A kinky story written by Pete Brown.
Chapter 2 of 12 –> here you find the other chapters of the story
Illustration by Theo Blaze


The guards led us out of the Director’s office and along more corridors, until we entered a door marked “Medical Centre”.  All the time, we were passed by civil servants going about their business and they hardly gave us a glance – it was as if four totally nude men being herded along the corridors was an everyday occurrence. Whilst it may have been normal for them, it was not for us – the only time I went into an office routinely was to collect my pay check, or to gripe about conditions on the site, and I found the office environment intimidating. All those managers and secretaries really knew what they were doing, and I was just the site worker trying to get something sorted out. But this was much worse – they were now all clothed in normal office clothes, and I was totally naked.

In the Medical Centre there was a doctor in the usual white tunic, and the guards turned to go. “No, stop!”, he said. “These men have not been tagged yet, and so they’re potentially dangerous. And even if they don’t turn violent, they could just try to escape. You guards need to stay here whilst I examine them.”

He took Dave to an examination table and told him to lie down, and said the rest of us should sit, as it would take a long time. The guards took the only two chairs, and we were made to it along one of the walls, and draw our knees up to our chins so that our legs did not obstruct the floor. I hated sitting there like that, because my cock and balls were peeking out from between my drawn-up thighs and I felt very vulnerable.

The doctor evidently was working to a standard routine, and was very thorough. Dave’s chest was listened to, his blood pressure was taken, and then the doctor took a blood sample by pricking his thumb and squeezing drops into a small vial. He was then put on a running machine for three minutes whilst an ECG was taken, and finally there was the indignity of the rectal examination as he doctor poked a plastic gloved finger up Dave’s ass. I’ve had those exams myself before, and it’s pretty degrading even when there’s only you and the doctor there.

Having your ass probed with a lot of other guys looking on is something else!

Then it appeared to be all over – except that the doctor then gave Dave a small bottle and said he was to piss into it as a urine sample was needed.

Poor Dave blushed. He was only a young guy, and I know a lot of guys – even mature men like me – are shy of pissing in front of other men. And here he was, with three naked studs lined up against the wall, two guards, and a doctor, all watching him!  He said he didn’t think he could, and the doctor then said “Don’t worry – I can easily slip a catheter up your penis and get the sample I need. Or perhaps you’d like to try one more time….?”

Dave struggled at these words, and obviously knew that a catheter up his dick would be painful. So he strained to get his piss started and, of course, the inevitable happened – with all the tension surrounding him, having started, he couldn’t stop and after the small flask was filled, he continued to piss helplessly and it flowed all over the floor.

“Disgusting”, said the doctor. And he threw Dave a roll of paper towel and made him clear up the mess. Then he gave Dave another small vial, and told him to put a semen sample in it, and “be careful you don’t overshoot this one, else you’ll clean it up with your tongue off the floor!”.

If Dave was embarrassed with pissing in public, he clearly found the prospect of jacking off in front of the six of us even worse. He looked around from one of us to another – the doctor merely looked dispassionate, Jim, Mitch and I could understand what he was feeling, and looked down at the floor. But the two guards stared at his dick with interest.

“Come on!”, said the doctor. “We don’t have all day. And I’ve got your three companions to do yet. Get jerking. Or do you want me to get the guards to get one of your friends to do it for you?”

Dave was blushing all over, but he reached down and took his limp dick in his hand and started to rub it. Whilst most young guys’ erections are driven by the brain and any hand stimulation is purely secondary, this clearly wasn’t the case here – Dave’s brain obviously didn’t want him erect in public, and so it was purely the mechanical stimulation of his cock head that was going to do it. But whereas a brain-driven erection is almost instantaneous, one that is entirely hand stimulated can take a long time.  He had to rub and rub for about two minutes before there was a reasonable erection, and then there was still no sign of any pre-cum.

I thought I knew what the problem was, so I said “Sir, doctor, sir. Let him sit down. Jerking off whilst standing up is very difficult – most of us only do it lying down, or sitting in an easy chair. He would probably find it easier”

The doctor snapped at me “Shut the fuck up! You don’t speak unless you’re spoken to”, and he clicked his fingers at the guards who poked menacingly at me with their “ticklers”. “Don’t speak again, or else!”, he said.

But the idea had obviously struck home, because he led Dave back to the examination table, and pushed him back on to it. Lying there in front of us I guess Dave did feel a bit more relaxed, because he closed his eyes to blot the room out, and soon there was a spurt of cum from his cock that went into the little vial that he had been pressing against his cock head.

The doctor then told him to go and sit down with the rest of us. He sat next to me, with his back to the wall, and it seemed to me that there were a few tears trickling down his face. He was, after all, only 20, and he did not have such a hard body as the rest of us. It was nicely proportioned, but it had not yet got that final firmness that only comes in your early twenties when your body has had a lot more exercise. He probably felt extremely shy in the presence of us other men whose bodies were much harder.

His chest was almost hairless, but he had a little riffle of hair running down from just below his pecs to the bush of light brown hair that surrounded his cock which, although not as long as some, was fatter than most. It had detumesced rapidly after he had jerked off, and as I watched there was just a drip of cum that came out of his piss slit and fell to the floor under his balls as he sat there.

The doctor then called Jim forward, and he moved his compact, muscle-packed body into the centre of the room.  He was only about 5’l0”, but he had powerful shoulders and his broad back tapered quickly into a tight “V” to join his bubble but. He was quite hairy all over, as I had experienced when I had to wash his ass earlier, and the curly black hair poked out from his ass and formed a little tuft at the base of his spine.

As well as fathering all those kids, Jim was obviously no stranger to public exhibitions, because he pissed and jerked off without problems in front of us. He didn’t take long at all, and was soon back sitting next to me. Like me, he was not circumcised, and he sat there fingering his cock – I knew that he wanted to roll back his foreskin and properly clean out after masturbating, but I guess he felt just a bit shy about doing it in public – he had some inhibitions, after all!. Most of us with foreskins regard our moist, pink cock heads as being very private – after all, they’re not flaunted on public display in locker rooms as uncircumcised ones are, and normally stay moist and enclosed safe under their foreskins.

After Jim was finished with, it was my turn. Like Dave, I didn’t like pissing in public, and I had certainly never jerked off in front of a group of men before – all my relations had been strictly with women, and even at high school when some of the other guys had done “circle jerks” in the locker rooms after a match, I had never joined in. I’ve got nothing to be ashamed about, having a good, strong cock that is easily aroused to produce strong spurts of cum, but doing it with, or in front of, other guys was just never a turn-on for me.

But now I had no choice, and I was glad that the doctor had seen the sense in letting us lie down to give the semen sample, so I could shut out the world of the doctor’s room and the other guys looking on, whilst I concentrated all my mind on getting an erection and beating myself to a climax as quickly as I could.

Finally I was back against the wall, and it was Mitch’s turn. The marine was about 6’2”, I guess – just a shade taller than me – and he walked proudly to the centre of the room. I could see that he was no stranger to being naked in front of other men, living in a barracks as he did. And he was probably used to a mixture of naked guys and clothed ones in the various facilities on a Marines Base. He wasn’t as hairy as Jim, but he had a light thatch of black hairs across his chest, running down to a wiry bush from which his long cock hung. He had, like me, low-slung balls, and you could tell from the way he held himself that he clearly knew he was a desirable stud.

After the doctor had finished most of his tests, Mitch took control – he didn’t wait to be told to piss into the small vessel he had been given, but took it off the desk and did it without prompting. Then he took the little sample tube for his semen, and with a few quick strokes brought himself to a strong erection and spurted quickly into the vial. I wondered if it was barracks life that had taught him to reach a climax so quickly – did he have to beat himself off quickly all the time, before his buddies came back into the bunk room, I wondered?

The doctor looked at all four of us and then said “You’re going to be locked up now, as it’s too late to operate today. Eat the food they give you tonight, as you won’t be fed in the morning because I will have to give you a mild general anaesthetic in order to implant your tracking devices.”

Then, turning to the guards, he continued “Make sure these are securely locked up, as they’re not yet fitted up and they could escape at any time. And be on your guard, as at least one of them is a trained fighter and another has a history of violence. Without that little chip in there, you’re very vulnerable from them!”


The guards gestured to us with their “ticklers”, and we were taken off to another part of the complex where all four of us were pushed into a cell.

It was simply an empty room, about l0’ by l0’. Three of the walls, the ceiling and the floor were just plain painted cement. The wall to the corridor was made of steel bars, with a steel-barred door, so anyone walking along the corridor could see in to us easily at all times.

In one of the corners furthest from the door was a tap at about head height, marked “Drinking Water”, and in the other there was simply a hole in the ground about 5” in diameter.  When we looked at it more closely we saw it was intended to be used as a lavatory, because just down below it there was a channel with a flow of water that would take away any piss or turds.

As the door clanged shut, we just stood there, looking at each other and wondering what on earth was in store for us! We had all been more humiliated than we could ever have imagined, and it was clear there was to be worse to come.

Our thoughts were broken by the guards appearing at the bars with four bowls containing a rich, meaty stew. There were no knives or spoons, so we had to eat it with our fingers. And as there were no means of washing, we had to lick our fingers clean. The guards stood there, waiting whilst we wolfed down the food, and then took the bowls away.

We were left there, and sat down, two against one wall, and two against the other. We looked at each other, and Mitch said “We sure seem to be in deep shit here. All this talk of slavery, whipping, and using us for sex!”

I agreed, and said that that was probably what the Director had meant when he said that the re-offending rates were so low amongst other prisoners who were trucked in to see the inmates on “The Arkansas Programme”!

“What do you think will happen tomorrow?”, asked Dave.

“Hell, I don’t know”, Jim said, “But I sure do wish I hadn’t listened to those welfare people. I’d rather be lying with my old lady now, even with all the kids crying, than stuck in this cell with three naked guys. No offence, of course!”

We sat there chatting to each other, speculating what the following day was to bring, but we had no real idea.

Then the lights went out, and we tried to settle down to sleep.  But it was cold on the concrete floor, and hard. I’ve slept rough several times on hiking trips, and sometimes even on out of town sites when I have worked really late and I haven’t wanted to drive back to my apartment. But I’ve always had at least a pair of jeans and a shirt on, and being naked when you’re trying to sleep is difficult. Even at home in the height of summer I always cover my body with a sheet, as I find I can’t get to sleep with absolutely nothing on top of me.

After a few minutes when we had all tried to shuffle around to get comfortable and find a space that would let us stretch out without touching another guy’s body, I heard Mitch’s voice say “Guys, this isn’t going to work! Let me tell you an old marine trick for sleeping rough. You lie in a square, and each guy has his head on the next guy’s stomach. That way whilst the ground may be hard underneath you, at least your head has something warm and soft-ish to lie on!

Shall we give it a try?”

I didn’t know what to think, but the others were obviously going to do it because I felt them moving around in the dark, and our bodies touched each other as we shuffled into position. When I put my head down I guessed it was on Jim’s stomach, because it was hard and firm and thickly furred. I then felt a head lie on mine, and I knew it must be Mitch because I could feel the spiky short hair of his marine’s very short cut.

We lay there, and it was strange to feel a man’s hot breath blow across my navel as Mitch breathed in and out rhythmically – it was remarkable how quickly he seemed to go off into a deep sleep. As I lay there, I could smell the musky maleness of Jim – although we had been showered earlier in the day, we had had the doctor’s examination since then and had jerked off, and the sweat glands around the base of his balls and his asshole had, like mine, been working overtime. It’s often said that those sweat glands produce the strongest-smelling sweat of any in the body, as it’s a special sexual signal designed to make the genitals attractive to your partner. I didn’t feel aroused by the smell, but I had never experienced it from another guy before – although of course I had often smelt my own musk odour when I ran a finger under my balls after a jerk-off session.

I didn’t think I was going to sleep, but I did. I had strange, erotic dreams about fucking women. Then into my dream there was a  crashing sound, and I woke up to realise that the sound was in fact guards banging on the bars of our cell.

It was no surprise to feel my balls aching and demanding a morning release. Of course I was erect – isn’t everyone when they first wake up – as were we all, and we sat up and rubbed our eyes. We looked at each other ,and realised we all had the same morning difficulty. The guards told us to hurry up and crap and piss, as they had come to take us for our operations.

I couldn’t piss with a raging hard on, and I usually jerked off first thing in the morning. What was I to do? The answer was provided by Mitch, who simply sat there and started to wank himself. He grinned and said “Come on, guys, are you waiting for me to finish myself and do you? Well, it’s not going to happen! I keep the best wanking hand in the US of A purely for myself, and if you want your meat beaten, do it for yourself!”

Jim laughed, and he too then started to jerk himself off, and so I decided to, too. Even shy Dave, seeing us three studs jerking away, took his cock in his hand and started as well.

The guards watched intently, and told us not to spill the semen on the floor. We were told to catch every bit in our hands, and then wash it down the corner drain with our piss!


We were led back through the building to the medical centre, but this time went into another room there where there was a sort of operating table, with an array of medical devices hanging over it, in the middle.     A cage stretched across one corner, and the guards put us in to it and locked the door.

This looked serious – what were they going to do with us?  We stood there nervously together, worried that we were going to have some dreadful operation – Mitch told us how the Vietnamese doctored prisoners by cutting vital muscles, so there were effective cripples. And Jim was worried that he was going to be castrated, because the state thought he bred too much. But Dave pointed out that the Director had told us that whilst our future “employers” could punish us with light whipping and other corporal punishments, he had explicitly said that they were not allowed to carry out anything that resulted in permanent mutilation.  What would be the point of stopping them doing that if we were anyway to be mutilated first?   But we had no real way of knowing, and as we stood there nude, it certainly was creepy – stripped of all our dignity, waiting powerless in an operating theatre for whatever was to happen next to us.

The doctor came in after a few minutes, and said cheerily “Who’s first, then?”. We looked at each other, and Mitch then said “Me!”.

The doctor told the guards to get him out of the cage, and he was led to the operating table where he was told to lie on his back. He lay down, full length, but the doctor told him to move along so that only his back was on the table and his butt was overhanging the end, with his feet on the floor.  The doctor then pulled two metal devices out from under the end of the table and clipped them into position – they were short stainless steel posts, with footrests on the end.  The footrests were slightly above the height of the rest of the table.

Mitch was told to put his knees on either side of the posts, with his feet in the footrests, so he was lying there unable now to close his legs together, and with his cock and balls prominently on display. The doctor went around and stood between his legs, and started to examine his cock closely. “Did you masturbate this morning?”, he asked.

Mitch told him that he had, and the doctor went on “Good. If you hadn’t, you would have needed to now. Although you’ll be out for the operation, the pre-op preparations often make guys ejaculate, and I’m tired of getting covered in spunk. So I make it a rule to masturbate all patients first, if they haven’t done so themselves recently.”

“Now”, he continued, “I’m going to shave your pubic area. I need to have a clean area to work in. Although I’ll be doing a keyhole surgery technique and only a small area of skin is affected, it’s easier if I shave away more of the pubic hair than is necessary, for two reasons – firstly, it does make it easier for me to manoeuvre the instruments. And secondly you would anyway have to have your balls shaved before you are auctioned, in case buyers wanted to feel them.

We found that some buyers resisted getting a good feel of a slave because they don’t like the sensation of a hairy ball sac. So we now routinely shave every sac before a sale as we want our buyers to have the best possible opportunities of examining the slaves they are going to bid for that way, we get better prices.”

“Some of your owners will of course allow you to grow hair again down there, but we find most of them like to see a nice clean sac all the time, and so you will be required to shave your balls every time you shave your chin.  So here goes.”

And with that he took a stainless steel bowl of warm water, and a shaving brush, and proceeded to lather Mitch’s pubic area generously. Then he took a glittering shiny stainless steel scalpel from his tray of instruments, and started to shave away at Mitch. As he did so he made little encouraging remarks like “not long now”, and “Don’t worry, I’m an expert. I won’t nick you” and “You’ll never get as close a shave as this with a razor. Surgical steel really does a great job.”

We could see him shaving away at Mitch, moving his cock from one side to the other to get access to its root, and stretching his ball sac one way and the other to get the surface really clean. Mitch groaned, with a sort of pleasurable groan, as the doctor’s ministrations extended down behind his sac and around his anus which was of course clearly exposed.

When he had finished the doctor looked closely at Mitch’s anus again, and said “You know,, I missed that yesterday. You look as if you have taken a few cocks up there. You’re the former marine, aren’t you? Did you have special fun nights in the barracks?”

“Sir, no, sir!”, Mitch shouted. “No fucker has ever been up my ass. Sure, some of the guys and me used to jerk each other off after a few beers if we were watching a porn movie, but it was just good manly fun. We didn’t do any pussy activity like fucking each other!  We were marines, and marines only fuck women.”

“I do like to manipulate my prostate sometimes when I jerk off – only my own finger has been up there, though.  That’s what you can probably notice.”

“Well, I’ll take your word for it”, said the doctor, “But it really doesn’t matter much anyway. You’ll almost certainly be sold to a contract for use as a sex toy at some point in the next few years, and even if you haven’t had any guys up there yet, you surely will.”

“Now, you’re clean down there. I can start. Just lie still, whilst I anaesthetise you. We just use   a mask here with the gas and air, and I don’t bother with a pre-op injection to put you out as they normally do in hospitals.  When the mask goes over your nose and mouth, just continue to breathe slowly and deeply and don’t try to fight it – you’ll be out after a very few breaths.”

And with that, he moved around behind the table, wheeled a couple of cylinders and hoses around to by Mitch’s head, opened valves on top of the cylinders, and put a cup-shaped mask over Mitch’s face. We could see Mitch looking a bit alarmed initially, and his body quivered slightly, but, as the doctor said, he soon seemed to be deeply asleep.

The doctor looked at the three of us peering out anxiously through the bars and said “It’s only a light anaesthesia, as it’s a short operation, so I can take the mask off now.  All I am going to do is make a small incision through his skin just to the left of his penis. Then I will reach in with these probes and insert the tracking device you all get fitted with, and then sew up the tiny hole with a couple of stitches. It’s a new technique of keyhole surgery, as I can get up right into the body cavity with the instruments without needing to cut through the muscles of the stomach wall. That means you recover very quickly, and there’s no pain or need for a long period of recuperation.”

He bent over Mitch, and after a very short time said “There, done.”

He got the guards to come over, and they half carried, half dragged the still sleeping Mitch over to our cage. They laid him on the floor, and we saw that he had only a neat patch of pubic hair now above his cock, and there was a small sticking plaster just to the side of it. He lay there, breathing deeply, and started to wake up.

I was going to kneel down by his head to help him, when the guards took hold of my elbow and led me from the cage and onto the table. I knew what I had to do, and lay down and placed my feet into the stirrups.  The doctor started to lather my pubic area, and I then saw what the posts were for that kept my knees apart – even though it didn’t actually hurt, there was a strong reflex driving me to try to pull my knees together involuntarily to protect my cock and balls as the brush probed around them, and this got worse when the shaving started.

The doctor said “This is the part that gives you the most pain! You won’t feel the implanting of the microchip at all as you’ll be out, and there is almost no pain afterwards. But I’m starting to stretch your ball sac now so I can shave it cleanly, and I may inadvertently cause you some discomfort. Try to lie still, however, as this scalpel is very sharp and I don’t want any accidents I’m not into castrating guys, even inadvertently!”

I didn’t know whether this was a joke or a serious remark, but I tried to suppress my body’s instincts as his fingers gripped my sac and moved it down, then to the side, and then to the other side, as the shaving proceeded. And, of course, when the scalpel teased around my anus, it was difficult not to squirm – I’d never had anyone or anything touch me down there, and, unlike Mitch, I didn’t even know that you could push a finger up to increase your pleasure with masturbation. Considering I had had to jerk myself off for years because my bitch of a wife wouldn’t have any form of sex with me, I wished I had known! Any bit of extra pleasure would have been a comfort in my hard life of unrelenting physical toil followed by totally joyless evenings at home.

Then came the mask over my face, and the next thing I knew was waking up back in the cell, with Mitch looking down at me. He was kneeling by my side, so the first thing I saw was his long cock and low-hanging balls, but he was bending over and stroking my forehead and saying “Are you Ok now, Steve?” in a very caring way. I had always thought that marines were big macho guys who would not show any tenderness, but then I thought on and realised that they probably had a great need for mutual support; and Jim, Dave and I had become his surrogate platoon in these strange circumstances.

I was able to sit up, and saw that Dave was lying next to me still out, with his fat cock lolling against one thigh and his arms casually lying by the side of his head. He looked for all the world as if he had just fallen asleep on a river bank after skinny-dipping, and there was a look of pure innocence on his handsome, yet still somewhat boyish, face. And looking out through the bars, I saw the hairy body of Jim on the table now, having a lot of that thick, black wiry hair shaved off.

When Jim had been operated on he was put with the rest of us to lie and recover in the cage, and the doctor went out, saying “Ok boys, I’ll give you a half hour or so to recover more before stage two.  It’s my coffee time”.

This really brought home our predicament to all of us – the world was going on normally around us, with people taking coffee breaks at the office and so on, whilst we were caged, nude, after a surgical operation and with the prospect of “stage 2”, whatever that was, looming.


We were all four recovered when the doctor came back, and there were no guards with him. Instead, he was holding a small black box and said that we were now about to have a demonstration.

The microchip he had implanted had two uses – firstly, it responded whenever there was a coded radio signal from one of the US’s Global Positioning System satellites, so that its location could be determined. He told us that because it was “government”, it used the high level of tracking accuracy so we could be located to within six feet, rather than the l50 or so feet that tracking systems in commercial cars used. This would enable us to be quickly caught should we be foolish enough to try to escape, wherever we went on the surface of the planet. There was no escape possible, as we could always be tracked down.

He looked at the box, and said “Yes, strong signals from all four chips. It’s working properly for location. Now…”

Dave screamed, and fell to the floor clutching his stomach.

The next instance Jim did, followed by me, and Mitch.

“Yes”, said the doctor, “The pain circuits are working, too.  I needed to demonstrate to you the other use of the chip – it can be directed to send an electric current into your body. There aren’t many nerve endings in there and in general you feel pain only from the surface of the body and some specialist organs like your ears, and your balls. But the stomach does have pain sensors, as you’ll know from having stomach aches sometimes and the chip taps into those.

Whenever your contract owner wants, he can cause you to be in acute pain – either a very short, sharp shock as you have just felt, or he can, if he wishes, set it to a continuous low pain so it feels as if your stomach is going to burst.”

“Most contract owners punish their slaves physically if they misbehave, but this option of using the implanted chip is always open to them if they have a particular need. We do however insist that it is only used in cases of flagrant disregard of orders, and if you’re unlucky enough to be sold to one of the pleasure houses where slaves are mildly tortured for their clients’ pleasure, the owners cannot use the chip as part of their offerings – not of course that they would necessarily want to, as there are enough ways of causing a young guy to have agonies of pain that are much more satisfactory for the clients to carry out!”.

“But the government knows there are always some rogues out there, and every time the pain circuit is used, the usage is logged centrally and at the end of the contract period the contract owner has to explain any excessive usage.”

“Now that you know that escape is impossible, and that totally disabling pain is only the touch of a button away, I can unlock this cage and let you out. You’ll realise that there’s nowhere to go, and no hope for you. You must just buckle down and work your way obediently through your sentences, until you’re released.”

With that, he came across and unlocked the cage door, and we all moved out into the operating room.

“Ok”, said the doctor, “Now for the next part. You have the internal bits done, and that’s what’s really important. Oh, but let me tell you that you shouldn’t try to remove the chip.”

“We had a slave last year who thought that a small nick in his groin, near where the insertion had been made, would enable him to get the chip out and then escape. But the chip is planted high up in your body cavity, because I used those probes to place it through the small hole I cut. You need to go in through the hard muscles of your abdomen to actually get it out, and that requires a proper operating theatre and a skilled surgeon. Even if you managed to get to a hospital with the right facilities and persuaded a surgeon to operate, it would be too late – we would have located you before then!”

“The second part of the tagging system is the visible part. This serves no useful purpose really, other than to constantly remind both you and everyone who sees you that you are slaves, and part of the Programme. Whilst we require you to be kept naked unless you are carrying out hazardous duties that require special protective work wear, and you might think that’s enough to differentiate you from non-slaves, there is the slight risk that you might, for example, end up at a swimming poool on men’s night where all the guys are swimming in the buff. How would they know that you were slaves then?”

“So the government requires your bodies to be distinctively marked. You get a brand on your ass, tattoos on your backs, stomachs and arms, and rings.  Personally, I think it’s a pity – although you can always have the rings taken out, there’s almost no way that the tattoos can be removed and the branding certainly can’t. Even after you have re-entered society after your time on the Programme, you will of course be constantly reminded of your participation every time you take your clothes off- and that will be a powerful incentive not to re-offend.”

“But from the point o view of a slave contract owner, it’s a bit of a mixed blessing.  Whilst some people find the sight of heavily tattooed bodies a real turn on, a lot of other people think they’re repulsive. Personally, I need to have the lights out when I’m fucking one of the slaves in the pleasure palaces, and I think that’s a real pity as I like to see the interplay of the guy’s muscles as I fuck him.”

“But it can’t be helped. The rules are the rules, and I now need to put your rings in, and do the branding.  The tattooing is done next door.


It was my turn to be done first.

I was told to lie down on the operating table on my stomach, and the doctor pushed a foam pillow-like thing underneath my stomach so that my ass was raised into the air.

“Now”, he said, “This will only hurt a bit. In the old days, slaves used to be branded with while hot irons and it used to hurt like hell. What was worse, the slaves were out of action for days whilst they recovered. Now I burn the brand into your ass with a branding iron super-cooled with liquid nitrogen.”

“The effects are the same, in that the flesh is permanently damaged so that once the scar tissue falls off the mark will be with you for ever. But after the initial shock, there’s very little pain as the branding iron is so cold that it anaesthetises the flesh as it goes in. And you’ll be able to move around, with only a little discomfort from the scar tissue, immediately.”

Looking over my shoulder I could see him wearing huge gauntlets and pouring a strange, bubbling fluid out of a large metal and glass container into a beaker. The liquid frothed and bubbled as it was poured, and there were clouds of white vapour flying around.

When the beaker was full, the doctor took a metal instrument that looked like some sort of barbecue tool – there was a wooden handle, with a metal shaft, terminating in a circular wire plate at right angles to the shaft. It was pushed into the beaker, and the doctor came over and said “That’s liquid nitrogen that I poured from the vacuum container into the beaker. It’s just chilling the metal branding iron down nicely, and then I’m going to bring it over and push it into your ass cheek. Whatever you do, don’t move. Don’t even wriggle. I want a nice clean sharp edge to the brand, and you only get that if the branding iron is pushed in firmly and is held there absolutely without movement.”

The next moment, I felt a sharp burning sensation in my left ass cheek, but it wasn’t really bad. However it turned into a dull, insistent throb, but nothing I couldn’t handle, even though I had to clench my fists and grit my teeth to prevent any feelings showing.

“Right, that’s the brand”, said the doctor.  “Now turn over.”

He pulled the cushion away, and I lay on the warm leather, slick with my sweat, on my back.

He came and sat by my head and said “First, it’s the nose ring. This will hurt quite a lot as it goes in, but I don’t want to give you an anaesthetic there.  The nerves in the nose are pretty key to the face, and if I deaden them whilst I’m ringing you, you will have a drooping face all day

  • rather like having an injection at the dentists, only worse. You’re man enough to bear the nose ringing without it, aren’t you?”

I said I guessed I was, and he gave me a rubber bar, saying “Grip that between your teeth, and bite down if the pain gets too much. That way you can keep your head mostly still, and we won’t hear your dreadful screams.”

I put the rubber between my teeth, and thought that I must have looked like a dog with a bone! The doctor took a stainless steel instrument that looked rather like a hole punch from the tray by his side – there was a sharp spike on one end of the jaws of a pair of pliers, and a little round cup on the other jaws with a hole in its middle. I could see that as the priers closed, the spike would go through the little hole in the cup.

“Ok, then. Breathe out as deeply as you can, then hold your breath. This will hurt, but only for a moment or two.”, the doctor said.

I did as I was told, and he placed one half of the jaws of the pliers on either side of the septum about half an inch up my nose. Then there was the most incredible pain as he quickly squeezed the jaws together, and there was a little “snick” sound as the pin from one engaged through the cup of the other.

He was right – having breathed out, and with the rubber bar between my teeth, I didn’t scream out – but I felt as if I should have. He withdrew the pliers from my nose, and blood started to stream out. The doctor seemed unfazed, and simply told me to lie still – the blood coming out from my nose was “only” where my septum had been pierced and it would soon stop.

Nosebleeds were, after all, quite common; they made more mess than anything.

Unhurriedly he took a stainless steel ring from the tray. It was about two inches in diameter, and was not closed – the two ends were about half an inch apart. Bending low over me, he threaded one end of the ring through the hole that had been punched through my septum, and turned the ring so that both open ends were hanging down beneath my nostrils. Then he took a little tube of glue, and dabbed a bit on each end of the ring, and finally another pliers-like instrument, with curved ends, was used to grip the ring and squeeze the two open ends together.

“There”, said the doctor, “That’s the nose ring. The adhesive used to bond the two ends is a new super epoxy, and the join is actually stronger than the ring itself! If you ever try to pull that ring out, your septum will split before the ring does!”.

“Now I’ve got to do your cock. Shuffle along, and put your feet in the stirrups again like when I shaved you earlier”.

He snapped the leg posts out from under the table again, and I wiggled along, put my knees on either sides of the post, and my feet onto the little platforms. The doctor moved his swivel chair into the space between my legs, and then brought up a small platform on rollers. He positioned it and raised the height, so that my cock was lying on the platform. A bright light was then positioned, “So that I can see properly”, said the doctor, and I lay there wondering what next.

I soon found out, as the doctor said “We used to give slaves one of the rings known as a Prince Albert in their cocks, but that can be rather messy when they piss as the ring emerges from the piss slit. And it wasn’t always effective for its intended purpose. The government has decreed that you are not to have sex without your contract owner’s permission, and we found that some slaves were managing to fuck each other even with a PA in place.”

“So now I’m going to give you a new form of piercing, invented here. A stainless steel bar, four inches long, will go through your cock, at right angles to it. The piercing for it will be done carefully, so the urethra is not damaged – it goes through the flesh just behind the tube down the centre of your cock. I make the insertion immediately behind the cock head, and for uncircumcised guys like you there are a couple of problems. Firstly, there’s no room for the foreskin to retract, and secondly there’s no flexibility left, so having an erection will at first be quite painful. You’ll find that if you do manage to masturbate, the foreskin can’t pull away from your cock head at all, and so you’ll need to be especially careful with washing to clear up the large amounts of smeg that will build up.”

“For the circumcised amongst you”, he went on, looking at Mitch and Dave because all three of my companions had moved around so they could see what was happening, “it’s not quite as bad.  But masturbation will still be difficult because your fingers won’t be able to get to the most sensitive part of the cock head, just at the bottom, where the head ring meets the foreskin scar.”

“You’ll all find that masturbating with the bar in place takes a long time. It always amazes me that in the movies they always show guys jerking off with the whole of their cocks being massaged – after all, it’s really only the head that counts, and you all have problems in this area.”

“Needless to say, you can’t fuck – either a woman, or, as is much more likely, one of your companion’s asses. With a 4” bar sticking out from your cock, there’s no way you can get it in. Or, if by a lot of pre-stretching, you do manage to get in, it will be extremely painful for both of you as the sharp ends of the bar engage with the anal passage, and your cock is stretched and pulled.”

“But look at this bar – see there are two small holes drilled in it?”, he said, holding it out to show us.

“Once the bar is slid through your cock, a small half hoop goes around the cock and through these two holes, and is locked into place. The bar then can’t slide out from either end. But if your master chooses to let you have sex, he can use a small special tool to release the hoop, and then the bar can be quickly and easily removed.”

“And, of course, replaced, when you have finished fucking!”.

“Now, let me get to work. And, Steve, isn’t it? You’ll be glad to know you do get an injection this time!”

With that, he drew a syringe and injected it into the head of my cock, lying there on his little table. After a couple of minutes he screwed two little clamps into holes in his table, and my cock was slipped under these. They were tightened down, and my cock was now immobile in front of him.

“Just so you don’t get an erection and spoil my operation!”, he said.

Then he took a stainless steel surgical drill (like a domestic electric drill, only smaller) and fitted a bit into it. The end of the bit was glittering in the operating lights, and looked exceedingly sharp. Without a moments hesitation, he then turned the drill on and plunged it into my cock.

Even though I could not feel a thing, I wanted to vomit. It’s really difficult to see your body being violated so drastically, even when you have no sensation.

The tip of the bit emerged from the other side of my cock, and there was a lot of blood flowing, too.

“Don’t worry about the blood”, the doctor said. “There are lots of blood vessels damaged by this piercing, but the cock is after all rather like a big sponge. It is designed to have a lot of blood pumped into it to make it erect, and the many small blood vessels are what give you an erection. But because there are so many of them and they are so small, they do heal remarkably quickly.”

He took the stainless bar, and pushed it experimentally through my cock, then slid it backwards and forwards to make sure it moved easily. Then the small half-hoop was put under my cock and pushed into the holes in the bar, and he used a small surgical spanner to lock it in place. A quick squib of an antiseptic and a blood clotting agent, and he released the clamps holding my cock down.

“Ok, you’re through”, he said. “Go on down the corridor to room ll06, for tattooing, whilst I get on with the other three. During the rest of today, slide the bar from side to side a bit every few minutes, so that as the scar tissue forms the bar remains free-running: you do need to be able to take it out one day!”

I was numbed. I couldn’t believe it. I had been a normal guy, and in the space of an hour or so  I had been transformed into a freak. Having a bit of electronics inside me was bad enough, but now I had a ring through my nose and a bar sticking obscenely through my cock. Any I could feel the dull throb of the brand on my ass. I felt as if I had been transformed into some kind of fetish object.

“Go on, get out!”, the doctor commanded again as I stood there. “The tattooist has a lot to do, with all four of you, and they need to start soon if they’re going to get finished today. I don’t want to have to give a little push on my magic button to make sure your microchip is working!”

I knew I had no choice, and went out into the corridor, very conscious of the feeling of the bar on my thighs as I walked.


I found room ll06, and went in. There was a youngish guy in there, reading the morning paper.

He got up, and told me to go and lie on the leather-covered table that was in the centre of the room.

“Have you ever been tattooed before”, he asked, and then corrected himself as he eyed my naked body up and down “No, I guess not!”, he said.

“So let me tell you that it will hurt a bit – not much, but a bit. And what we have to do to you takes quite a time. Effectively, the tattoo instrument is a sharp needle that is driven electrically up and down many times a minute. As I move it over the design, it punctures your skin and blood starts to well out.  Every now and then I stop, wipe the blood away, and sponge special ink over the design. The ink flows into the holes, and leaves a permanent coloured mark.”

“In the local town, in my tattoo parlour, I use many different inks and designs. But here I have to work to the standard the government specifies, and only use black ink. I’m going to start on your back, so lie on your front.”

He handed me another of the rubber bars, like the doctor had used, saying “Some guys find these help.  Bite down, and it helps to stop you crying out.”

I then felt the tattoo gun start to move over my back and it was, as he said it would be, painful, but not so painful that I couldn’t bear it.

My back took about an hour to do, and by the time he was finished Dave had come into the room, with his nose ring and cock bar in place, and the tattooist had told him to go and sit on the floor against one wall. Poor Dave did look miserable – he sat with his forehead resting on his drawn-up knees, and his cock, balls, and cock bar prodtruded down from between his thighs.

The tattooist told me then to lie on my back, and the next bit was going to be the worst – my name had to be tattooed across my gut, inbetween my navel and my cock. “Most guys want to squirm a bit whilst I’m doing this”, he said, “but try not to move, as it musses the design”.

Another three quarters of an hour of mild pain, and then he moved on to so something on my right pec. Then finally I was told to sit in a chair, and he tattooed something on my left upper arm.

By this time Jim had joined Dave against the wall, and it was good to see that he had put his arm comfortingly around the younger guy to try to make him feel a bit better.

The tattooist then pulled back a curtain on one wall to reveal a full length mirror, and told me to take a good look. Right across the widest part of my back, in letters about 2” high, it said “Arkansas Programme 20l0”. My stomach said “Slave Steve”, on my pec it said “Arkansas Programme l8756”, and my arm said “l8756” with what I took to be the bar-code representation, like you see on food packages, underneath it. I could also see the scar tissue of my brand. Inside a circle, with a star in the middle of it like the US Army uses, it said “US Dept Of Prisons”.

“There, very sharp and clear, I think”, the tattooist said proudly. “Your back tells everyone the year you entered the programme, they know your name every time they glance at your cock, and your prisoner number is on your pec and your arm. The bar code is particularly useful when we’re moving a mass of slaves from one owner to the other, as we can just scan them with a scanner as you re loaded and unloaded from the trucks”.

Just then Mitch came in, ringed like the rest of us. Dave was told to get on the tattoo table, and Mitch and I joined Jim sitting helplessly against the wall, waiting.

+ posts

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.