HARBOUR MASTER, Part 3
By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
I woke up to hear the opening of our cells, and I thought that they were going to take me off to be nutted. But instead they pulled a young guy out from the cell next to me, and took him away and left me sitting there, head in my hands.
I wasn't fed again that morning, which increased my feeling of dread as I imagined they were getting ready to give me a general anaesthetic when they castrated me. And when prospective buyers came through in a fairly steady trickle, I didn't bother to rush up to the bars and try to attract them - I just sat on my sleeping pad, with my head buried in my hands. I can't tell you how bad I felt, and how worried I was. Those bastards were going to turn me into a eunuch, just so some business man who'd bought a mini-farm could leave his wife alone there, and not worry bout me fucking her! I went through all the possibilities in my mind - should I try and rush out when I was let out of my cell, on the way to the doctor's office - perhaps I could surprise the guards and avoid their prods? But then what next? Even if I did succeed in getting out of the building, where could I go, totally naked? And wouldn't they quickly track me down with that locator chip they implanted in me?
Or should I plead with them again to leave me as a whole man - they were men, too, all, and could perhaps understand how I felt about the prospect of losing my balls. No - that almost certainly wouldn't work - these men no longer thought of me as being someone like themselves. I was a "slave", an animal of some kind, that could be castrated, have its nipples removed, kept caged, inspected humiliatingly.... They no longer thought of me as a man, so why should they be concerned about the loss of my manhood? I bet a lot of them had pet dogs who'd been castrated to quieten them down, and that's how they thought of me - if my new owner wanted it done, they'd have it done.
I was in despair, and I just wanted to scream out for justice Surely someone, somewhere, was concerned for the rights of men, even if they were slaves? But I remembered what they'd said about the courts always looking favourably on applications for slave castrations "where the circumstances justified it", and I didn't think there was any chance there. I wanted to shout and rage, but I knew that if I made a sound, all my fellow slaves would suffer.
I couldn't help thinking about sex, either. I remembered the feel of fucking and the way that bitch's cunt serviced my dick. I desperately wanted to jerk myself off one more time, before it was too late, to remember how it feels as the cum flooded down my dick. But of course I knew that that was forbidden also, and it was the other slaves who'd suffer along with me. To make it worse, just thinking about these things made me have an erection, and my dick was straining at the front of the tiny satin shorts that we were made to wear whilst we were here in the viewing facility, as they thought it made us more desirable to the buyers. Constrained by the fabric, my dick hurt as it tried to thrust upwards, and a bid damp patch started to appear on the front of the shorts where the pre-cum was leaking from me in an almost endless stream. I wanted to tear the stupid shorts off, and in spite of hating to appear naked in front of other guys, I wanted to show them that my big dick could rear upwards and prove I was still a virile member of the tribe of men.
But I did nothing, other than just to sit there in despair, the very picture of misery.
"Hey, slave!"
I looked up and one of the guards was looking in at me through the bars.
"Don't sit like that - none of the buyers will find you interesting. I'd have thought you'd have more sense - didn't the boss tell you he was only going to keep you for a couple more days before he sold you to the organ banks? If I were you, I'd be trying to make myself attractive to the buyers, and not sit there like some sulking teenager who's been told he can't watch his favourite TV show...."
I thought that this was a "question", and so I could risk a reply without getting all my fellows the electric shock treatment.
"Sir... It doesn't matter. I was sold yesterday, and I'm waiting for the paperwork to be approved by the Courts so that they can take my balls off."
"Oh, didn't they tell you? It was the married couple with the farm, wasn't it, that was interested in you. On the way out they saw another slave that the woman felt more comfortable with - shorter and less muscular than you. He's already gone down to the doctor's office to be nutted. If I were you, I'd buck up and start to try to get myself sold.... Time is running out, you know."
I began to feel better at once! It was as if a huge weight had been lifted from me. I even started to smile. Then I thought of the other slave, who was having his balls cut off now, instead of me - what bastards, to treat us like this. And they couldn't even be bothered to tell me, either - I hadn't slept all night and been in an agony of worry, and they didn't care - they didn't think I'd got feelings, worries, concerns.... I was just a slave to them, and slaves don't count. And another thought started to worry me - all this talk of the organ banks....
"Please, sir.... What about the organ banks?"
"You heard the introductory talk, slave. We only have limited capacity here, and if we don't sell you we need to make space for new arrivals - our buyers like a constant turnover of new flesh. After all, if you went to a clothes shop to buy a new shirt, you'd be pretty upset wouldn't you if it was always the same shirts on sale? You like to see them change, so that the next time you go in there's another lot to choose from? That's why stores have sales, to clear out old stock and make way for the new."
"Well, we don't have sales - slaves are offered at the list price, and that's fixed. We don't want to damage the 'used' slave market by dropping the price of 'new' ones - just like automobile dealers. They'll add accessories and stuff if you want to buy a new car, but they won't drop the sticker price. We'll add little extras - castrate you free, have you 'skinned at no additional charge.... But if you don't sell at the price you're offered at, we have to clear you out to make way for new stock."
"The only buyers of slaves other than the public are the organ banks - they always need fresh material. But we don't like selling slaves to them as they don't pay list price - it's always at a 20% discount! They've got some sort of cartel, and even though the Department Of Justice has looked at it, no one has ever managed to catch them at price fixing. So all us dealers know we'll lose 20 % whichever organ bank we sell you to - and that's a lot of money, when we've had to pay the courts a for a prime piece of man flesh like you - it's the cost of your fine, plus 10% you know!"
"Please, sir, what goes on at the organ banks...." The man was in a talkative mood now, so I pressed on. It was good just to hear human speech again, even though it was telling me scary things.
"Oh, don't you worry about that. I'm sure someone will buy you before then."
"No, please tell me...."
"Oh they're not bad at all. Very well run. They need to keep you in prime condition, after all, until there's a need for one of your organs and the client has a good match with your DNA - transplant technology isn't perfect yet, you know, and there's only a small degree of tolerance between the recipient and the organ he's going to receive. So you'll be well looked after, fed properly, exercised... And you could be there for a year or so until you're needed. So don't worry about it - you've got some life left in you yet."
"But what organs?"
"Everything you can transplant, of course! Are you stupid, or something? Where do you think they get all the corneas, kidneys, hearts and stuff that people need these days - there aren't enough donors, and very few people die in road accidents and such now that the country's so much safer."
"Look", he went on, "Don't worry about it. They're humane, and the law requires them to give you anaesthetics and so on. And they are concerned about the work involved in keeping you there, so they rarely do anything that causes you great distress initially. For example, they may take one cornea, but they won't take two as the effort in maintaining a newly-blind slave is too great - they don't harvest the second one until they take something major, later.
Likewise for skin grafts - there's no point in stripping more than about 15% of you as you'd then take so long to recover, and you'd have to be looked after in intensive care. They usually only take one kidney at first, too - no one needs two, and they can wait for a buyer for your second one. It's only when they need your heart, or the second kidney, that it's all over - obviously, you've only got one heart, and it's too much bother to keep giving you dialysis when they take the second kidney. So you just don't wake up from the operation, that's all - no pain, no suffering. This is all regulated, you know - the American Society For The Prevention Of Cruelty To Slaves went to the courts long ago to make sure the organ banks operate with a humane code of conduct: it's your organs they're interested in, not in torture. So skin is taken from you properly, in a sterile operating theatre, with you anaesthetised so you don't wriggle and squirm - you didn't think they'd want to do it by slicing it off whilst you thrashed around and screamed, did you? That's what sadists do, not properly regulated organ banks. As I said, don't worry about it - it may never happen! And, if it does, you won't worry much anyway - they know it's no good to have slaves stressed, so most of the time they keep you pumped full of antidepressants: you'll have a happy life there. But, as I said, you'll find a buyer, I'm sure, and, if you don't, well, it's not as if it's all over immediately...."
He walked away at that point, so I couldn't ask him a whole lot more. But now I was even more worried - losing my balls was bad enough, but now they were talking about killing me - I'm only 24, for Christ sake!
I sat there in despair again, but began to realise that I needed to do something if I was to live. So as soon as the next buyers came through the big doors at the end, I rushed to the bars of my cell, like all the other slaves, and tried to get them to look at me. I had a begging expression on my face. I held out my arms through the bars in a gesture of supplication and despair. I tried looking happy, sad... But none of it seemed to work. Unlike the other day when several buyers had shown an interest in me and the couple had almost bought me, no one seemed to show even the slightest interest today, and I wasn't even taken out of my cell for a closer inspection.
At least I was fed that night, although I still didn't sleep very much as I was so worried.
My anxiety increased even more the next morning, as just before the first buyers were expected, a new consignment of slaves arrived! They all looked so miserable and embarrassed, just as I had a week ago, as they were herded into their cells. And, of course, being "new", they got all the attention - perhaps it's that air of being frightened and ashamed that makes a slave attractive to a buyer? I don't know - suffice it to say that all that day they got all the attention, and us "old stock" hardly got a look in with the buyers.
I was getting desperate! The clock was ticking for me! It didn't seem to matter what I did, the buyers just took a casual glance at me and passed on by my cell. Perhaps I was trying too hard? Perhaps I looked too wild, too worried? Anyway, when the place closed for business that night, I was still in my cell, and there was no way I could sleep - I spent the whole night tossing and turning on my small sleeping pad.
The next morning the dealer was walking up and down the cells, inspecting his stock. One of the guards - the one who had spoken to me - was following him, and noting down comments on a clipboard. Occasionally, a slave was taken out of his cell and told to drop his shorts, and the dealer felt him, and possibly made some comment to the guard. I heard him say things like "Get this one re-shaved - ladies don't like to feel stubble around the dick!".
When he got to my cell, I was standing there, trying to look eager and "saleable". The dealer glanced at me, and simply said to the guard "This is the one that's sticking, isn't it? Didn't I give it until today to be sold - yes, I'm sure I did. Problem is, he's out of fashion - the market just doesn't want these big, tough, fit types. Look at how many smaller, slightly-built stock has gone out of the doors these last few days - I think it's time we cut our losses on this one, as I don't think we'll find any buyer who wants a stud like this. So ship him to the organ banks."
I was going to protest, what had I got to lose now? And fuck the other slaves - it was my life! But before I could say anything, the guard spoke.
"Are you sure, sir? We're looking at a very big loss on this one - 20% is a lot, as this one had a very big fine that wasn't paid. Isn't it worth giving him a few more days - you never know who might turn up?"
"No. Our buyers rely on a regular turn of the stock, and we need the space. I'll take the loss - just ship him out."
"Oh, come on, sir. Look at him - a perfect piece of man flesh. Surely someone will want him. And the poor guy's only 24 - don't you remember when you were that age, with everything to look forward to? It seems a pity to send him to the organ banks and deprive the world generally of the sight of that body of his! I wish I could afford him - I don't care what the fashion is, I'd like that piece of slave meat working around my yard!"
"You're getting sentimental in your old age! Remember, this is a slave we're talking about, not a regular guy. Can't you go down to one of the gay bars and pick yourself up a piece of meat like this to play with? No - it has to be shipped out to the organ banks. It's bad for morale if we keep making exceptions - we'd soon have the whole place full of unsaleable merchandise if I listened to all you guards: that's why I'm the boss - I take the hard-headed business decisions, whilst you guys worry too much about the stock. Just remember, they're slaves, and we're dealers, here to make a modest profit on selling them."
"Look", the guard went on. "Tomorrow's Saturday. The organ banks don't open for business again until Monday. Let's give him two more days."
"No. Some of the buyers are coming back tomorrow to look at the new stock, and I don't want them to see this old, unsaleable, stuff cluttering up the place. It will give us a bad reputation. Call the transporter, and they can hold it over the weekend in their warehouse, so it can go to the banks as soon as they open on Monday."
"Boss, I don't like to argue - but we are on profit-sharing here, aren't we? So if we lose 20% on this slave, it affects my bonus. I tell you what - I'm off duty this weekend, and the County Fair's on - let me take him there and try to sell him at the travelling slave show: if I can't get a good price for him, he'll be back Sunday night and we can ship him out Monday morning anyway."
"Well, I think you are getting too attached to these slaves! It's not good, you know, to worry about them so much. But, if it makes you happy, why not? Or do you have some ulterior motive.... Do you want to get this slave outside, so you can fuck it?"
"No, sir! I'm a happily married man, and I only fuck guys when my wife's away visiting her sister in California. And then I don't need to buy a slave to fuck - there are always guys at the gym who are alone, and who like uniforms - I can always find a fuck buddy if I turn up in my uniform! No, I'd like to take this slave to the fair as it will give me a real purpose to the visit - otherwise you just wander aimlessly around, and you've got no real interest. If I've got some stock for sale, you not only have a purpose, to go and compare it with the other stuff on offer, but they give you a special ticket that lets you go into the owners' enclosure, and the beer in there's a whole lot better - or, rather, you can get to the bar as there isn't a whole crowd pushing and shoving to get served as there is in the public facilities. You'll be doing me a real favour if you let me take the slave and try to sell him."
"Oh all right - but I don't want to see it back here. If you don't sell it this weekend, it's off to the organ banks first thing Monday."
They moved on, and I sank back onto my sleeping pad. At least I'd got a reprieve, and perhaps there would be a different type of buyer at the County Fair, and I'd have more chance. I did actually sleep that night for a change - well, I suppose I'm generally a bit of an optimist, and providing there's some hope, it's difficult for me to be "down" for a long time.
The next day the guard came and watched as the showers ran, and even though it wasn't part of the usual two-day cycle, he had a razor and made me shave myself. I hated being watched as I crouched down and tried to get rid of the stubble from my ass crack, but I consoled my self with thinking that at least the guy was doing it so that he could give me a chance to go on living!
When I was finished, he gave me a clean pair of shorts, then unlocked the cell and let me out.
"OK, slave. I'm not cuffing you or anything. You can't escape, as you know, so there's no point in going to all that fuss. You'll be chained later at the Fair, of course, as they put on a bit of a show for the visitors, but whilst we're driving you can just sit there."
I followed him along the corridors and out of the building, and around to the staff parking area. He opened the door of his SUV, and I waited.
"Get in, slave. You can ride up front with me - I like looking at a nice body like yours as I drive along. Wait a minute, though, whilst I get out of this uniform...."
"Changing his uniform" only meant pulling off his polo with the company logo on and changing it for a light T-shirt. As he pulled the shirt up over is head, I saw he was nicely muscled for an older guy - he had mentioned going to the gym, and I supposed that's where he got it from. I liked the way his belly muscles flexed as he manoeuvred the shirt off - NO! Stop this! I don't like guys' bodies. I don't look at other men. Oh, fuck me, had being caged up with all those other nearly-naked slaves started doing something to me?
We rolled along in silence, as he obviously didn't want to talk to a slave. But I wanted to say something - there weren't any other slaves around to get the electric shock, after all.
"Sir.... "
"Yes?"
"Sir, thank you...."
"For what?"
"For saving me from the organ banks...."
"I haven't. You're off there Monday, when you don't sell."
"Yes, but thank you for giving me the chance. I'm sure there'll be a buyer...."
"Don't count on it, slave. These County Fairs get a strange mixture of buyers - and a strange mixture of slaves! And not a lot of them want to pay the price you have to fetch. Even though we might be prepared to take a bit of a loss - well, up to 20% off the list price, I guess, as that would still be a better deal than the organ banks as we wouldn't have to pay to have you transported there, or for their inspections again - there aren't a lot of people who go for a day out at the Fair who have that kind of money to spend."
"Additional inspections?"
"Yes. You don't think they take just anything into the organ banks, do you? Even though you've been passed fit for sale at our dealership, there's a world of difference between that and selling you for spare-part surgery! They do a really complete medical work-over, look at your genes for defects, all that type of crap. And we have to pay for it - they won't take you unless you're perfect, and we have to demonstrate it. It's a few thousand dollars, usually."
We drove on in silence. I started to worry again - my hopes of being sold at the County Fair had gone down a lot - I could understand what he meant about buyers not being prepared to lash out a lot of dough on a day out - I remembered going to such a fair with my wife and kids, and it was just for fun: the popcorn, the side shows, the midway, the animal exhibits... It wasn't really the sort of place where I'd have lashed out a lot of money on a slave, even if I could have afforded one (and on a labourer's wages, that was never going to happen?).
The guard parked the SUV in a car park that said "Strictly exhibitor parking only", and we went in through a special gate into the Fair enclosure. It was already a hot, although it was still only nine in the morning, and I could feel sweat starting to glisten all over my body.
"Be careful, slave", the guard snapped. "There's always some broken glass around at these places and I don't want you to get a cut foot - you haven't been a slave long enough yet, have you, to be used to walking around barefoot and so you haven't grown enough hard skin on your soles to prevent accidental damage."
I supposed he was right - although I did a lot of yard work at home in shorts and bare feet, I always wore tough work boots on the site - it's the health and safety regulations, isn't it, that say you have to have steel-toes boots and so on. I supposed they didn't apply to slaves.
We passed through the stall holders setting up their pitches, and approached a big enclosure marked out by a fence made up of sacking stretched over steel frames - even at over six feet, I couldn't see over it. We went through a kind of zigzag a the entrance, and I noticed a big sign saying "Warning - Slave Sale Area.
Federal Law Prohibits The Entry Of Unaccompanied Children Under The Age of 16. Do Not Enter If You Are Offended By Slaves Offered For Sale Naked."
A guy greeted us, and he and the guard engaged in a lively conversation. Then the guard came back and spoke to me, quite kindly, I thought.
"OK, slave. I'm leaving you now. I hope I don't have to take you back tonight! There are a number of classes here - labourers, personal servants, clerks, and so on, but I think you've got the best chance if I put you in the general category of 'slaves under 25 years old' - buyers looking for any of the other categories tend to go there anyway, so you'll be seen by more people. Of course unlike those detailed categories, you'll be exhibited naked - or, rather , nearly naked: just like at our dealership, Joe Public likes the idea of being able to strip stock for himself, for a good look-see. And you will be chained - it's unnecessary, as we know, but again, the public expects it."
He left me then, and he dealer came and ordered me to follow him. We went through some more of the screens into an area inside the slave enclosure, and it was empty - I was the first. The grassy area was just surrounded by the sacking screens, and there was nothing else in there except a row of pegs hammered into the grass along a row of the screens.
"OK, boy. Time to collar and cuff you."
The dealer fitted me with a leather collar, rather like the one I'd worn initially, but not in steel, then he told me to do the by now familiar putting of my hands behind my neck so that my wrists could be secured to the collar.
"Not too tight?", he queried. "You're going to be here all day, and I don't want to damage you."
I shook my head, and he reached up towards my face holding something.
"Open wide - I need to put your gag in."
I went to shake my head, but he went on "Don't be so fucking stupid! It may not be what you're used to, but at our sales all the slaves are gagged. It's a perfectly simple ball gag - just pop it behind your teeth - there's a hole in it so you can carry on breathing, and we can water you during the day: we don't want you crying and shouting at the public, that's all - some slaves have no manners, and it can turn buyers right off if there's a lot of noise from the stock."
I opened my mouth and he pushed the all of hard black rubber into my mouth. Small strings were fastened behind my head, and as I worked my mouth, I found there was no way I could spit it out, although I could, as he said, breathe through my mouth if I wanted.
"Now, let's choose a good place for you.... You're quite tanned, so it doesn't matter if you're in the sun all day so I don't need to put you in the afternoon shade.... Yes, this is a good spot... You're so big, you'll make a nice focal point as people come in - they can't help noticing you, if we put you opposite the entrance... .here."
He'd led me to the centre of one of the enclosure walls, and up to one of the pegs. I saw that attached to it was a short length of chain, and a cuff.
"Right...."
As he spoke, he reached down and unbuttoned the one button holding my satin shorts closed, and pushed them down over my hips so they slipped to the floor.
Fucking hell! Could this get worse? Before, when I'd had to get naked, I had at least been allowed to take my own shorts or boxers off. But this guy had just casually pushed my shorts down as if it was the most natural thing to do in the world. It was just as if I was some sort of object, not a man! Could it get worse? Could I be treated even more humiliatingly?
Well, of course, yes, I could. He reached down and kind of flipped at my dick, and cupped my balls to free them from here the sweat had made them cling to my thighs.
"Hmm.. Nice dick! Big, and thick. Mind you, having it uncut is a mistake - a lot of buyers are put off by a foreskin, even though it's relatively simple to get rid of. They just don't seem to appreciate that underneath it there's a perfectly normal dick waiting!
You really should have got rid of that 'skin if you wanted to sell quickly, you know."
He was talking to me as if I had any say in the matter! And what a load of crap - as if any guy ever thinks he's going to be sold, and, even if he did, as if he'd get himself circumcised to make it easier.
"OK, guy, there's one little test I have to do now. We pride ourselves on only selling regular stock here, but some owners try to slip 'enhanced' stock in to get a higher price - I have to make sure they haven't given you bigger, artificial balls: yours are so large, that I have my suspicions..."
As he said this his fingers curled around my sac and I could feel him separating my balls out with his thumb.
Then, as he stared into my eyes, my world gave a sickening lurch. I wanted to cry out, I wanted to puke... But I could do neither with the gag in place.
He'd savagely pushed his thumb, very hard, into one of my balls.
"Good. That seems genuine enough. Now..."
The world lurched again, and I was in agony for a few moments. You know how it is, when ever there's any attack on your balls... It's the worst kind of pain you can have, I think.
I just stood there, naked, my chest heaving as I fought to control myself. The sweat that had been all over me from the heat was now running down me as my body fought off the pain.
"Sorry about that, but we have to be sure. Now, let's get you dressed properly....."
He pulled a length of light chain out of the pocket of his jeans, and fastened it around my waist, adjusting the length so that it settled on my ass at the back, hung low on my hips and fell almost to the top of my pubic hair at the front.
"One good thing about studs like you", he said to me, although I guess it was just one of those pointless comments people make when they just want to talk, "Is that with a nice high rounded ass there's no way that the display chain is going to slip off. You've got absolutely no fat on your hips, and a good flat belly, but I can rely on your ass to hold the chain on. It's a real problem 'dressing' those little twinks - no ass, no hips, so the chain slips down, and you have to have it really up high, around the waist, and make it really tight. And if the chain is up there, it obscures the navel... But you'll be fine, that navel of yours, and your belly, will be properly displayed. Incidentally, that 'treasure trail' of yours is a really good idea - a lot of guys are turned on by that run of hair disappearing down into your pubes..."
As if I had any control over it, I thought to myself. I'd always had that trail, I didn't get it to make myself more desirable for sale!
He'd got a roll of fabric - more like very wide ribbon, out from his back pocket now, and some scissors. He fussed around behind me, and the chain slid up and down my belly, and I heard something being cut. He came around to face me again, and went on
"There's your crack hidden. We loop a length of the fabric tape around that little chain - primitive, but effective. We've tried everything ,you know - totally bare-assed, very thin satin, so you an see the ass through the fabric, even Speedos. But somehow the sight of a thin strip of fabric, just covering the crack but leaving most of the ass exposed, seems to turn the public on more. Now, let's see what we can do up front."
He was measuring the fabric off the roll, and muttered
"Good - I see that dealer tidied up your pubes. You know, some slaves are brought here with a big, unruly bush that covers them from thigh to thigh. No wonder they're difficult to sell. The public wants to see a slave's pubic hair when they get near to making a purchase, but they don't want it to obscure the view of everything else, do they? With you, its good - in spite of that huge dick of yours, we can use quite a thin covering as there's not a whole lot of your bush left."
"There" he went on as the scissors snipped. "Just enough to cover you down to the tip of your dick - don't get erect, will you, though?. Now.... Just step over here..." He guided me towards one of the pegs, knelt down, and picked up a cuff and snapped it around my left ankle.
"There - all ready for the public to come in and see you. You know, they like seeing male slaves in these loin cloths - I guess they were all brought up on the Tarzan films, although Hollywood in the old days would never have dared to have one of their stars with anything as skimpy as this! But it is practical for us slave dealers - those that want to pretend that they're not interested in your dick don't have to look at it, but they can still see your thighs perfectly and the musculature of your ass. And those that do want to see you - well, they can just pull it aside! So much more practical than shorts, really, when they'd have much more of a difficulty to pull them down. We used to find that some buyers were really inhibited about taking a slave's shorts down, and I think we lost sales.... This is so much better."
With that, he went off, and I was left there standing in the hot sun. Actually, I felt completely embarrassed by my "costume". Somehow, having the thin strip of fabric covering my ass crack, and the bit up front, made me somehow "nude" rather than just "naked" - they'd turned me from a naked slave, into some sort of "exhibition". As I looked down, I could see the top of my pubic hair forcing its curly way out above the thin chain, and the fabric stuff hanging from the chain was only just wide enough to conceal my dick and balls - anyone looking could of course see all of my thighs exposed, and I was even worried that a breeze would start to blow and keep exposing me. I hated it - I suppose I'd started to get used to the idea that a slave might be exhibited naked for the benefit of buyers, and with my body and tackle, I could be kind of proud of what I'd got to display. But this humiliating, skimpy loin cloth didn't do that - I wasn't on "display", proud in my manhood, I was just "concealed", something that buyers could come and sneak a peek at if they wanted the thrill of looking at my genitals.
I didn't have to wait long for something else to happen - the dealer was soon back and chained, '"dressed" and gagged a couple of other guys alongside me. One was an absolute giant of a black man - not one of those huge fat ones you see around, but a real muscle stud: in fact, I think his dick, as I saw it before the dealer "dressed" him, was even bigger than mine. His dark black skin gleamed in the sunlight, as except for his pubic area he a totally devoid of hair and the sweat on him glistened all over. The other looked to be about the same age as me but was only about 5'8" tall, with a trim body. He was a blond, with a fair thatch of curly hair on his chest. We were joined by a fourth guy, an older man, absolutely covered in hair - all over his front, and back, and completely covering his ass. The dealer grunted disapprovingly at this as he tried to "dress" the guy, muttering that it was well known that you needed to shave the backs of hairy men if you ever wanted to sell them!
There was a bit of scuffling when the next slave was brought in, as he seemed reluctant to be put on display - and then, to my horror, I saw that it wasn't a guy - it was a woman, probably in her late twenties!
She shouted as the dealer gagged her, and wriggled and tried to break away from him as he stripped her of the shorts she was wearing. I couldn't help starting to sprout an erection as I looked at her being "dressed" by the dealer - she was still wearing a tattered T so her breasts weren't exposed, but the dealer clearly enjoyed the "dressing" as I saw his fingers stray into her slit as he worked away. I couldn't help it - I hadn't seen a woman for so long, I completely lost it, and my dick reached for the sky, leaving the little strip of cloth fluttering by the side of it. I noticed that the big black and the blond were all the same way (Although not the hairy guy), and in that instant the woman saw us, too, and saw our line of erect dicks. That started her struggling even more - she looked really pissed off. Now, OK, I know it's not really great to be exhibited as a slave, but, after all, us guys were only showing how much we admired her body, weren't we? And we couldn't help it, after all - if you're standing there almost naked yourself, seeing another guy fingering the slit of a good looking woman not five paces away from you is going to turn you on, isn't it? Of course when he stripped away her T shirt, cutting it off with his scissors so she just had the two little pieces of white loin cloth like the rest of us, I couldn't help myself - I was drooling pre-cum from my dick!
The dealer saw us guys all like that, and came over and snapped "That's quite enough! This is a family show, you know! We don't want you erect unless a buyer is inspecting you closely - it puts off the ladies, and frightens the kids! Unless you all want forcibly masturbating, you'd better lose those erections. Male slaves are not supposed to be attracted to female slaves - unless your master wants to breed from you, you're not even supposed to think about sticking those dicks of yours up a cunt."
As he was speaking, I began to feel so ashamed. I guess that it's because the sort of crimes I'd committed were only done by young guys in general, and then I'd been taken to a dealership specialising in male slaves, that it had just never entered my mind that there might be female slaves, too. And now I was chained here, looking at the breasts (and very nice breasts they were, too, kind of "pert" and not at all droopy as they jutted out proudly from her), and body of a very attractive woman, I couldn't help thinking about what might happen. I know the dealer had said that am master might want to breed from me - surely he couldn't mean that I might have to fuck another slave like the one in front of me? Not that that wouldn't be fun, from the look of her, but the idea of being made to do it as part of my life as a slave, rather than choosing to do it after all the thrill of the chatting up and the seduction, filled me with revulsion.
More of the staff were bringing other slaves now, though, and I watched as about another ten males, and five females, were chained up with us. All of us were pretty decent looking - I wouldn't have minded sticking it in to any of the women - and I suppose that was because we were all in the "under 25" class. After a time, my sexual excitement went away - once you've looked at a few almost naked women for long enough, you cease to think of them as sexy, I suppose.
Or perhaps it was just the environment after all - I used to get erections several times an hour in "real" life, after all, and standing here almost naked, with all that female flesh on display, I ought to have been rock solid all the time.
The dealer was going around now making a final inspection of us, checking to make all our ankle chains were secure, and generally fussing around us. I noticed he pinched the tits of all the women, and liked to get his fingers in their slits. He saw me watching him, and I guess I might have looked kind of contemptuous - what sort of man wants to finger a woman when she can't resist, after all - because he came over to me.
"This is what you're going to miss, slave. Remember this?", he asked, as he ran his index finger along my upper lip, immediately under my nose, so I could breathe in the heady, musky scent of the slave's cunt that he'd just been fingering.
The very whiff of it took me straight back to the last time I'd had sex with my bitch of a wife - she'd told me about the divorce, and I'd fucked her one last time, even though she hollered and shouted and tried to pretend she didn't want me up inside her again! Silly cow - afterwards, she carried on screaming about how she'd stopped taking her pills, and was worried that I'd got her in the club again. It would have served her right if I had knocked her up - she was still my wife, as she'd only just taken out the divorce papers, and I had a right to her, didn't I?
That smell though, that heady essence of sex, made me realise just how long it had been since I'd had it. I'd been fucking the five-fingered widow for too long, even before the forced abstinence in the dealers. A man's dick needs something hot and moist and muscular around it, and although a wank is all right, it's a poor substitute for a fuck. Even if I escaped the organ banks and did find a master, would he want me nutted? And even if I was left whole, would he ever let me fuck again, I wondered.
End Of Part 3