubber thing…. You mean it goes on the slave’s dick then they ‘fire’ it and it cuts the dick off?”

“It sure does. Clean as a whistle. Look, when you’re all boned up you might think your dick is pretty solid and it can feel like there’s a steel rod down it, but actually it’s only flesh. So it’s relatively easy to slice through with a scalpel, and, believe me, the blades in the middle there are that sharp. You just push it along the slave’s dick to the point where you want to ‘stub’, press the button on the top, and that’s that. There’s a lot of blood, of course, as the dick has a lot of blood vessels in it, but there’s an electric cauteriser somewhere around and you touch that to the stubbed end, and it quickly scars over – it’s not as if it matters what the stub looks like, after all, as no owner who had a slave stubbed is going to be concerned about whether he still looks OK! All that’s needed after the cauteriser is a little pointed scalpel to probe through scar to make an exit for the piss. The whole thing takes no more than a couple of minutes, and S & D must make a nice profit from it, the amount they charge.”

“A lucky escape for me then”, I replied. And looking at Reb I added “And for you, of course. Remember, though, that I have the Court paper authorising stubbing of you if I ever choose to have it done – do you want to see another demonstration?”

Reb muttered something that sounded like ‘no’, but I was fascinated and got Jacob to push the little slider thing on the top several times which opened the iris and, he explained, ‘wound up’ the spring inside as it was important the mechanism acted fast. He held it to show me the open hole then, and I could see Reb watching in fascination too, as Jacob poked a cheap ball-point pen through the hole, then ‘fired’ the mechanism. There was that same sound, and half the pen clattered to the floor.

Reb sat there, still chomping his jaws a bit after the rubber bit and the forced swallowing of the tracker mechanism. “See, boy? Your owner’s got it all figured! You can’t ever escape, with the tracker. And if you disobey him, he’s already got permission to have you stubbed. Now, are you OK?”

“Yes, sir. The pain killer’s working.”

Jacob went to start loosening the ties holding Re down but I told him to stop. “I’m going to have the slave ‘skinned, so I guess we need to wait for the vet to come in – didn’t you say he was due back soon? So best leave him secured?”

“He is, sir, but I’d advise against it…. As I said, the guy’s barely competent and he might botch it: OK, this slave has got a bit of a long ‘skin and you did say you didn’t like it when his dick was hanging there. But once he was boned up it was pretty nice, if you ask me. If the vet fucks up and makes a mess of it, his dick will look awful all the time, and believe me I’ve seen some fuck-ups in here: slaves unable to erect fully as too much skin was taken, or they end up with the boned dick curving wildly as it was uneven, or really unsightly with huge scars you can’t do anything about. And then there’s the cost – S & D make a packet on the ‘extras’, and you’ll end up paying a fortune for what ought to be a simple procedure.”

“Fuck me! I didn’t know these things cost money – I thought it was part of the service.”

“The stuff the law requires – the collar or the branding, the tattooing of the SIN, and the locator chip – have to be included in the purchase price you pay, rather like when you buy an airline ticket – if you can afford one – when the quoted price must be for the flight, the taxes, and all the surcharges for pollution and all that stuff. But if you want ‘extras’ like taking a suitcase, the charges pile up. It’s the same with buying a slave: the ‘essentials’ must be in the sticker price, but the rest of the stuff is extra. If you are going to have him ‘skinned I’d recommend you taking him to your local veterinarian – even those practising in Scarsdale will charge a whole lot less than S & D do, and you’ll get a better job done.”

“I really wanted to walk out of here with the slave ‘ready’…. But thanks for the advice. And I only wanted a bit of a trim, not a ‘high and tight’ ‘skinning, so that he looks better when he’s not aroused. I rather fancy seeing him with his head mostly covered but the piss slit always exposed, and so that when he does bone up the ‘skin will always retract fully kind of automatically…”

Jacob looked thoughtful, and handed the stubber for a moment. Then he reached down and took hold of Reb’s dick, and pulled the ‘skin right forward. “I watched a program on TV the other night where they were talking about simple things an owner could do to a slave, and they used sharp scissors on this loose skin here…. I reckon if it is only a trim you need we could do that ourselves.”

I nodded. “Sure. Trim a bit, then if it’s not enough we could do more – and I could always take him to a veterinarian if it wasn’t totally right.”

It all happened so quickly. With his other hand Jacob flipped the slider on the stubber several times to ‘charge’ it as he had done before, then deftly, as if it was one concerted movement, he let go of Reb’s ‘skin, slipped the stubber over the dick, pulled the ‘skin forward again, positioned the stubber on the stretched ‘skin in front of the head, and fired the stubber! The sound of the iris snapping closed was almost drowned out by Reb’s scream, but that was that. A moment later Jacob opened a tube of something and knelt down in front of Reb and was fiddling around – I couldn’t see exactly what he was doing as I was a bit distracted by Reb’s cries (I pushed the rubber bar thing back into his mouth, and that mostly shut him up). Jacob then stood up and gestured at Reb’s dick “One of the miracles of modern medicine: special superglue for flesh. I’ve glued the cut ends of the ‘skin together and, given a couple of days, they’ll fuse and the inner and outer ‘skin will act as one again. You used tot have to stitch the ends at one time, but this is much easier.”

I looked down, and, other than the blood all over it, Reb’s dick looked almost normal.

“All that’s left then, sir, is the SIN. I assume you want it just above his left tit, like most slaves? Or are you going for the centre of his chest, which seems to becoming the fashion?”

“Actually, no. I want it on the inside of his left forearm, between the pulse point and the elbow. For one thing it will be more visible, as I might choose to let him wear short-sleeved shirts, and something on his chest would be covered up. And for another, I noticed that he jerked off with his left hand – so every time he plays with his dick, or every time he reaches to get it out to piss, he’ll see the SIN and be reminded that he’s a slave.”

“You think of everything, don’t you, sir?” Jacob was smiling broadly as he said this, so I knew he was treating me like a regular guy, someone just like himself, to whom he could make half-ironic remarks to. I felt flattered, and simply nodded.

“OK, Reb, not long now and you’ll be finished…. And this doesn’t hurt at all… Well, not as much as the branding and ‘skinning…” Jacob told him as he adjusted the restraints to hold Reb’s left arm immobile on the arm of the chair. He sounded kind of caring, and I thought this was a good attitude to adopt to a slave as it shows you are a bit concerned for him.

I’d always assumed that tattooing was some sort of specialised thing – you had a big, fat guy with his body all covered in tattoos sitting over the slave and doing ‘art’ with a needle. But it turned out that for simple stuff like the slave ID number there was specialised equipment – a metal bar-like thing about six inches long with a set of knurled wheels on the top. I watched as Jacob picked up Reb’s paperwork then set the ten digits in turn on each of the wheels. He used an inked pad on the underside of the bar, and positioned the bar on Reb’s forearm – he stood to one side and asked me if the position was OK, and I had it adjusted a bit, and when I was satisfied he pressed something…. There was a sharp ‘click’ sound and a gasp from Reb, and that was it!

“There’s a powerful spring which fires the needles, all at once”, Jacob added. So now he’s ready for you. He bent down and started to undo the restraints holding Reb immobile, and I noticed that as he neared the end the picked up his prod and held it casually, but clearly ready for use.

Reb got to his feet and stood there, sort of stretching his muscles, and I saw Jacob visibly relax and hang his prod back on his belt. He saw me watching him, and said “You can’t be too careful. Sometimes even a mild-mannered slave will react badly after he’s been processed. I guess Reb here is more sensible – I reckon you might have yourself a bargain.”

“There’s only one more thing – all that hair….”

“Over to the shower, boy”, Jacob ordered, pointing to an open shower area in the corner, and we both watched as Reb walked away from us, seeing his muscles move attractively as the lights caught the sweaty skin. “It’s OK – the dressing I put on the brand, and the stuff on your dick, are waterproof”, Jacob called out. “So get yourself really clean, then get back over here…. But be quick about it.”

There’s something quite exotic about watching a guy shower, I think – you get to see his body in action, don’t you? All the bending and stretching to get all of you soaped up also has the effect of displaying the body fully. Jacob seemed as interested as I was, but soon ordered Reb – who was standing there revelling in the water as it cascaded over him – to get back to us.

“That was great. They haven’t let me do that for a week…” Reb started to say, but was silenced by Jacob who turned to me and asked what I wanted doing. Reb shut up, and stood there, his hands vaguely trying to conceal his dick again, and I wondered what it must feel like for him to be standing there naked in front of us guys. I mean, it’s one thing to be in the showers with your buddies, but this wasn’t like that at all: it was only Reb who was naked, with us two looking at him, and me deciding what was to be done to his body! Even as I had that thought I felt my own dick stiffen again.

“I’m not sure, really…. I like hair on a guy, so his belly and that treasure trail are OK… And his arms and legs… They’re all fine. But as I look at him now I can see his pit hair is so long that it’s visible even when he’s standing with his arms at his sides – see, it’s peaking out.”

“Hands behind your neck, boy!”, Jacob commanded, and my dick stiffened again at the sight of Reb being made to stand there like that so helplessly in front of us – there’s something about that stance that kind of ‘opens out’ a man’s body to view, and my own arousal was I’m sure caused by seeing this big guy in such a humiliating position. The preparation room seemed to be well equipped, though, as Jacob now held a set of those battery-powered clippers, and he simply “striped” them up Reb’s pits.

I was fascinated to see the hair falling so gently to the floor, but when Jacob said “Do you want the pits completely clear? Some owners do, as with smooth skin there there’s less chance of sweat drying and starting to smell rank if the slave doesn’t get to the showers very often.” I was able to tell him no quite quickly: as I’ve told you, I think hair makes a man look properly manly.

Reb went to lower his hands then, but Jacob snapped at him to stay in position until he was told to do otherwise. “I know you said you liked the thatch on his chest, but shall I trim it just a little, make it a bit shorter? It’s easy whilst his body is stretched out like this, and you’ll better be able to appreciate his pecs” Jacob then asked me, and I suppose I nodded, and the clippers went into action work again. It was really interesting to see Jacob at work – he had to hold the clippers away from Reb’s skin to make sure there was hair left, but when he came to trim around Reb’s aureoles he actually pinched at the nips to pull them up and out to get the clippers close in. Reb shuffled his feet and made little complaining noises as he did this, and my dick went even harder – I’ve got sensitive nips myself, and the thought of Reb having to stand there and have another guy mess with his nips like that was exciting.

“Stand still, fucker!”, Jacob commanded him. “If you keep flinching it might be hard to stop these clippers slicing your nips off!” Oh, fuck me, to hear one guy talk to another like that, I thought – but then I corrected myself, as of course Reb was not a man, he was a slave, my slave, and I suppose that if I wanted his nips removed, I could order it – the thought of having such power over another guy was almost overwhelmingly sensual.

Jacob stood back then and looked at Reb. “Better?”, he asked me. “I think you can see the body with much greater clarity now – he’s got a good muscular torso and it’s properly displayed now. So how do you want his bush? Trimmed back, or removed?”

“I don’t know….”

“Well a lot of owners like their slaves totally naked down there – it emphasises the difference between slaves and men. But personally I think you want a slave to be seen for what he is – a male, but a male who is a slave. So I reckon they look best with their pubes trimmed back – look at how broad his bush currently is at the top, almost from hip bone to hip bone – I can cut that away so that it’s not much wider than his dick, and then trim it in length so you can tell he’s a real guy, but also know he’s a slave.”

I nodded, and Jacob continued “And then you want all that hair off his balls? It makes it difficult to see them properly, and it’s another differentiator between a man and a male slave.”

“OK” was almost all I could manage to say as I was so excited. I mean I know a lot of guys trim their pubes – about half the guys in my swim team did – but the thought of being able to have it done to a big older guy like this because I wanted it done was almost enough to drive me over the edge. When Jacob started work, with Reb still in that exposed stance with his hands behind his head I could feel my dick jerking inside my boxers and I thought I was going to cum – especially when he got to the point of asking me to go and hold Reb’s dick up and out of the way to give him better access to his sac, and I was again so physically close to Jacob as he squeezed and teased at Reb’s balls so that the clippers could do their work.

When he had finished and we both stood there looking at Reb, Jacob lowered his voice so he could say kind of confidentially “S & D are bastards, you know, sir…. Look at how much better the slave looks now: you can see his musculature properly, and his dick and balls are really superb now: most men would die for tackle like that! You could hardly see them before through that forest of hair. If they’d done this trimming when he first came in I reckon one or two potential buyers might have been more interested in him, as now it’s clear he has potential as a stud, for example. But they left him all ‘rough’ so they can say there’s no interest, and that drives the price down so they can fulfil their contracts for bulk supply to the mines…”

“You’re right! What bastards. Still, Reb here does look great now.” I could see Reb blushing slightly as I said this, and again I wondered how it would feel to be standing there naked with other guys discussing you in such intimate detail, especially when we were both much younger than you, and one of them now owned you.

“I’ll just finish the ass then….”, and having said that to me Jacob snapped at Reb “OK, boy, hands down now. Turn around, bend over to touch your toes, then put your hands behind you to spread that ass of yours…”

“Please, no…”, Reb gasped. “Please don’t make me expose myself….”

Jacob raised his prod, but I stopped him. “Actually, no. I think I want him hairy down there. It was kind of exciting when I inspected him.”

“A man after my own heart, sir – I think there’s nothing like the feel of the hair on your dick as you tease it up and down the ass crack before you fuck a slave. But I have to ask the question, as otherwise some owners might be too embarrassed to ask for it to be done.”

Fuck me, I hadn’t thought of that. I’d been thinking about how embarrassed I’d be if I was Reb, not that there was anything that I ought to be embarrassed about myself! Still, it didn’t matter really. And then the thought struck me that Jacob clearly fucked guy’s asses, and was expecting that I’d do the same to Reb. I went to protest, to remind Jacob that I wasn’t a gag, but I got embarrassed as I thought that perhaps it was kind of expected from a slave owner and I’d look immature. So instead I reached out to shake Jacob’s hand with a cheery “That’s a great job you’ve done – thanks. And thanks for the advice about the ‘skinning…

Do I get my credit card back soon, and the receipt….”

“As you leave, sir. It will be waiting in reception.”

“Well, thank you again.” I turned and called “Come on then, Reb….”

“Sir, please sir, my shorts are ripped….” I looked around and saw Reb hopping around on one foot trying to pull on the shorts that Jacob had torn off earlier. I enjoy seeing guys like that – in the locker room you see it a lot as your buddies pull on their shorts, or their underwear. Somehow the long horizontal thigh seen from the side, with often the glimpse of the dick hanging down beneath it, is great.

“Don’t bother – you can be naked, and we’ll get you some suitable clothes later….”

“Actually, sir, you can’t.”, Jacob interrupted. “Here in the heart of downtown it’s a ‘minimal covering’ area for slaves – slaves have to be ‘decent’ according to the city ordinances, and even owners of ponies have to stop at the downtown limit and let the slaves put on those tiny ‘pony pouches’ – I expect you’ve seen them? And the public decency officers who patrol looking for infringements and handing out fines?”

I nodded, and Jacob looked a bit pissed off as he continued “Well then, here’s the bad news – just as S & D ramp up the prices for ‘skinning, so too do they for shorts. They know that owners fail to come prepared, so it’s huge bucks to buy a pair… It’s a real rip off.”

I suppose I could have risked it, as my little car was in a parking garage only a block away, but I remembered how dad was always telling me not to mess with the law. “Steve, I’m a lawyer”, he’d say. “A lawyer who disobeys the law can get called before the bar council and get struck off, and then there would we be? And until you’re eighteen you’re my responsibility, so it could be argued that you breaking the law was something that should reflect up to me…. So, no taking chances, OK? Don’t even drop a bit of litter!”

Exciting though it would be to see Reb striding naked across the street, I didn’t want to risk causing all those problems for dad. But I’m not the sort of guy who gives in to what was virtual blackmail and sharp practice, and there was no way I was going to pay inflated prices for stuff from S & D. I had an idea then, and as I can be a bit headstrong I’d started to put it into practice without fully thinking it through. I kicked off my loafers, undid my belt and let my chinos fall to the ground so I stood there in my cotton boxers – and then it hit me: all that pre-cum! Jacob and Reb would see the big wet spot on the cotton.

It was too late to stop now, though – I pushed down my boxers, and stepped out of them, and I began to blush as I saw Jacob and Reb staring at my dick. Look, I’ve got absolutely nothing to be ashamed of in the dick department, as I know from looking at my buddies in the locker room that I am, if anything, above average – but it was standing there exposed, with Jacob clothed like that, and, presumably, comparing my attributes with those of Reb. I had been facing them but now I turned as I was embarrassed, only to think that perhaps they were thinking that I wanted them to look at me ass! Hastily I scrabbled around to pull my chinos on to cover my nakedness, then picked up my discarded boxers and thrust them at Reb. “Here, get in to these….”

He looked horrified. “Please, sir, you’ve warn them….”

“Do as you’re fucking told! There’s still time for me to back out of buying you, you know. There’s no problem – they were clean this morning.”

He looked really uneasy as he stepped into the boxers, and I just knew he must be seeing the damp deposits inside them – if only I’d thought this through, I could have left Reb there, gone out and bought some shorts, come back…. But it was too late for this now. I was bright red with embarrassment as I knew Reb would be feeling the dampness as I’d done so much pre-cum. And Jacob must not only have seen the damp patch as I stripped off, but must also be thinking about Reb having to press his dick against it, too.

Although I’m a big guy, Reb was bigger, and my boxers which were a comfortable, baggy, loose fit on me were really tight on him – I could see his dick outlined through the thin cotton as it was pressed so tight, and the button on the fly looked as if it was straining to hold closed. It was good that we’d had his pubes trimmed down though, as even so you could see the top of them starting to straggle out above the waistband! And as he turned around, the rear seam was pulled tight into Reb’s crack – although I have to say that really rather did enhance the look of him!

 

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