Passing

PASSING

A story by Pete Brown (petebrownuk@yahoo.com)

Part Seventeen

Dave's Punishment. I do not take part. It costs! Training squaddies

As Dave lay there thrashing his legs around as the sergeant had predicted and making all sorts of unintelligible noises through the gag I saw the end of the butt plug forcing his cheeks apart. It looked huge, and the sergeant saw my look of astonishment and horror.

"Your friend was really troublesome so we decided to teach him to respect the orders of the police", he told me, laughing. "Normally we do plug slaves as they can get so nervous as we process them that they can lose control of their bowels, and then there's a terrible mess - and smell! But this idiot kept thrashing around and complaining and swearing, so after we'd forced the normal plug in, my men thought he would benefit from finding out what it would be like for him if his new owner was a big' man, or if he liked to see his slaves being fucked by a big nigga. So we took it out and forced in the nigga special', as we call it - all twelve thick inches of it. But don't worry - we're experts at this, and although it took a long time and your friend was screaming and crying, there's no permanent damage - his sphincter won't be torn or anything like that, just stretched a lot!" He looked at me and laughed again. "Not a bad thing, perhaps. He seemed to be very tight, probably a virgin. And now you'll be able to get in there much more easily."

"I don't...."

The sergeant shrugged. "Oh yes, I forgot. You two just wank each other, like school friends you said. Still, as I say, you can go further now. We could take it out and let you go up him whilst he's still secured, if you wanted..."

"No!" Well I had wanted to fuck Dave as you know, but there was no way I was going to do it here, with these men watching me. But I did start to wonder if there was any way I might be able to lure Dave on to a "horse" when we were back at home. It was probably the only way I was going to get to fuck him.

It was the sergeant himself who was going to administer the caning, I then realised. He was a big man, and he stood there swishing the long, thin Malacca cane through the air, making that characteristic "whooshing" noise. Then without warning the next slice wasn't through the air - it landed on Dave's bum!

I watched in astonishment as Dave's whole body spasmed as the cane struck, and his unintelligible muttering and crying through the gag changed into a howl of pure anguish. And then I saw the bright red line across Dave's white bum appear so suddenly.

The sergeant struck again, and again, and again. And he was an artist, I realised - each cane stripe was parallel to the others, all neatly the same distance apart. It was reflexes that were making Dave thrash around now each time the cane struck, I realised. He no longer had control of his body at all, and at some point he wasn't able to hold himself in and a great stream of piss hit the floor.

The sergeant stopped for a moment and as if affirming the rightness of what was going on said "See, that's why we plug them. It's not so bad to get the piss up, but a lot of the slaves I cane in here lose control of the bowels too, and that's really vile. It puts me off my stroke, I can tell you", and with that he continued to swipe at Dave.

I watched in horror as Dave's bum turned red all over, then as the caning continued it went sort of purple and ugly ridges began to appear in the flesh. And soon there was blood, too, where the cane had broken the skin. Dave was no longer making any intelligible noises at all, just a prolonged, desperate wailing. And he'd stopped thrashing around, too - it was as if he was resigned to taking it, or had simply run out of energy.

The sergeant stopped, and was breathing hard. I could see patches of damp in the pits of his shirt as he had been exerting such force with the cane. "Has he had enough, do you think?"

"Yes, yes. Yes of course. He's raw, that blood... The colour..."

"Well I'm not finished. He's only had 25 of the 30 he's due. But if you think he's had enough, do you want me to stop?"

"Oh yes, please. Please."

The sergeant smiled at me now, a wicked sadistic smile. "Very well then, I will stop beating him. But the punishment must be finished, so drop your clothes, we'll plug you, and we'll put you on the horse and you can take the last five strokes."

"No way..."

"I thought you said your friend had had enough! Are you telling me he hasn't? That he can take five more?"

The bastard! He had me There was no way I could strip in front of these men, and no way they were going to put a huge butt plug in me, and no way I was going to get caned. But I had said Dave had had enough."

The sergeant laughed out loud now. "That's what usually happens! Friends, lovers, dads and sons, brothers, cousins.... Everyone wants me to stop but none of them will ever agree to take over", and he then simply laid in to Dave again and I had to endure seeing five more terrible injuries to Dave's bum.

When he had finished the sergeant looked at me again. "Now, get your friend out of here. Fast. Before I change my mind and decide to charge you with being an accessory..."

"Accessory to what...?"

"Oh, well, you gave him permission to use your car, didn't you? The charge might not stick, but we'll hold you here in the cells. We have 72 hours, you know. And a lot can happen to a man in 72 hours - not from us, of course, but from the other prisoners. They can be `encouraged' to deal with a prisoner we don't like..."

I was going to argue with him but was now afraid, very afraid, of this man's power. I was used to making decisions, giving orders, and being rich I usually got my way. Now though I realised that this sergeant, a "nothing", had all the power. I was beginning to understand why there all those stories and so on about living in a police state and how terrible it can be. Power like that in the hands of thugs, with no effective checks - I'd guessed the TV cameras were turned off in the room - was dreadful.

They let me go and fetch my car form the parking and bring it around to the front, and when I got back they had released Dave's arms from the horse, but he was still lying there, making sobbing noises. I went over and undid the straps holding the ball gag in place and got it out of his mouth, then as affectionately as I could whispered "You'll be OK now. I'll take you home..."

The sergeant watched me then said casually "Take the butt plug out too, sir."

It revolted me to even think about touching Dave's bloody, damaged bum, let alone trying to get a butt plug out - especially as there had been all that talk about men losing control of their bowels. Even if I could make myself do it, I might get covered in shit. So I snapped "I'll leave it in. We've got about an hour's drive, and I don't want any accidents in my car..."

"Released prisoners are not allowed to remove property of the Essex Constabulary. The plug needs to stay here."

I was angry now. "Get your men to take it out then", I snapped.

"It is the responsibility of the prisoner to remove the Constabulary's items. So as it seems that as this one is in no fit state to do it, and in the absence of any help from `friends', he will be taken back to the cells until he is able to perform the task himself. It may take a day or two, and by then he may also be able to dress himself - the clothing that was removed from him has been kept safe."

Thinking about how tight Dave's jeans always were I knew that they could not now fit him without terrible pain, if the swelling wasn't so great that they could fit him at all. The thought of leaving Dave in this dreadful place was terrible, but there didn't seem much else to be done. Then I had it. "Sergeant, perhaps I could compensate the Constabulary for its property, and the clothes are of no importance- they could be donated to the homeless..."

When I saw the sergeant give that smile again and I knew I had been outwitted one more. "That will be 150 then, sir".

I was going to tell him to fuck off as although I am not very familiar with the prices of strange sex items, I do know they couldn't possibly cost more than 50. But being kind of "trapped", and hating it, very, very reluctantly I got out my wallet. Fortunately I always carry lots of cash in addition to my card, and so I was able to hand over the "ransom".

There was no way I could life Dave off the horse I soon realised - he was incapable of standing, and he is, as I've said, a big muscular man. And muscle weighs. I needed help, and the sergeant was simply standing there, smiling again, as were the two ordinary policemen. I wasn't going to be held to ransom again, so said calmly "I'd like to make a further donation to the station's funds, specifically those that help officers. I was wondering if the two officers could help me with my friend, and could show me the donations box on the way out." As I said this I opened my wallet and let them all see me counting six crisp 50s.

The sergeant nodded, told his men to pick Dave up, and held out his hand saying that he would see that my generous donation reached the right people!

As they got Dave to his feet I couldn't help but see he was erect - I'd say "ragingly erect" as I know that some men do get that way when taking a beating. But the ring around Dave's cock was sort of preventing that, as although his shaft was engorged with blood, the head was still mostly its normal size, but looked an unhealthy shade of dark blue. The ring was almost sunk in to the flesh of his cock, and it must be hurting terribly. But perhaps Dave didn't know, I thought, as he was in so much pain elsewhere.

The sergeant saw me looking at it and for a moment I feared there'd be another "request" for money, but he laughed again and told me that "We don't charge for those rings. They're like a little gift to released prisoners from us. A little reminder not to cross the Essex police." I felt like hitting him, but clenched my fists impotently. "They're quite easy to get on once you've subdued the prisoner, but an absolute bugger to get off - especially if the prisoner is showing signs of enjoying his punishment. They enjoy it so much, many of them, that they have a semi-erection for hours and hours, and there's no way the ring can slide off..."

The two officers were holding Dave between them, his arms draped feebly around their necks, and they tried to walk him out. But he had no power in his legs, so they dragged him, his bare toes scraping across the floor. As they went past the sergeant he slapped Dave's bum with his open palm, causing Dave to jerk, scream and cry again. The sergeant looked at his bloodstained palm and remarked "A good job, well done - this one will never speed again, I can guarantee that."

Even with the biggest BMW there's surprisingly little room in the back so Dave could not lie across the back seats. But I remembered that one feature of the model I had was that it was designed to mostly be driven by chauffeurs, and owners might wish to sleep. So after some fumbling with the instructions from my phone, I managed to find the button that fully reclined the passenger front set so it slid right back and down, making a totally flat surface from the front to the rear as it kind of "dovetailed" in to the rear seat. Fortunately, as I did not dare risk disobeying the rules, those clever Germans had also though about the problem of the mandatory wearing of seat belts and it seemed that once the engine started and the car felt someone lying down, special safety belts would emerge to hold the body still.

Even so, getting Dave in, and to get him to lie on his belly, was difficult and resulted in a lot of screams of agony, and I was glad that like all BMWs the upholstery was leather as the blood would certainly spoil the cloth stuff in cheaper cars. Even so I did wonder if it would be possible to obliterate all signs of the blood from the smooth, soft, pale cream hide.

The journey back was terrible. Dave was groaning and moaning all the time and was not really capable of coherent speech so I couldn't talk to him. And when I switched on the entertainment system to listen to a favourite Mozart piano concerto, the noise from him completely spoiled it. The music didn't blot out the sight of Dave, though - it was gut-wrenching to see his bum, now deeply dark blue and purple, streaked with blood, and with unsightly lines of ridges all across it. If I could have managed to stop in the heavy traffic I would have got the picnic blanket out of the boot and covered him up, as I felt that the weight of it on his battered bum could hardly make his suffering all that much worse and it would make me feel a whole lot better.

I'd called ahead so as soon as I stopped the car Greg and Tim rushed out, and when he saw the state of Dave, Greg went straight back inside to bring out the niggas for their second "outing". With lots of screaming and howling they managed to get Dave out and carried him into that room where he normally did all his little modifications to slaves, which was therefore easy to clean of blood and stuff. They laid Dave on a table, and Tim fussed around his head, stroking him and trying to soothe him. Dave was hoist by his own petard a little now though as there were no painkilling drugs there. He had told me he thought it was good for slaves to experience the "discomfort" when they were `skinned and so on as it was a good reminder to them of their new status, and so he had never applied for one of the special certificate that allowed slave dealers and veterinarians to buy strong anaesthetics for use in simple operations on slaves. We could, and did, give him some aspirin though, but it wasn't all that much use.

Tim had a bowl of warm water and was starting to stroke the blood off Dave's bum, very carefully, and very gently. I said that I thought there should be some disinfectant in it, and with a rare show of defiance Tim snapped at me "It's hurting enough, sir! I'm trying to clean him up first."

Greg was watching, then noticed the end of the butt plug as Dave squirmed around trying to get comfortable. He looked horrified, then went and put a hand on the small of Dave's back as if to hold him steady (not really helpful as Dave was so strong he could easily move, but perhaps it was "comforting") then began to slowly, very slowly, "unscrew" the plug. Greg motioned to the niggas at one point and they held Dave's ankles and pulled them wide apart to allow Greg to get a proper grip on it, and the cries and shouts from Dave intensified.

It was disgusting - covered in shit, and really huge. The niggas both had erections, and as I have said they are both big, well-hung males, but the plug dwarfed even them. Greg looked sort of accusingly and muttered towards me "He'll feel a bit better now. This could have been done earlier, you know." I didn't bother to reply as he was technically correct, but he clearly had not appreciated how I felt at the time, which, as my slave, he really ought to have.

I suppose I should have stayed and comforted Dave, but the next thing that happened really turned me off. They noticed the ring around Dave's cock, behind the head, digging in to the cock flesh as he was amazingly still semi-erect. Greg and Tim were astonished, and Dave's new slave, Milo who he had bought to replace the reception girl that had been here when I first visited Dave came and looked over their shoulders. "Like the secret police in my country", he told them. "All of us freedom fighters were ringed like that if we were caught. They thought it was funny."

I remembered than that Dave had told me that Milo was some sort of mid-European illegal immigrant who supposedly had been escaping persecution and who had been trying to get in to the country. Like all illegals he had got his wish to stay here - but as a slave, as the penalty for trying to evade the border controls is, as you would expect, enslavement. He was a good looking man actually - about 28, I'd guess, and kind of thin without being skinny. He was very hairy, like a lot of those mid-Europeans, with a good thatch on his pecs, a really nice trail across his belly, and arms and legs with lots of his black hair. Dave had not shaved his head or even cropped it, so he had rather interesting short curly black hair. As with all Dave's slaves he wore only tiny shorts around the place, and when Dave had first got him I felt certain he would have fucked his interesting ass. And, I suppose, he still did when he fancied a change.

"It must be got off", Milo told us in his heavy, but somehow appealing, accent. "If us freedom fighters left our rings on and they cut into the flesh like this you get the infection. And the more it's infected the bigger it swells and the more difficult it is to get it off."

Well we could all see that, but how?

Without asking permission Milo told Greg to turn Dave over so he was belly-up, pulling Dave along the table so his bum was over the edge. Then Milo began to squeeze Dave's cock head, making a kind of three-pronged vice with his thumb and two fingers then pressing and almost pummelling at Dave's inflamed skin. Dave was moaning and groaning still from the beating, and so I couldn't tell if this was hurting him too - although he began to kick his legs and Milo rather curtly ordered Greg to sit astride his belly and for Tim to grab his feet and hold them so Dave was effectively immobilised.

It took a long time, with Dave's pronounced flange around his head really having to be pushed and pummelled, but finally the thing was off. Milo looked pretty pleased with his efforts and told us "I have done many like this for my fellows", and then ordered Tim to bathe Dave's cock to get the blood off, and then to apply disinfectant. "Man's cock no good if it rots", he added.

I was determined to leave now though and told Greg to take charge of Tim, Milo and the niggas until Dave recovered. And, I added, he was to go and see those "squaddies" and order them to wank off for him as the next time I was there I would want to see them do it for me and they may as well practice. "And you know how I like it, Greg, the way I make you do it for me. I want to see them kneeling, feet together, knees apart so they are totally exposed. Bums on heels, nice straight backs. Then a good vigorous wank, and catch the cum with the other hand. I'll let them do it naturally the first time, but in future they'll need to learn to do it properly with their `other' hands - it's more difficult for them, I know, but more interesting to watch."

"No way, no way, sir... They won't do it. Not in front of other blokes..."

"Well teach them. Use the cane - you've seen here what it can do."

Greg looked doubtful, very doubtful, but I wanted to get out of the place as the sight of Dave all battered like that was making me feel unwell, so I left without pursuing the argument - not that I should need to argue with a slave!

Curiously, although I had felt absolutely no sexual desire seeing Dave like that, on the drive back to my flat I began to get hard, and the more I thought about the beating I had seen and the way Dave's nipples and cock had been tortured, and the dildo forced into him, it got harder and harder! I felt I was leaking pre-cum, and it was actually uncomfortable as I had well-tailored trousers that fit rather snugly. So when I did get in and saw Jason I took him - there and then, on one of the big sofas in the living room! I pulled his shorts down and threw him across the back of it, pushed my trousers down and went straight in - well, I did take a bit of care as I don't usually fuck Jason and I did not want to damage him. And, anyway, it's not particularly comfortable, is it, to take an ass without any lube?

I ought to have got up the following morning and gone straight over to Dave's, but I was looking at another deal and had to work with Jason to give him details of what he was to do. Then there was a lunch with an old colleague, and somehow by early evening I was too tired and just wanted to do something mindless like watch TV as Jason knelt there attentively in case I wanted more sex. The next day was crowded with "stuff", too, so it was only on the third day that I got to go over to Leyton, and then I had to spend the whole morning examining the operation at the S&D Outlet to decide what changes I was going to make, so it was quite late before I actually got to Dave's.

He was wearing one of his shirts, but was otherwise naked - it was rather amusing to see his legs sticking out from under the tails, although it was properly cut and the tails were long enough to hide his bum and his cock. I assumed it was still too painful to wear even shorts.

"You've taken fucking long enough...." He began, rather aggressively.

"What did you expect? A visitor to the sick bringing you a bunch of grapes? I have got other things to do, you know, and Greg was here to look after things."

"Here I am, almost dying because of you, and you can't even be bothered..."

I was angry now. "Because of me? Who was the fucking idiot that drove my car at 105 after drinking? But who was it who saved you from becoming a slave? I think a bit of a `Thanks...' Might be appropriate!"

"Saved me from being a slave? But allowed those coppers to fuck me, to beat me, to..."

"Oh stop exaggerating. They didn't fuck you. It was only a dildo..."

"Only...?" Dave was almost screaming now. "Did you see the size of it?"

"Yes. And a good thing, too. You're always worrying about your tight ass, never letting me..."

I thought he was about to hit me, and I needed to cool it. So I lowered my voice a bit and said calmly "Look, the next time you're so fucking stupid as to get yourself enslaved be sure to call me in lots of time so I can rescue you again. If it hadn't been for them calling about my car, you'd have been on the auction platform by now, and some big guy with a long fat cock would have had it up you..." I paused for effect and went on "Or, perhaps, don't bother. Get to be a slave, but make sure the auctioneers send me the brochure. Then I can come along and buy you, and it will cost me a whole lot less than I had to pay in bribes to get you free. And as my slave, you wouldn't dare be so fucking ungrateful. And you'd probably be so glad that I'd saved you from other buyers that you'd kiss my cock in gratitude, then slobbered all over it and beg me to use your ass!"

Dave's one of those guys who flies into a temper very quickly but for whom it dissipates even faster. Now that grin started to appear, and he gave a little shrug. But not a "thank you" or anything - still, it was a start. "I was just going to look at those slaves you bought - I haven't felt like it until now. They're not getting very `broken', if you ask me, judging by the noise from the holding area."

"I told Greg take care of it."

"Well let's go and see, shall we?"

As we went out into the corridor and then in through the door into the holding area the noise started - shouting, swearing.... Eight men can make a hell of a row. They were all standing there and Dave snapped "Silence!", and then, when it barely diminished "Fucking stop this noise. If you want to get fed today, that is...."

Well that seemed to do it, as I suppose they recognised there was no way out and that they were totally reliant on us. So I decided it was my turn, and said calmly "Line up against the bars, stick your cocks out into the corridor and wank."

Well, that did it! The noise started immediately, although it now had a very unpleasant homophobic tone to it! These slaves evidently did not appreciate that when an owner gives a perfectly reasonable order they were required to obey, whatever they thought about it.

Greg whispered to me "It's to be expected, sir. Squaddies like these, they're all men, `real men', as they'd say. All with wives and girlfriends. They think wanking's for kids, and queers...."

"And slaves, when ordered to, Greg.. And didn't I tell you to train them as I was expecting to see them do it?"

"Ys, sir. But it's not that simple. They're free men..."

"No, Greg, they're slaves. And even when they were free men, they were in the Army, as were you. And aren't you always telling me how soldiers are disciplined, always obey the orders of their superior officers? You're always reminding me of that, and I sometimes think you're implying that I'm not as good as one of your officers when I give you an order."

Greg stood there in silence, and I snapped "So answer me!"

"Sir, please. Of course they obey orders. But you can't expect them to start doing things like wanking together. They're a squad, a platoon, good mates, good comrades, always looking out for each other..."

"You had charge of men like this didn't you, Greg? You were a sergeant or something?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well then, Greg, let me tell you what's going to happen next. You're going to take these slaves - ex-squaddies - and turn them into properly obedient slaves. You can make like a superior officer. And then perhaps you'll see how difficult it is sometimes for me, your `superior', to control you. Now, strip off."

"Sir?"

"You heard me. Get naked. And then I'm going to lock you in there with them so you can all do this bonding' thing you're always telling me about as being the strength of the army. You can train them, not only in obeying orders, but in how to wank, in case they've forgotten as they're no longer kids'. And when all nine of you are doing it properly in front of me, you can get back to being my slave. I think a little time back in the `army' will make you realise how easy your life is with me."

He glared at me, and Dave and Tim, and the slaves in the cage who had heard some of this, all went stonily silent.

"Do it!", I snapped. "Or I'll use the goad and you'll be part of the stock here, rather than part of the management!"

Still glaring, really very defiantly, Greg pulled his T up over his head, and I felt a momentary twinge of regret on seeing his lovely flat belly and delicious pecs - if it didn't work, if I'd gone too far, I might be losing this as there was no way I could back down. But then he dropped his shorts and kicked them defiantly across the corridor. Dave gestured and Milo took Dave's keys and opened the door - Dave stood there with the goad, in case the slaves tried to make a break for it - and Greg stepped in.

The cage was already rather crowded, as I've told you, but with Greg in there as well here was no way that the men could prevent their bodies from touching and even pressing against each other. To see the contrast was excitingly erotic, though: the eight much younger men, all kind of pale around their loins, with their fashionable' pubic bushes, and their foreskins. And Greg, bigger and more muscular than them, nicely tanned, neatly clipped, and skinned. I was looking forward to my next visit.

After that I thought I ought to explain my plans properly to Dave and "ask" his approval, so we spent the afternoon discussing how we were to operate Dave's Slaves in the old S&D Outlet building. We had already agreed "males only" as you know, and we discussed continuing with the policy of using some slaves as guards and trainers as Dave already did with the niggas. Obviously it would have been simpler to restrict our stock to whiteys or chinks or mexes, with all the slave helpers being niggas, as this was a simple way of avoiding confusion. But Dave wisely pointed out that there was always a ready sale for niggas, as some owners liked to imagine themselves back in the ante-bellum USA and boss around strings of niggas. So we had to think of some other way of managing this.

We also agreed that we were going to be a full service kind of place, offering the branding, tattooing, grooming and `skinning services as Dave already did on a small scale. Dave was keen to do a lot of this himself, leaving me to be in charge of sales, but I pointed out that he was very much the "managing partner' in this venture and that although I was always ready to help with ales and especially with marketing ideas, I did have other things to do as I intended to manage a number of financial deals too. So some recruitment would be necessary. And finally we got to talking about the existing S&D staff, with whom I had not been impressed when I last visited. It was agreed that I would go and interview them all and decide which to keep, before we did recruitment.

That seemed to be that, and I was about to go home when Dave asked me to stay, as he wanted some company. There didn't seem much point as I like a good night's sleep, and having him moaning and groaning in bed, and unable to move and do all the things we like, seemed to make it pointless. But I did say I'd stop for dinner, and Milo was sent out to the local takeaways to bring some stuff back.

We were both pleasantly surprised when the meal was surprisingly tasty, and Milo stood there grinning. It seems he knew a bit about cooking and so had spent time "modifying" the takeaways to make them more appetising and interesting. Mind you, he had bought a lot, and he and Tim stood there watching us eat until Dave told them to sit down and get stuck in too. Tim was putting out another plate and I asked him why, and he said he was saving some for Greg to take to him later. "Absolutely not!", I told him. "Greg is in with the slaves: he is a slave, remember - and until he has them trained he will do as they do. And they only get slave chow." I looked at him and Milo and went on "It will anyway do him good to realise what a cushy number he has - indeed, what all you slaves who work directly for Dave and me have."

End Of Part Seventeen