A kinky story written by Pete Brown.
Chapter 3 of 12 –> here you find the other chapters of the story
Illustration by Theo Blaze


When we had all been tattooed it was late on in the afternoon. The tattooist picked up the phone and called for a guard who, when he came, seemed very relaxed. Although he had a gun and a “tickler” hung from his belt, he didn’t look as if he was about to use them – just like the cops you see in a suburban shopping mall: they are armed in case they need to be, but they don’t expect to have to use their weapons in the midst of all the affluent shoppers.

“Right. I’m going to take you to be fed, then bunk you down for the night before the auction tomorrow”, he said, and simply walked off along the hall, obviously expecting us to follow.

There didn’t seem to be anything else to do, so we did.

Although I was getting used to being nude now and it didn’t feel so strange to be naked inside a building with offices filled with dressed workers, it was still odd to be padding along the smooth tiled corridor in bare feet whilst the guard was marching quickly ahead with a rhythmic slapping of his leather soles on the floor. It was, I think, the contrast between his clean, well pressed uniform and his leather boots, and our total nakedness, that really started to emphasise our position as slaves.

He led us into a room, opened a cupboard, and got out some cans.  He looked at them and saw that the tops were coloured green, put them back in the cupboard, and took out more but with red tops. Opening them, he spooned the contents – which were a meaty-looking stew, looking rather like dog food – into four stainless steel bowls.  No attempt was made to warm the stew, and he simply thrust one bowl at each of us and said “Eat. It’s all you’re going to get. This is special slave evening meal”

In spite of being cold, the stew was actually very tasty. We had to eat it with our fingers as no utensils were provided, and when we had finished, the guard opened a couple more cans and filled our bowls again. This continued until we were all completely full, and the guard growled at us to leave the bowls clean – we had to wipe the last bits of stew out with our fingers, and then lick them as clean as we possible could with our tongues.

The guard then led us off again, and opened an ordinary-looking door into a small room, about l0 feet by l0 feet. It contained two sets of two bunks stacked one on top of each other, and a lavatory bowl.

“This is your room for the night”, the guard told us. “The door is not locked, but don’t leave the room as we have your microchips being automatically monitored.  If you leave, an

alarm will sound and the night guard will round you up and punish you. We don’t have to bother with all that paraphernalia of bars and locks now, as it’s all automatic in the new electronic age!”

“If I were you I would try and sleep, as you’ve all got a tiring day tomorrow and you’ll need to be in peak condition.”, and so saying, he left, closing the door behind him.

“This could be a bunk room in the barracks”, said Mitch, “except that there are no sheets or blankets on these bunks, and I’m naked!”

“I’ll take one of the bottom bunks.”, and he lay down on the left side, on his back. I went and lay on the other bottom bunk, and after a few moments of standing there and wondering what else to do, Dave and Jim took the two upper bunks.

“What do you think is happening tomorrow, then?”, Dave asked.

“Fuck me”, Jim replied, “It’s this auction. But how they do it, or what it involves, I have no idea.”

Mitch started to say something, but broke off his sentence with a huge yawn. He never got to finish the sentence, because he dropped off to sleep! A moment later, I heard Jim and Dave giving those little sighs that you do as you start to fall asleep, too, and my own eyelids started to feel heavier and heavier and it was a real effort to keep them open.

I never normally slept in the nude, as I always wore boxers as I didn’t want any pre-cum or small piss leaks from dreams soiling the bed sheets. And I always liked to have something like a sheet on top of me, even on the warmest night – even sleeping on the beach was a problem for me. When I first saw the four bunks entirely without covering, I had thought that I would have difficulty in sleeping at all, but as my eyelids got heavier and heavier I realised I was indeed sleeping without a care. My last thoughts were that the food we had been given must have contained some sort of relaxing drug or sleeping pill, and that’s why the guard had given us food from red-topped tins.

I can’t remember if I dreamt, but I woke up very quickly as there was a sharp slap across my naked backside. The guard had used this method to wake me, and he leant over Mitch and slapped his butt, too. We had all woken suddenly, and we all had morning hard-ons.

“Piss and crap now”, said the guard, “But don’t attempt to jerk yourselves off. The buyers may want to do that later, and we want you to have balls with a good charge in them.”

He stood there whilst we used the lavatory in turn.  I couldn’t crap with all the others watching, and I was in no desperate need to do so, but Mitch squatted there for a couple of minutes and must have dropped a large turd judging from the splash it made. I guessed he must have been used to communal latrines in Marine barracks.

The guard then led us off to the showers. We went into a bare tiled room, with shower heads along one wall, and seven other guys came in just after us. We could see that they, too, were slaves because, like us, they were branded, tattooed and ringed. The only differences between us were that they were sun-browned all over – there was not a trace of white anywhere on their bodies, whereas we of course all had white cocks and asses where we had been wearing shorts when out in the sun in our “old” lives.

I was expecting the shower heads to start up so that we could all shower, but a guard came in with the end of a small hose pipe in his hand, with a stainless steel nozzle on one end. Water started to flow, and the guard waited for it to reach a steady temperature, all the time shouting instructions to an unseen companion about “more hot” and ”no, too much”.                                                                           The other seven guys obviously had been here before, because they formed a line in front of the guard, and the four of us joined on the end.

The first guy then bent over, gripping is ankles, so that his ass was exposed to the guard, and the guard gently inserted the nozzle up, pushing slightly to get it past the sphincter muscle. He then squeezed the valve in his other hand, and it was clear that the water was running up into the guy. After a few seconds the guard released the valve to stop the flow of water, and the slave stood up, then crouched down and let fly a stream of crap and water from his ass into the drain in the centre of the shower room. He then stood up again, bent over and grasped his ankles again, and the guard repeated the filling of him with water. After he had shat the second load out, it needed two more fillings before the guard was satisfied that the slave was clean inside, and he started on the next man.

All too soon it was my turn. I had never had an enema before, and although I had read about them in books and on the internet (and mostly then on porno sites!), I had never thought that I would ever have one, especially not one done so publicly. The guard had been very kind to us because there was no sharp shock as the nozzle touched my anus – it was exactly at body temperature, and I saw why he had taken so long calling for more and less hot water. And he eased it into me – there was no brutal thrust, as he could have done, and it just slipped in.

“First time, eh, son?”, he said as he turned the water on. “Just hold it in until I get the nozzle out of you, then go and shoot it out down the crap hole.  Don’t let fly too soon, or there will be a terrible mess”.           I did as I was told, and except for the embarrassment of crapping in front of so many other guys, it was actually a very pleasurable experience – you know how it is when your guts are busting and you’re longing for a rest room, then when you get in there and drop your pants and let fly, the relief is exquisite. Well, it was like that, only more so, as the contents of my bowel flowed out at high pressure mixed with the warm water. By my fourth time, when I was clean, I was actually enjoying it.

When all ll of us had been cleaned out, the shower heads came on and we went under them for a “normal” shower – I say “normal”, because it was again clear from the other “old hands” that this, too, was done in a special way. You were not allowed to wash yourself, but were washed by the guy on your left, and you washed the guy on your right. I had never had anyone other than my wife in the first weeks of our marriage touch my whole body so intimately before.  And whilst I had taken a lot of showers with other guys after sport  and sometimes you accidentally touched their bodies, I had certainly never soaped my hands and run them all over another man’s body before.

Mitch was on my right, and it was necessary to be very thorough as I cleaned him – it wasn’t just a question of washing his chest, arms, back, and legs, but I needed to slide my soapy hands down between his ass cheeks, too. And massage his cock and balls. In spite of this close contact with his most private parts, the strangest thing was shampooing his head. Somehow rubbing my fingers across his scalp to get up a good lather seemed to a particularly intimate task – I suppose it was because I couldn’t avoid looking directly into his eyes as I did it, whereas when I was bending down to soap his ass, I couldn’t see what he was thinking.

When the water was turned off all ll of us stood there, but there was no sign of any towels or anything. We just had to wait as the water trickled across the planes of our muscled bodies, then on down our legs. I felt several trickles run down my chest and onto my cock, then along it and drip off onto the floor. I also had that delicious sensation you get as warm water from your body trickles down between the hairs on your legs, raising that delicious tingle from them. I suppose that’s a particularly pleasant sensation because in ordinary life you don’t experience it in the morning, off to work, you have to towel off quickly. It’s usually only on the beach, on vacation, that you have time to enjoy the feeling of drying naturally like this.

The guard came along the line of us and grasped our balls, rubbing the sac between his thumb and his palm. He said to his colleague that we were all smooth enough, so they didn’t need to waste time on shaving our sacs again before the auction. We all had a couple of days growth of beard, but the guards said that this made us look virile, so we were not shaved there, either.

After we had waited there about l5 minutes to get completely dry, we were led off by a guard along more corridors and into a large room. It was about 25 feet square, and was mostly empty except for a few tables along the walls where there were bottles and glasses laid out.

The floor was thickly carpeted, and it felt good to feel the softness of caret under my naked feet again after the concrete, thermoplastic and tiles that was all I had experienced for the past couple of days.

We stood around, and one of the other seven guys came up to me, glanced down to my cock so he could read my name from my belly, and said

“Hi, Steve, I’m John. I can tell it’s your first time, as you’re still all white and I saw that you have this year in your back tattoo when we were in the showers”.

He turned round to show me his back, and continued “I’ve been on the Programme for five years now, and this is my seventh auction. They’re all different, and you never know how many buyers are going to come, what sort of inspections they want to do, and what sort of contract you’ll end up with!”

“What usually happens is that for the first time all you new boys will get a pretty thorough inspection as the buyers will want to make notes about new stock ready for the next auction. They won’t bid, and so you’ll get knocked down to the State Highways Board. They let the State take the risks of your first contract, in case you do anything silly – it’s not unknown for some new slaves to try to escape, in spite of the electronic tagging, and the ordinary business folk would prefer to have the State pick up the pieces!”

“The State will only keep you for three months, and then you’ll be back here for another auction. They way they run it is that the bidders bid an amount representing a month ’s contract. When he has won, the bidder then says how many months he wants – a minimum of one, and a maximum of l2.”

“That’s pretty bad for us slaves, of course. The sex shops and pain palaces like a constant turnover of slaves for their clients, so they can afford to bid very high for new slave meat, as they only want a month’s contract anyway. That means that almost every slave gets to do at least one month in a sex shop and one month in a pain palace during his time on the Programme! But you won’t have to worry about that this time, as I said – no one will bid for you. Just listen out at your next auction, though, and if the prices start to go high, you know who’ll be bidding – a contractor who just needs muscle to work for him won’t pay more than about $l500 a month, whereas the sex shops and pain palaces are prepared to pay almost anything for an enticing piece of meat.”

Mitch, Jim and Dave had been listening to John with me, and Dave said

“Well this isn’t much like a slave auction that you read about in books. There are no shackles, no manacles, no whips, no crosses to stretch us out on, or anything like that. Just us ll guys standing naked in the middle of the room!”

“That’s what the new, modern slavery is all about”, John replied. “They don’t need all those ineffective old methods of chaining our bodies up and punishing us if we take a step wrong. We can’t escape, and we have to obey, else they will zap us with pain from the microchip.

You’ll see that when the buyers come in there are guards with them who will stand around with control boxes – at the slightest sign of any reluctance on the part of a slave to submit to any part of the potential buyer’s examination, the slave will be zapped and writhing on the floor.  You have been warned – don’t resist!”.

Just then double doors at the end of the room opened, and the buyers came in. There were about 20 of them, and they were all men, mostly in their forties, I would guess. Some were in suits, and some in jeans and sweats – I guessed some of them were businessmen, and some were regular guys like foremen from major projects. They were, as John had said, accompanied by five guards, and I could see that each of them was ominously carrying one of the small control boxes.

One of the guards shouted out that we slaves should spread ourselves around the room, and I moved away from my companions, and just stood there.

It was interesting – the foremen types hardly looked at us four new slaves, but spent all their time examining the ll other slaves. But “the suits” swarmed around us, and their pattern of examining us became predictable.

The man would note down my slave number in a note book, then run his hands over my body generally. There were a few blocks, about 2 feet tall, scattered around the examination hall and I was taken to one of them and told to stand with one foot on the block.  I realised that this was because then my cock and balls hung down free from both of my thighs, so it was easier for “the suit” to cup my sac and get a good feel of the size of my balls.  Some of them gave my cock a thorough examination, easing my foreskin back to get a good look at my cock head, and some went as far as tickling my cock head underneath, so I became erect. A couple of them even had little measuring tapes with them and measured the length of my cock as it arched erectly upwards.  None of them stroked me so much that I actually came, although the constant teasing of my cock did result in a few drops of pre cum starting to emerge.  However I noticed that a small group had gathered around Jim, and he was jerked off completely – the “suits” could be heard discussing the quantity and thickness of his cum.

I would be told to bend over and grip my ankles.  Usually this was so that “the suits” could get a good look at my ass. Some of them fingered my anus and some even felt its tightness by starting to slip a finger up it.  But, interestingly, some were looking for other things.  I heard one of them tell his companion, as he ran his hands along my spine, that this was the best test of manflesh – if the spine jutted out with the first few vertebra clearly delineated after the neck, this meant that the body would be very heavily muscled after proper training.  Another showed his companion how there was a little channel just above the top of my ass running along my spine – this was, he said, a huge turn-on for some of their clients who liked to lie on top of a slave and nestle their cocks in that channel – it made a deliciously light erotic interlude either before or after “proper” heavy cock thrusting up the warm, moist ass. They mostly liked the two dimples at the base of my spine where my bubble butt started to flair out, and one of them teased the hairs at the base of my spine, telling his friend that many clients found that little tuft particularly erotic.

I heard myself being discussed in this way with a kind of numbness – at one level, it simply couldn’t be happening to me, in the middle of the USA. At another level, I knew it was in deadly earnest and they were sizing me up for future work in a sex shop, or a pain palace, whatever that was!

I must have been examined by about eight different sets of “suits”, and we were probably in the examination hall for the best part of two hours.  The customers went to the tables from time to time and had a glass of wine or beer, but we slaves of course were given nothing.  Then it was time for the auction itself.

A small platform was wheeled into the hall at one end, and an official stood there at a microphone.  He ordered all of us slaves to come down to that end of the hall, and line up. We stood there, looking out at the customers, and I wanted instinctively to cover my genitals with my hands. But I saw that all of the seven “experienced” slaves had now taken up a position of standing with their legs apart with their hands clasped behind their heads, and I saw a guard gesturing at me to do the same, so I did.

Well, what else can I tell you about the auction? I’ve been to a horse auction, and it was really just like that. The animals are paraded one more time for the benefit of the bidders, and then the auction begins.

Each of us in turn was told to get up onto the platform next to the auctioneer, and, keeping our hands clasped behind our necks, told to turn completely around, slowly, three times so that the customers could have one last look. Then the auctioneer started to take bids. When the bidding was finished, he noted down the name of the buyer and the bid in a ledger, and then started on the next slave.

It was just as John had said. One or two of the slaves went for very high prices – $20,000 for one guy! But the majority fetched between $l000 and $l500. Mitch, Dave, Jim and I each got only one bid – of $500 – and the auctioneer said each time “Sold to the State Of Arkansas Department Of Transportation”.

It was soon all over, and the buyers started to have a last drink before drifting away. We ll were taken by a guard out through the door by which we had entered, and off down a corridor that led out into a yard at the back. Soon cars and SUVs started to come into the yard, and the guards checked slips held by the drivers before putting one or two slaves in to each vehicle. I noticed that the slave who had gone for $20,000 was collected in a large, black limo but he wasn’t allowed to sit inside it – the trunk was opened, he was told to climb in, the trunk was shut and the limo swept away out of the yard.

We four were soon the only ones left, and then a pick-up bearing “state” plates came into the yard. After some checking, we were all told to climb into the back, and it drove off, out of the Centre and along country roads. To any observer, it was just as if four guys had decided to go for a ride in the back of another’s pickup, and had taken their shirts off because it was a hot afternoon – they couldn’t see that below the sides of the pickup we were, of course, all totally naked.

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