It's Not Equal at All!

IT'S NOT EQUAL AT ALL!

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

Part Twelve

The guards dragged me to my feet when I'd stopped twitching, and I stood there rubbing futilely at my arms and legs to try to stop the ache. I was angry, so angry, that I didn't stop to think what I was saying. "I'm a free man, and you've used a slave prod on me! That's illegal, and I'm going to the police...."

Old man Johnson looked at me, and sneered. "You're going nowhere, boy. Now, I gave you an order. I want to see that dick of yours, that's caused all this trouble. So strip off."

"Fuck you!", I shouted back. But as one of the guards pushed his prod towards me again I instinctively cowered away - it's strange how the body learns so quickly, in spite of what the brain wants to do. I realised now why my own use of the prod on all those poor slaves had been so effective.

"Do it, boy. Get naked. Get naked now, or feel the prod again....."

I stood there, then began to unbutton my uniform shirt. The three big niggers watched as I took it off, then kicked off my work boots, then unzipped my pants and let them fall to the floor. I stepped out of the heap of stuff, and stood there in my socks and boxers.

Johnson addressed one of the guards. "He's stupid - I don't think he's deaf. He was told to strip, and he's not obeyed. Encourage him a little...."

The guard smiled, and held up his prod. "No", Johnson said. "Help him. Take those boxers off him, then give him a few slaps on what looks like a most spankable butt....."

Before I could do anything the guard had gripped me on my upper arm, and I yelped as his strong fingers dug into my muscle, gripping me so there was no escape. He dragged me over to a couch, sat down, and pulled me across his lap, face down. I felt my boxers being pulled down, and then he spanked my ass with his bare hands - only four slaps, two on each cheek, but it was enough, I can tell you. I felt utterly humiliated, being spanked like this: it was as if I was still a kid - although when dad did it to me once or twice I hadn't been aware of a hard erection stabbing into my belly as I lay there, which was now the case from the big nigger. He pushed me off then, so I sprawled on the floor in front of him, my boxers around my ankles. I instinctively went to cover my dick and balls to shield them from the gaze of the three men, but the big guard got to his feet, gripped my upper arm again and hauled me to my feet and dragged me over to stand in

front of the desk where Johnson still sat.

"Nearly there, boy! Now take off your socks. I want to see you totally naked."

What was the point in disobeying? My butt was really hurting from the bating I'd been given, and the two guards could, I knew, do what they liked with me as they were so powerful, even without using their prods. So I half bent down and pulled off first one sock and then the other, acutely conscious that that sort of body manoeuvre exposed all sorts of views of me to them. When I'd watched the merchandise stripping I'd thought it was kind of interesting to see the play of the muscles in guys' thighs and butts as they did this, and I supposed the men must be enjoying seeing me like that now.

Johnson looked at me. "Not bad, for a whitey! You look almost normal - if it wasn't for that white skin, you'd almost be like one of us. You've even got a proper sized dick - unusual for a whitey."

"Listen", I stammered, worried now. If they could prod me and beat me, what else could they do? "I'm sure we can work something out. Sh'Kwala...."

The violence of his roar was so unexpected. "Listen, you whitey scum, don't you ever dare mention my daughter's name.... You've done enough harm already, without defiling her further."

He sat there, glaring at me, then seemed to calm. "I don't like whiteys who are not 'skinned. So let me see your dick properly - pull your 'skin back so I get a good look."

"Look, please...", I began again. "I'm sure all this can be fixed, we can work something out...."

"Boy, do you want punishing again?"

I could see the guards tensing, ready to pounce on me, and decided that I'd better obey. I reached down, and my dick felt strangely cold and sweaty in my fingers. And I think I was trembling as I stroked my 'skin back, then let my dick fall free, the head shining moistly in the light. And at the same time I felt my face start to go red as a deep flush of shame and embarrassment spread up from my shoulders.

Johnson peered at my dick. Then reached for the phone on his desk and said into it "Bring me the details of the arrivals we're still expecting."

It was only seconds before the nigger secretary walked in - she seemed surprised at first to see me standing there naked, but remained perfectly composed as she handed Johnson a set of files. Then, as he started to flick through them, she began to glance at me. When I'd first come in she'd looked at me as if I was a piece of shit, and her expression didn't alter much now as her eyes raked my body - and I couldn't help noticing that her gaze seemed to linger on my exposed dick head. Against my will I found myself starting to stiffen.

Johnson looked up and said quietly to her "Thank you", and she turned and left, stealing another glance at my body, this time I'm sure concentrating on the red patches on my butt.

"Now, boy, let's see what we're going to do with you...."

"Mr Johnson.... Sir.... I'm sure we can work something out....."

"Silence, boy! I have already worked something out. I only need to find a suitable piece of merchandise...."

I wondered what he was doing, as he scanned the material in the folders, until he hauled out a piece of paper and said quietly "Not a very good match, but good enough. A well-proportioned buck, about the same size as you.... He's twenty, but that shouldn't matter, as you look quite mature. And most people can't tell one whitey from another anyway, as " You all look much the same."

"Sir, please let me get dressed, and leave. I'll go away...."

"Silence, I said. Or do you want a touch of the prod again? You've no need to dress - there's a lot of naked slaves around here...."

"But I'm not a slave, sir". I tried desperately to sound respectful. "I'm a free man."

He looked at me and sneered. "You were a free man, but you're going to be a slave. I think that's suitable punishment for messing around with my daughter. You'll regret it for many, many years."

"Sir, I'm seventeen. I don't think the courts would enslave me for sex with a girl my own age, sir. I know we were not eighteen, but when both of us are the same age, even though we're under age...."

He gave a little laugh. "What have the courts got to do with it? You're guilty, so why waste time? There's no need for the courts to punish you, and, anyway, you may get some liberal judge who thinks whiteys are not always guilty and hands down a sentence of a few years in jail! When a whitey's guilty of illegal sex with a good nigger girl, why do we need all that stuff? I ought to take you out and have you strung up, actually: that's what whiteys who touch real women deserve. But that's a bit of a waste as you look strong and healthy and can give some years of service. So the next best thing is to enslave you - so that's what's going to happen to you, and I'm doing so now."

He handed the piece of paper to one of the guards and said "The slave transporter that arrives here next has this man in it - have him taken out, and let him go. But tell him how lucky he is, and that if he ever speaks a word of his 'escape', he'll be hauled before the courts again and get the punishment for escaping: the threat of being gelded should be enough to ensure his silence! And see he gets a few dollars so that he's not destitute, and take him to the station and put him on a train to somewhere a long way away."

The guard nodded. And Johnson looked at me again. "See, Steve? That's how we do things here. I have the power to free a man the courts have sentenced to slavery. And, of course, I also have the power to enslave a man without going to the courts - once we have you with the other merchandise from that transporter a little bit of creative work on the papers, and you'll be a properly certified slave. You whiteys should have learned by now that us niggas have power, that we make the rules."

"You can't do that!", I blurted out in horror. "It's illegal. I'm a free man...."

Johnson gave a shrug. "You were a free man, and now you're a slave. Just like that. Easy, isn't it? And who's going to know? My daughter's been sent off to the coast, for a vacation for a long period. She told me you fell out with your parents. So that only leaves your crew here, and they'll learn tomorrow that you resigned and left."

I began to panic. I could see that this could happen. I was almost stammering as I said "No, look, please..... I'm sorry..... I won't go near the Club.... I'll quit the job here.... I'll move away...."

"We don't like whiteys messing with our young ladies. And if you do, you've got to expect a reaction. If a whitey dares to mess with a proper lady, we're going to punish you. Not so long ago there'd have been a mob ready to lynch you for doing what you did - some dirty whitey taking advantage of a nigga!"

"But I didn't know..... And I'm not old enough to be a slave, anyway - I'm still only seventeen...."

Johnson shrugged. "Who cares what you knew! And it just shows you're stupid, as no whitey should mess with good nigga folk. And you are old enough - the paper proves it. But anyone doubting it need only look at your body - you're big and well-developed, and you look like a slave to me." He turned to the guards, and added "...doesn't he?"

"Yes, boss", they replied, nodding their heads. And one of them added "And a pretty cute one at that! Nice butt, nice dick.... I'd bid for him myself, but you don't pay me enough to afford a piece of prime meat like this!"

All three of them laughed then, but I was terrified. I knew it was possible for slaves to be used for sex, and I suppose I knew that a lot of men like young guys. But all this was stupid - it would never work. Someone would surely see that I was a free man.... Or would they?

I didn't have time to do or say anything more, though, as Johnson said quietly "Take him down to the reception yard then.... And you'd better stay with him until he's caged, to make sure those whitey idiots who do the initial processing don't fuck it up. You can't trust a whitey to do something that needs skill and finesse as they're all pretty stupid...."

The guards came towards me, and I bent to pick up my clothes. But as I went to put them on one of them snatched them away from me and bundled them up under his arm. "You won't be needing these, boy", he added unnecessarily. "Now, move."

I tried to argue with Johnson again but he seemed completely oblivious to the scene being played out in front of him as he'd turned to his PC screen and was studying something there. As I desperately tried to attract his attention one of the guards lashed out at me with his strap, causing me to yell; then, when I saw that it was hopeless, and to avoid the next blow which he was ready to give, I turned towards the door.

It was terrible going all through Johnson's - I was acutely embarrassed by my nakedness as everyone else we met in the corridors was in neat Johnson's uniform. But I suppose I didn't attract as much attention as a naked guy being paraded through a "normal" office might have done, as most of the others were probably used to seeing slaves in some state of undress.

I was herded out into the reception yard just as a transporter had arrived, and instead of the crew (who I had not really met as they did the other shift to me) talking to the van driver, one of my guards went over with the paper describing the slave I was going to replace, and they compared this with the "contents list" that I knew all the transporters brought with them.

The van door was then opened and the guard shouted some stuff inside, and after a few moments a young guy got out and stood there looking pretty terrified. The van door was closed and locked, and the guard marched the guy over to the gates, which were opened a crack after a lot of shouting, and the slave was let out.

I'd watched all this in silence, afraid of the strap or the prod, but now saw this was my only chance. "Please... Help me..... You guys in the crew.... I'm not a slave! I'm a free man!... I work here and Johnson is having me enslaved illegally...."

One of the regular crew came up to me and snapped "Shut the fuck up! You slaves are always claiming you're free men, or that the court made a mistake, or that the police picked up the wrong guy, or other crap like that. You're original, I'll say that for you, claiming to work here! And why would Mr Johnson want to enslave you - it's all bullshit, isn't it?"

"No! I do work here ,with Charlie and the others.... And...."

"...so why are you standing there naked, in the reception yard?" He laughed, and called out to the others "Let's get started, as this might be a busy shift. We'll do this one first....."

I tried to lash out at them as they came for me, but four of them against one of me didn't work. And I suppose I was lucky not to be prodded again. I think they thought it was funny, though, as each of them grabbed one limb and they carried me over towards the table, face down. They'd gripped me high on my arms up near the shoulders and almost at the top of my thighs, so although I could wriggle and squirm, there was no possibility of escape.

They flipped me over onto my back as I'd seen so many slaves experience and the biggest of the guards - well, like Charlie, I suppose - grabbed my throat and forced my head down onto the table. He trust his leg between mine and I felt the rough fabric of his pans rubbing my naked skin, and he forced his body against mine to hold me still. "Now, boy, are you going to behave? I need you to open your mouth, and open it wide, so I can get this little thing into it..... Now, open up...."

I knew what was coming of course, so I clamped my mouth shut and tried to turn my head to the side in spite of the way he was gripping my neck. "Uncooperative little bugger, aren't you...", he muttered. "We have away of dealing with boys like you...."

It was a real scream - not just from the surprise, but because it hurt: the guard rammed his knee upwards into my bare balls. And as I gasped and struggled for breath a s you do when someone has hurt your balls, he got the injection device and forced it home. I began to choke and gag then as he manipulated it down my throat, until suddenly everything went silent and I realised the paralysing injection had done its job on my vocal chords.

This whole procedure had seemed so simple, so obvious, so kind of necessary when Charlie and the others had done it as I'd watched, and now I realised how painful it all was and how you ended up so totally helpless and powerless - the way the four of them had simply used my body, and the way I was now deprived of a means of communicating with them.

With tears streaming down my face from the pain in my balls and from where I was still recovering from the choking and gagging, I was led over to the side and ordered to stand still with my hands behind my head. One of the guards was watching me closely, as I had done so many times recently when on duty; his prod was ready for action in his hand, and I knew that I had no choice but to do as I had been told - I had often prodded a slave who had dared to move when I was the guard, and I knew this guy would not hesitate to do so to me. Indeed, he might even enjoy doing so - our crew usually reckoned you needed to prod at least one slave in order to send a strong message to the others that disobedience was not tolerated.

The sun was hot as I stood there and one after the other the "merchandise" from the van was processed. Then they came along to collect the "valuables", and of course there was one idiot who tried to hang on to a wedding ring or something, and we all were treated to the spectacle of him rolling and thrashing around after he was prodded - although in silence. I mean, it's pretty stupid at that stage, isn't it? You know there's no hope, and so what's the point? No owner is going to let a slave wear a wedding ring, is he?

I knew what was coming next once all of us were standing there naked: the command to line up in a row. And when I put my hands on the shoulders of the guy in front of me, and felt another guy's hands on mine, was the sweat I felt coming from the fact that the sun had been hot on our bare skin, or was it because I was anticipating the humiliation of being sandwiched between the two of them in totally intimate contact? I'd often kind of laughed as I'd watched the merchandise march into the building "dick to crack", but now as we had to do it I realised something else: it was another way of signalling to me that my life had changed. I was no longer Steve, free man, but some sort of semi-animal who could be herded around like this with no one having any regard at all to my "rights": the right that any man has not to have to have contact with the bare body of another.

I was resigned to being washed in the showers, and to having my pubes clipped short and my balls shaved. It wasn't so very different from my "initiation" those few weeks before, although of course there was the threat of punishment now if I dared to resist, whereas with Charlie and the others there had been that underlying humour that underpins initiation ceremonies however much they are designed to humiliate the new man. The slave with the clippers didn't take nearly as much care not to nick my skin or hurt my balls as had happened when I was done before, either. Well, that's the difference, I thought: it doesn't matter what happens to a slave, and even though I was naked and humiliated before, the slave with the clippers had had the good sense to know that I was a free man. And, of course, a free man who he would be working for in the future, so it was in his interests to take care with me.

In spite of everything it was a relief to be given the cotton shorts - although not before we had all been lined up again dick to crack and made to stand there for the best part of an hour, and hour in which I and the guy behind me both sported an erection. And in our efforts to try to avoid it, and to try to get as comfortable as we could, our asses and dicks were rubbed together and that action only made it worse. I remembered Charlie telling me how this was all designed to make the slave understand that his life had changed, and I now knew how true this was. And I also knew how much I did appreciate the thin cotton shorts, as somehow this seemed to signal that I had at least a little humanity left and wasn't just a piece of naked flesh.

Herded into the holding cage I tried again to attract attention to my plight, reaching out through the bars and pleading (silently!) with the solitary guard in the corridor between us and the cage opposite to try to get him to understand that a terrible injustice was being done. He watched with some amusement for a bit, but then threatened me with a prodding if I didn't settle down, as it was disturbing to the other slaves. So what could I do? I joined my companions, sitting there on the floor of the cage, and feeling utterly destitute.

They didn't feed us - another means of sapping our will to resist, I suppose, so when I woke up from a night drifting in and out of sleep against the bodies of the others, I was famished. Although they showered us to make our bodies fresh and sweet, they didn't shave us the next morning - I'd heard that it was considered best for slaves to be viewed and sold with a bit of a shadow non their face as that showed prospective purchasers that we really were men. After we'd pulled on the thin cotton shorts again, we were led off and lined up outside the door to the auction room - "dick to crack" again, but not quite as bad with the shorts of course. I felt a rising excitement inside me - I'd never been in the auction room as Johnson's had been really strict about not breaking the law, and my age had prevented it. So I had no idea of what was coming, although from what Charlie had told me about the reason for giving us shorts (so we could be shocked when

we lost them!) I could imagine that I was going to have to appear naked in front of the prospective buyers - although that couldn't be all that bad, I reasoned, as at least I'd be up on the stage and not in intimate contact with them.

The line gradually shuffled forward - there was no clock or anything, but the door into the auction room seemed to open about once every five minutes to let another of us in. I tried peering over the naked shoulders of the guys in front of me, but could get no clue as to what went on. And, finally, it was my turn.

I really was not prepared for it! I'd expected to be on some sort of stage, on display so that the buyers could look at me, but it was a much more "hands on" experience than that! The guard who accompanied me had to almost force a way through the crowd of about sixty men who were inside (well, I assume they were all men, as whilst there was no prohibition on women attending auctions, I'd heard it wasn't the "done thing"). As we went through the crowd hands reached out and touched my bare skin - big, sweaty, black hands. Then the nigga in charge - he had a microphone in his hand - called out for a space to be cleared, and I was in the centre of a small circle of men who, at some sort of signal, all came closer and really began to inspect me. I felt fingers probing my biceps, running down my back and pinching around my waist as if looking for traces of fat (there were none!), lying against my belly, and cupping my ass through the shorts as if testing

the power of my butt. I was commanded to kneel, and those that wanted could then come up and grip my throat, using their thumbs to probe into the glands there to test for any swelling that might indicate a lack of health. Then some wanted to probe inside my mouth - I could taste the cigar and cigarette residue on them as their black fingers probed around the sides of my gums - I suppose the idea was to see if I had any bad teeth. I could not stop any of this. I simply had to kneel there as these men poked and explored me as if I was some sort of piece of livestock.

On my feet once more I thought the end of my ordeal was in sight when the shorts were pulled down and two of three of the men came and began to "jiggle" my balls up and down, as if weighing them. And, yes, it was a shock, even though I knew it was going to happen. And I suppose I did look startled, and embarrassed - an embarrassment that doubled and redoubled as, inevitably, my foreskin was peeled back so they could get a look at my dick head. This must be the end, I thought, and soon I'd be auctioned and it would be over. But no! One of the men who was fondling my balls and taking a particular interest in my dick (thank Christ I was so embarrassed that I didn't get an erection!) called out to the auctioneer "Can we have him strung up?", and the auctioneer nodded.

As well as the guard who had led me in, there were two others standing around who had basically kept the area around me just a little open - there were those typical big, heavyset muscular niggers who you see a lot of - and now one of them came up behind me. His arms went around my chest and I felt the fabric of his uniform and the buttons on it pressing into my back, then he leaned backwards a bit and hauled me off my feet. They must have a "system" that they were familiar with, as the other guard immediately came up and as my feet were both off the ground was able to slip something over them and around my ankles.

The next instant something tugged at me, and as the guard continued to grip my chest, my feet were pulled up into the air! There were ropes around me ankles and a motor was whining, rasing them right up. Once there was no danger of my head hitting the floor the guard let go of me and I was hoisted up so that I was hanging there in the little open circle, my head off the ground and feeling even more utterly helpless than I had before. I couldn't help thinking of when you see dead animals hung upside down in a butcher's shop - that's what I was like now, a piece of mean, hanging there, on display to the potential buyers.

If I'd been wondering why only a few of them had felt my dick before, this was the reason I discovered: it was now so much more conveniently at a height where they could examine it closely, and soon I was stroked to a hard erection, and as they tested my foreskin, sliding it on and off my dick head, I knew that I'd be starting to leak pre-cum. It was also the time to examine another part of my closely, too: my asshole! Strong fingers pried apart my butt as I hung there and I could hear the men commenting on it; and, inevitably, I suppose, they started to probe me "to see if he's a virgin". There was no lubrication, nothing - just thick black fingers pushing insistently at my sphincter until the sheer force of it made an entrance. I was wriggling and squirming as much as I could, but upside down like that there was nothing I could do to stop this violation of my most private place - and of course I could not even cry out and call them filthy

perverts, as my throat was still paralysed.

Finally, the auctioneer called "All ready, gentlemen?", and the press of bodies around me backed off slightly so I was hanging there in the middle of a little cleared circle. The auctioneer came and stood next to me as I hung there upside down, and curled one arm around me, letting his hand grab by dick and balls to steady me and stop me spinning. "So here we have a fine twenty year old buck, enslaved for non-violent offences: he failed to keep up his maintenance payments of a kid he fathered on some whitey bitch. That should tell you, gentlemen, that he's virile and fertile, and will therefore probably make a good sexual plaything once he's broken! And, as you can see, he's well muscled and strong - ideal for labouring, for gracing your park lands, or of course for duties in the bath house. And with this slave you get a choice: if you prefer the uncut look, you can leave him as he is, although as is customary at Johnson's the price of a

circumcision is included in the price you pay, if you prefer - as so many of us do - to not allow slaves to hide parts of their bodies from us. Finally, gentlemen, the slave is not guaranteed to be a virgin, although I know a number of you have detected that his ass is powerful and robust, suggesting that real delights await those of you who enjoy young whiteys like this. Now, what am I bid....?"

I hated hearing myself described like this, especially as it wasn't "me" but some other guy!. But deprived of the ability to make noise, and hanging there upside down and naked, what could I do? I hear the bids running around the room, until finally the "All done? Then "Going once, going twice.... Sold!" rang out. There was a lot of general chatter and laughter in the room then as I was lowered to the ground - they were careful not to do it too quickly - then I had to scramble to my feet and I stood there for a moment, my hands almost instinctively falling to cover my dick (although why, I don't know, as they'd all see enough of it in the last few minutes' I guess it's just a normal reaction, for a young naked guy to try to conceal himself from the eyes of those older, clothed men). The final humiliation in this room where I'd been sold just as if I was an animal was for the auctioneer to use a tick marker pen to scrawl the name of the guy who

had been successful in the bidding onto my naked ass.

Like all the others I wasn't allowed to put the shorts on again - I suppose the excitement of tearing them off no longer mattered - and eventually all the batch of "merchandise" I'd been with were all standing together in a holding cage. Some of us were unashamed and just stood there, but some still made feeble attempts to shield themselves by holding their hands in front of their crotches. We waited around, seeing the marks on our asses with our new owners' names, and I saw that some of them had all been bought by the same person - presumably as some sort of bulk labour somewhere. As fas as I could tell, though, I'd been bought by an individual, and this was confirmed as from time guards came up and took away one or more of us: the guys with the same name on their asses went off in a group.

When it was my turn I was first taken to a shower facility, where a slave once more made me "sweet" by washing away all the dried sweat from where I had been under such tension. Then, rubbed down vigorously with a rough towel so that my skin kind of glowed, I was led away to meet my owner for the first time.

When I was led into a small room I saw a Johnson's employee - the same light khaki green shirt and slacks I had been wearing so recently - and sitting in a comfortable armchair, totally at ease, a big, florid-looking nigger in those garish clothes that some of them like to wear: a standard business suit, but in a very pale blue that contrasted with his black skin. It's funny how you notice these things, but the first thing that struck me was that he was a dark black: not absolutely inky black, like those niggers who come to our country to do business from Africa; and not very, very pale brown indicating that somewhere in his ancestry there had been some sort of illic relationship with a whitey; but very dark, and, probably, proud of it as he could certainly claim to be "pure". I could see at once that he was a big man - not just physically tall, but very wide-bodied and very broad shouldered, and from the way his purple shirt was straining across his

belly, he had way, way much too much fat on him: that's probably why he was sweating so much, wiping his brow occasionally on a lime-green silk handkerchief that was otherwise kept tucked into the top [pocket of his suit jacket.

The Johnson's man was holding one of those clipboards with some sort of form on it, and after a few moments said "So, sir, this is your purchase. Formally, I have to ask - although we try not to make mistakes - is this the merchandise that you believe you bought in the auction room? Although it bears the auctioneer's mark with your name, we need to be certain."

I cringed inwardly hearing myself referred to as "it", but I knew some people did really treat slaves as if they were not men. The big nigga nodded, and added "Yes, that's the one", in a voice that was a deep baritone.

"Thank you, sir. Now you can of course take the slave away almost immediately, except that under the law, as the site of first selling, we are required to mark the slave's SIN - that's slave identification number, sir - permanently into it's hide. That's included in the auction price, and if you want it tattooed it takes only a few minutes, but if you decided it's to be branded into the flesh of the arms or ass, you will have to wait a little longer as under the new humane treatment of slaves laws that can only be done by a qualified veterinarian, and he does all of them together at the end of the day."

"No, tattooing's fine."

"So where, sir? Under the arms, on the shoulders...."

"On the forehead. In big numbers."

The Johnson's man looked really surprised. "Sir, might I suggest... Well, sir, you will be reducing it's resale value considerably, as a future owner might prefer something a little less visible...."

"I care little for resale value. When I've finished with him, I'll use him on my demesne in a role where it doesn't matter what he looks like. But he's going to be my body slave, and every time he's in the bathroom with me and he looks in the mirror, I want him to be reminded that he's a slave."

I shuddered. And if I could have protested, I would have - inking my forehead! And using me as a body slave to this huge, over weight nigger - the very thought of having to slide my hand up his huge fat ass made me feel sick.

"The other service at no additional charge, sir, is circumcision. The slave has a good foreskin, and if he's to be a body slave, I understand many owners these days enjoy the pleasure of playing with it...."

"No. 'Skin him, and none of that messing around with half measures: a good old-fashioned high and tight, so he is always totally exposed, as a slave should be."

I wanted to scream no, and my agitation communicated itself to the two niggers as the Johnson's man snapped "Easy, slave! Stand still, or you'll get prodded, even in here! You're still our property until your new owner signs the transfer document, and we don't tolerate slaves misbehaving." Then turning to my owner, he went on calmly "Don't be alarmed, sir - I'm sure the slave is not violent or anything, but our experience does show that these young males get very agitated when circumcision is discussed. They seem unnaturally attached to their 'skins, and do not understand that it is their owner's choice! And if the owner opts for gelding, it can get a little rough - yo are not selecting tat, are you, sir? It's an additional charge, but our resident veterinarian has very reasonable rates..."

I cringed, and clenched my knees together at the thought of gelding! And I suppose I knew that this man had the power to order even that destruction of my manhood, if he wanted to.

"No. I like the slave to perform sexually, and the ones I have had gelded in the past never seem to be quite as vigorous as I like - this one's a good muscular boy and I paid top dollar as I'm anticipating some years of usage, and I do not want anything detracting from it."

"Quite so, sir. And I do agree with you about the body on this one - so fresh... So... Exciting, almost, as if he's waiting on the cusp of manhood.... Although his age is given as twenty.... Anyway, with the 'skinning we normally recommend keeping the slave here overnight to make sure there's no infection - and then you can collect him in the morning, or of course use our delivery service, again included in the price."

"Can you keep him for longer? I do not want him until he is completely healed, as I like to start breaking in my new body slave as soon as he arrives - 'start as you mean to continue' is very much my motto".

I was both angry and scared now - how could they be talking about me like this ,as if I was not there? Although I suppose that, to them, I was not - a slave is only like apiece of furniture to some people. And all this stuff about using me - I wasn't a queer, and yet it sounded as if the nigga was going to use me sexually, as well as my having to act as some sort of personal valet or something.

"Typically a slave is ready for full sexual service after about three weeks of a 'skinning, sir, and to assist our clients, we at Johnson's have a special value package of three weeks full board and kennelling...... And, at no additional charge if you take that package, we include a full body tan: like so many men of his age he goes without a shirt in the sun, but I can see those unsightly white areas around his loins, and so many owners prefer an even colour.... Our high-speed tanning...."

"Stop! I too prefer an even colour, but I bought a whitey because of that: I like to see real white skin on my body slave. So absolutely no tanning - indeed, can't you do something about his arms, legs, and torso generally: bleach them to take out that sun tan, so he's the same delicious creamy-white as he is on his ass?"

"Yes, sir. We can do that instead of the tan, although I have to warn you - and it will be in the contract, sir - that some slaves can react badly to the bleach and any damage to the skin is at your own risk."

My owner shrugged, in acceptance.

"....and, sir, I will warn you that although he's a 'whitey', he's not really white: more that sort of pale pink you see on the ass, sir. The bleach will not get him whiter than that. And even then, not all over: like in proper men, sir, the shaft of the penis will be of a darker hue, and the head, when exposed, darker still..."

"Indeed, yes! And, of course, there will be that agreeable change of shade on the penis, where the circumcision mark is." My owner sounded very enthusiastic now. "What attracted me to this boy particularly is the fact that he has those very large dark aureoles - so many whiteys have very pale tits, barely visible: but these are so much more defined. And his asshole, too - a very good contrast. Seen from behind, with his cheeks pulled apart, his asshole is nicely prominent and the way his balls hang down so loose.... It's all very appealing."

The Johnson's man nodded again "Yes, sir, I can see that. A very good buy there, sir."

"...so much so that I do not want any part of his skin obscured. He's very hairy, like so many whiteys, in spite of the way you've trimmed his pubic hair and exposed his balls. I want him totally exposed, so please ensure that every scrap of hair is removed from his body. And teach him how to keep it shaved off - I do not like having to have other slaves come into my private apartment to maintain him, and it is easier for him to learn how to squat and shave his own ass, and so on."

"Total body shave, sir?"

"Yes, except for his eyebrows - trim them severely, but keep some vestiges of them. And for his head - the hair totally shaved except for a circular patch five inches in the centre on top - no trimming of that, as I like it to grow as it gives me something to grip when I am using his throat.

I listened appalled at the way I was going to be turned into some man's idea of a sex toy. But what could I do? I watched as my owner signed the Johnson's form, and then was led away.

End Of Part Twelve