Someone Has To Do It
By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part 4
That Andy was pretty smart, actually. He soon learned the simple equation connecting unwillingness to obey orders and likely painful outcome. And I also think he was like a lot of blokes - they actually like sex, but they're sort of afraid, ashamed, worried, scared, or something, to actually do anything about it. Once you've broken a lot of the artificial constraints that stop a healthy fit young bloke from enjoying himself, all of a sudden he finds stuff that he wished he'd known about before. I'm not saying that Andy actually got to like taking cock, but once he'd had his up young Leigh's bum once or twice, he couldn't get enough of it.
I did pretty well at training them, therefore, as Leigh was an enthusiastic kind of kid and he wasn't old enough to have been corrupted by the "if it isn't cunt you shouldn't fuck it" myth and he started to take part really uninhibitedly in the exercises I devised for them. In fact I was so pleased with his progress that on the Thursday night I decided I'd take him home with me - not for sex, you understand, but because a lad like that was likely to be employed primarily as a waiter or valet or cleaner or some other household job like that (with satisfying his owner's sexual needs as a secondary thing), and I thought it might help him if he got in a bit of practice at general household chores. Well, my place was a bit of a pigsty, as I've told you, and it would be easier for me to use him to clean it up than it would be to do it myself.
I'd really rather have taken Andy, as we had more in common, both having been in the forces, and I liked his body more. And being that bit older, too, we'd have something to talk about: at sixteen, Leigh was still obsessed with boy bands and the latest happenings on the pop scene, about which he could prattle on for hours, and about which neither Andy nor I knew the first thing! That is a problem that a lot of older blokes who buy young servants find, I'd imagine: after you've fucked them you do need to talk about something, and you haven't got a lot in common. Well, that's what I find, whenever I've just fucked a really young guy and we're lying there in that companionable after-sex way when you're really close - if you've not got a lot in common, something you can talk about, it all falls rather flat I find. Still, I knew I was unlikely to get permission to take Andy out as he was still judged as being potentially capable of running, and my place did need a really good clean.... So I decided that Leigh would have to do.
I got the Boss's permission and presented his pass to Charlie on the gate as I led him out to my car, but as bad luck would have it just as he was standing there in his brief slave shorts that fucking Lieutenant Andrews came out. He watched as I fumbled with my keys (the central locking had long since given up the ghost), and called out "Hey, can't you get enough of it at work? You have to take your bum boy home with you, do you?"
"It's for his training", I countered, and he just laughed. "Hasn't he learned how to take your cock yet?"
I was furious. I mean, I really did want Leigh to do the cleaning - it's my job to train these men to take cock, after all, and I really don't want to do it outside of work time as I like women, as you know. Still, it was no use explaining that to that stupid lieutenant, so I just got in to the car, leaned over and opened the door for Leigh, and then drove off. Yes, I know that traditionally indentureds are carried in the boot, but mine's full of crap like my dirty running kit from when I last went to the park, and some empty beer bottles I keep meaning to take to the recycling place. Anyway, he's a nice kid and he was unlikely to try to make a run for it just in those shorts - still, to be on the safe side and to make sure he didn't do anything stupid in the traffic jams that are an almost inevitable feature of my drive home, I told Leigh to slip his shorts off.
He looked at me almost in amazement, and I had to tell him again. "You heard me the first time Leigh. Now, be a good boy and do as you're told. There's no law against a permanent indenture going naked, you know. And, anyway, you're here in the car with me."
I thought he might cry as he seemed to be so embarrassed. He whispered "Please, sir, no... Someone might see... I used to live around here.... The guys from school.... Even my mum...."
"Leigh, let me tell you something. Firstly, you've got a nice cock, a good set of balls, and a pleasing body. So you've got absolutely nothing to be ashamed of - believe me, I've seen enough naked blokes to know! So if any of your old school friends see you, it doesn't matter - they're in for a bit of a treat, actually. And secondly, I know it sounds hard, but you've no longer got a mom! All that family stuff is null and void when you get a lifetime indenture. Now, do as you're told - I don't want to have to stop the car, put you over the bonnet, and spank you."
Flushing with embarrassment he arched his body upwards and pulled his shorts down from under his bum, then pushed them down his legs and sat there, naked. I laughed then at what I assumed to be his reluctance to strip - he was like a lot of blokes, and the moment they start to go somewhere in a car they get hard. Reaching over I grasped his erect cock and shook it a bit, adding "You're really funny, Leigh, you know that, do you? I've seen this often enough this week that you oughtn't to be embarrassed about it!"
He didn't say much as we drove along, but when we got to my place he almost begged me to be allowed to put his shorts back on before we walked from the car park to the front door. And once he was inside, I saw him looking in dismay at the empty bottle, unwashed plates, and general chaos that, I admit, did look pretty grim. I told him to make a start on clearing it up, though, and to fetch me a beer. I slipped a porno in the DVD player and I have to say I was a bit surprised - it was somehow much more erotic to watch the DVD with nearly naked Leigh going around clearing up, then doing washing up and the dusting. The kid didn't have much experience with ironing, though, as he said his mother used to do his, so I think I did some good as he made a right mess of my jeans at first, until I gave him a couple of slaps on the bum and told him to do it again - some blokes wouldn't be so considerate, and an owner might have punished him a lot more. Mind you, I can see why those who can afford indentured servants have them: after about three hours my place really did look different, and he'd even done things like remaking the bed after the sheets had been in the washing machine!
He was sweating a lot and looked generally a bit grimy from his efforts though, so I told him to take a bath.
He shut the bathroom door at first! Well, you can't have that, can you? I mean, not only was it just conceivable that he might be trying to escape through the window, but more importantly an indentured has no business being concerned about his modesty like that. I went in therefore and stood and hosed a big stream of piss down the lavatory as he sat in the bath watching me, then just to show him there was nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about, I slowly and deliberately slipped off my own clothes and climbed into the bath with him. It was a tight fit, as I'm a big bloke, and at first he thought he was supposed to get out, but I pulled him down and sat him in-between my legs, and it was kind of interesting to have his fresh young back in front of me, and I enjoyed soaping it, and then reaching around and soaping his chest and belly - and, as you might expect, I couldn't resist just having a little play with his nips.
I told him to get out then, though, but said he was to kneel by the side of the bath so he could wash my back for me, and then I half lay down so that my belly and cock were above the surface, and told him to wash me there, too. He was kind of scared at first about 'skinning me back to wash my cock properly, but I soon found myself having an erection, and then he did seem to find it easier. And there's another reason why you should get an indentured if you haven't already done so, too: there's something really nice about having another bloke dry you as you just stand there - it's so much easier than having to reach all around yourself to dry everywhere, to have someone like Leigh do it.
To tell you the truth I hadn't thought where he was going to sleep, and my old settee isn't all that comfortable and it didn't seem fair to inflict it on him. So once I was dry and in bed, and he was standing there looking as if he ought to ask what to do, I pulled the covers back and said "Hop in here, then."
I'm a hairy bloke as I think I've told you, but young Leigh wasn't, and his skin was soft. He lay there on the edge of the bed at first until I reached out and put my arm around him and pulled him close, and then it was almost like being in bed with a bird, especially when he kind of snuggled up close to me... Well, except, of course, that when I reached over and ran my hand down his belly I found a cock, rather than a cunt! Still, my own cock was hard now and I wondered whether just to wank myself as usual, or to have Leigh do it, or perhaps even suck me off. But as I lay there and my cock started pushing at his smooth young bum, I thought "why not?" As I've said, it was a bit like "bringing work home with me", but I did need sex or else I'd never get to sleep, and his bum was very enticing.
I fucked him in a way I'd not done before, with him lying absolutely flat on the bed, face down. I knelt straddling his thighs then prised his bum apart and entered him slowly and gently. It's really nice to fuck a slim young guy this way, as I'm sure those of you who have done it will agree, as your legs are not stretched too far apart as they would be with a beefy bloke, and you can lean right forward to kiss or nuzzle his ears and neck, or stroke all along the length of his back - it's kind of sensual, I think. Mind you it's not all that comfortable for the guy taking the cock, as the angle's a bit wrong as his bum isn't in the air, and you do get a lot of stretching of him as you go in. Leigh was moaning and even whimpering occasionally, even though I fucked him really gently, as this position does encourage a lot of short, little strokes, I find.
It was really nice to sleep with my arms wrapped around someone again, even though Leigh's sleep was a bit disturbed and he occasionally called out in the night, as if he was having a bad dream. And at about two o'clock when he woke me with one of these random noises, I found it hard to get to sleep again. I turned him around in my arms so he was facing me and began to play with his body gently, just to amuse myself, really, scratching his nips, tickling that lovely sensitive area right behind his balls, kissing the tip of his nose... All the stuff you can do in bed with another person. He was still asleep, but his body reacted by giving him an erection, making him almost cling to me as his arms wrapped around my neck, and sighing gently as my hands ran over him. I felt so comfortable with him in my arms like that, seeing him so obviously relaxed, that I decided not to fuck him again, but instead kissed him a bit harder, on the mouth this time, until he half woke up; and then I guided his hands down to my own erect cock and got him to wank me as I lay there in the warmth and comfort of the bed.
I was really sad to have to take him back to the training school the next day, actually. It was so much more convenient to have a young bloke like that around to clean the place and keep it neat, and to go to bed with - I mean, no need for all that picking up women in bars, trying to get them to come back with you, then all the stuff about are you satisfying them... Let alone persuading them to clean the place, change the sheets, and all that stuff. As I drove in through the traffic with Leigh beside me I wished I had a few tens of thousands of pounds to spare to buy a lad like him - it would make my life a whole lot easier and more enjoyable, I can tell you. But of course as it was I didn't even have a few tens of pounds spare!
I'd basically finished with Andy and Leigh that day, and as it was Friday and the end of the month, pay day, I persuaded Rob to have a quick drink with me after work. "Only one though, Steve", he said. "We're off on holiday tomorrow. Or, rather, Julie's off to a conference in Cyprus, and she's told me I'm to go as well, as we're taking the kids too - all the hotel and everything will be classed as a business expense for her, against tax, and she only has to spend about an hour a day actually at the meetings and the rest of the time we'll go in the pool, or hit the beaches. Lanzerote's really good at this time of year, warm and sunny, and without most of the crowds."
I felt really jealous of him as I hadn't been abroad since I left the marines as I couldn't afford it, but still, that's Rob for you. I did wonder, though, what it would be like to be kind of "kept" as he was by Julie. I wasn't sure a man would really feel like a man with his wife making all the decisions, and earning big money. Still, we've been mates for a long time, so I wished him well - I knew that when Rob said "one drink" that's what it would be, as Julie liked him to be home on time.
If only I'd left the bar then life would have been very different. But as I was finishing another pint and watching the news on the TV above the bar, that fucking lieutenant and some of his squad came in. They must have been celebrating something or other, as you don't usually get officers and men drinking together, do you? But perhaps it's different when they're being hired out as security for what is effectively a private establishment. I wished I'd changed out of my uniform, as I usually did before going home, as then they might not have seen me. No such luck, though, and soon I heard quiet conversation, followed by bursts of loud laughter, and as I looked across, I could see that they were talking about me, and then all laughing.
I should have let it go. They were just a lot of ignorant squaddies. I should have got up and walked out. But I'm not like that, so I went over, and said "Is there something funny, then?"
One of them tried to cool it, as he could probably see that I was clenching and unclenching my fists in the classic preparation for a fight, and said "OK, mate, no harm done...." but the lieutenant leant over and said something to the others, and they all burst out laughing again.
"Look, what's so fucking funny?" My voice was rising now, as I was getting really angry.
"Oh, Steve", the lieutenant said, "I was just telling my men here about how you took that little bum boy home with you..."
"I was training him...."
"I bet!", one of the others shouted out, and they all fell about laughing again.
"Look", I protested, my voice shouting now. "We all work at the training centre. You guard them, I train them... "
"Yes, Steve, I bet you really do train them! Train them like that bum boy you had all week..."
"They're lifetime indentures... Someone's got to do it!", I countered.
"Yes, but they don't have to enjoy it!", the lieutenant countered, and all his squad fell about laughing. And that's when I hit him. And hit him again. And the last thing I remember is the boots of the squaddies starting to land on me as they all piled in.
I got home somehow, and they'd been clever - well, in the army you get to know how to scrap in pubs, don't you? So no broken ribs or anything, but a hell of a lot of bruises. And my face was messed up a fair bit - a lot of bruising, a cut over my eye, a thick lip. I took some aspirin and went to bed, groaning softly, and the next morning when I had to get up to go in to work as I was working the weekend shift, I could barely get out of bed without wincing. But I made it - I guess it comes from the marines training, when you never miss going on duty promptly.
I might as well not have bothered, though. As soon as I arrived Charlie on the gate said the Boss wanted to see me, and the moment I went into his office he told me I was fired! That fucking lieutenant had phoned him and told him I'd been brawling in the pub, and he took one look at me and cold tell it was true. "And, Steve, I won't have the reputation of the centre ruined when staff start fighting in the local hostelries! Especially not when they're in uniform, as you were last night."
I tried to argue. I tried to say I had rights, and that he couldn't just sack me like that, but he pointed out that in my employment contract it said that behaviour likely to bring the centre into disrepute was an instantly dismissable offence. And that was that. I knew I was in deep shit then, as I was already broke and my wages were all spoken for as soon as I earned them - now what? My first thought was to phone Rob and ask for a loan, but he was off on that fucking holiday. Then I went and tried to get a job - anything - but the Job Centre was closed until Monday.
By Wednesday I still didn't have a job - there was just absolutely nothing. Zilch. No work at all, without a degree. And the bad news spread - the centre paid in a day's wages, and the bank wondered why it wasn't a full week, then asked the centre who said I was fired, and so the bank worried about the tiny overdraft I had, and froze my account. So my credit card payment wasn't made, so they turned it off, and posted new information to the central credit agency's files. That made the sky fall in - the collectors came and repossessed my car as they knew I couldn't make the next payment, and when my landlord saw them doing that, he changed the locks on my place, having stacked all my stuff outside the door.
With no money and nowhere to go, I tried to sleep in the train station - but was turned out when the service stopped at one in the morning - and then I walked the streets until a cruising police car saw me, and asked me for ID. That was it, of course - they checked with the police national computer from the car, and it knew I was penniless (it linked to the central credit agency), and that I was homeless (the landlord had posted a notice to the national identity card centre, as he was required to do, saying a tenant had moved out). So they said I was a homeless vagrant, which I suppose I was, and arrested me. Still, at least the cell was warm, and dry, and they gave me a good breakfast, and I was allowed to shower.
I was kept in the cell all Sunday as there was no point in releasing a homeless vagrant on to the streets, I was told, and they said I'd be taken before the magistrates on Monday morning. The duty solicitor saw me late Sunday night but she wasn't hopeful. She listened, took down all the details, but then said "Well, Mr Masters, I'm afraid the best you can hope for is two years indentured service. The courts are very intolerant of the unemployed homeless these days."
"Yes, but I'm desperate for a job..."
"But you have no qualifications. At least in indentured service you'll have somewhere to live, and something to eat... My advice would be to make the best of it, and try to study. Do an open University degree in the evenings, or something."
"But it's unfair..."
"No, Mr Masters, it's the law. Now my advice to you would be to just sit quietly, and take the sentence they hand down and then try to make something of yourself.... You're only thirty three, and if you work at it, you could have some sort of qualification in two years - not a degree, of course, but perhaps you might be able to demonstrate to a prospective employer that you've worked and earned some credits towards a degree..."
My temper got the better of me, unfortunately. When the magistrate started spouting on about able-bodied young men who would rather roam the streets than work, I shouted at her and told her the real truth..... So she handed me five years of indentured service, rather than the two I'd been led to expect! Well that really got me going, and the two policemen in court came and grabbed me and cuffed me. I was being led out of the court when the prosecuting solicitor said "If it please the court....."
"Yes, Miss Rathbone?"
"Ma'am, I think we have just seen a terrible scene here. The defendant, Steven Masters, is clearly not going to make a good indentured servant. My concern is that in five years time we could all be here again, needing to make a further order for indenture. Clearly he has a temper, and is unlikely to settle to proper work as an indentured servant in a factory or something. All I can see is a succession of orders like this one, until he is too old and feeble to continue working."
"Quite. And your point is, Miss Rathbone?"
"It would be in the defendant's best interests, ma'am, to find a proper solution to his problems. A series of indenture orders would not serve him well, or society. We would waste time and money, and the defendant would never settle properly. We should devise a proper solution now, in the best long term interests of the defendant and society. Knowing his long-term future, the defendant would be more likely to perform properly, and become a useful member of society once more."
"You may be right, Miss Rathbone. Does the defendant's solicitor wish to say anything?"
"I had talked to Mr Masters, ma'am, about the possibility of him doing part time Open University courses, to get qualifications, so he'd be fit for a job...."
"...but as we've seen, the defendant has a short temper, and I doubt he would have the patience to continue", the other cow cut in.
"Quite so." The court fell silent as the magistrate spoke, then she addressed my solicitor again. "I'm minded to make the indenture permanent, so resolving this unhappy man's future once and for all."
"No!", I screamed at the top of my voice, and the magistrate at once gestured to the two policemen who grabbed my cuffed wrists, then one of them wrapped an arm around my neck and held me tight as the other forced a ball gag into my mouth and fastened the straps behind my head.
My solicitor protested, saying that I had a right to be heard, but the magistrate cut in "Indeed he does not! I listened to him before, when he was a free man, when he had a right to be heard. But then he was indentured, for five years. So he is now an indentured servant, and an indentured servant has no right to address the court!"
The magistrate addressed the court generally then. "The further outburst from the indentured servant Steven Masters suggests that he is temperamentally unsuitable for short term work assignments. I am therefore ordering him to be permanently indentured, in the hope that he will be bought by a strong master who will give him the necessary training and self discipline so that he can lead along and productive life for his greater good, and that of society as a whole." She banged her gavel, looked at the two policemen, and said "Take him down!".
Underneath the court they stripped me. They didn't want to release me from the cuffs as they could see I was strong and thought I might get violent, so they simply used scissors and a knife to cut all my clothes off me. They were laughing as they did this, saying how much better it was a couple of years before, before they "reformed" the court process, when I'd have been stripped in the court itself and made to walk around naked to show the world my new status. They poked and prodded at me a bit, and one of the two policemen even went so far as to 'skin me back, saying how much he wished he could afford the price I'd undoubtedly fetch, as I'd got just the sort of good solid cock he liked to see in an indentured. Then they pushed me into an empty cell, still cuffed, gagged and naked, and left me.
Two more blokes were sentenced to lifetime indenture as the day wore on, and one woman - we were all naked in the same cell, although only I was cuffed and gagged as, apparently, the others hadn't been "disruptive". It was a fucking disgrace - I mean, it's bad enough them holding you naked at all, but when you're in a tiny cell with other blokes and a woman.... Well, it's not right, is it? And when I needed to piss I just had to do it there in the lavatory in the corner, in front of all of them - and there was no way I could express the last drops of piss out of my cock, and so I dripped a bit on the floor, and I knew that it would be building up under my 'skin and would start to smell foul soon. Look, I know I've told you I'm proud of my body, and I've got nothing to be ashamed of, but it's different when you're there, stark naked next to a woman with two other blokes too, and you're dripping piss onto the floor in front of all of them - I felt just so humiliated, like nothing else I'd ever experienced before.
There must have been some sort of system in place as at about five o'clock a transporter - yes, that is what it was... not a minibus, as you might take employees to work in, but a transporter - arrived. It was one of those large Transit vans, and we were taken out individually and put into tiny cages inside it - just big enough so that when the gate was locked you had some room to move, but not enough so that you could sit down or anything. You just had to stand there as the thing lurched along, and I realised soon that we must be going around the M25 as it was snarled up as it always is in rush hour, and from outside our van all you could hear were the rumble of the engines of lorries and stuff, as we inched along. We stopped a couple of times to unload the others - as I said, there evidently was some system, but fuck knows what it was - until I was the only one left. Then, when we finally stopped again and the doors were opened and my cage unlocked, I was pulled out - to find myself in the yard of the training centre where I'd just been fired as a trainer!
In the cage where they locked all the new arrivals there were nine of us that night, all naked, all worried sick about what was going to happen - well, all except for one of them, as I knew what was going to happen! Still at least they took the gag out of me and uncuffed me, so it wasn't quite so bad: one of the other blokes was stupid enough to try to break away early on, and after the guards had demonstrated the effect of the prod on him, we were all very subdued and obedient.
The next morning it all began, of course: the cropping of the hair, the shaving of our balls and trimming of our pubes, then the marking of our skins with our SINs, and finally, we were all lined up outside those double doors with which I was so familiar. I knew it was inevitable, I knew there was nothing I could do about it, so what was the point in postponing it? I managed to get to the head of the line, so was the first in to be strapped down and have that terrible "I" seared into the skin of my bum. And yes, I did scream. I screamed until I thought my voice was going to give out, I was so hoarse - and you would, too, as it's a pain so terrible, a pain absolutely like no other that you've ever experienced.
I knew of course why they did it this way - it did really bring home to me that I was something different now, and those few minutes, before the needle they plunged into my bum made it numb told me that my life had changed for ever. A society that could inflict such terrible suffering on a man would be relentless in ensuring that he performed properly, and as well as being marked permanently externally, I knew that I was marked internally, too.
Shorn, inked, branded, and naked, all nine of us were lined up to hear the Boss's little lecture about how we were not here to be punished, but to be trained - trained as good, obedient permanent indentured servants. Somehow I'd never felt so naked before - I'd caught sight of myself in a mirror after all this, and I was astonished at how different I looked with my cock now standing out from it's tiny patch of thinned-out short hair, and the ugly red of the "I" defacing my bum. The other eight were then assigned to one of my former colleagues for their two weeks of training and he marched them off, but I was left standing there. The Boss came over, and looked me up and down.
"Well, Steve, you do look just a little different! There's no point in us sending you for the physical training as you've always looked after your body, and, in any case, there's an auction later in the week and as always they're crying out for permanent indentures for it. So I think all I need to schedule you for is the sex education. Now ever since you were with us before you were always going on about your girlfriends and other women, so I think we can assume you don't need anything on that score - anyway, as you probably know, women owners tend not to buy big men like you as they're always worried about you hurting them; so even if you're not completely au fait with all the techniques of pleasing a lady, we'll give it a miss in the interests of time. And we know, of course, that you really do know how to use that cock of yours, as you were one of our better trainers. But how are you for taking cock, Steve? How do you take a good fucking from a man?"
My blood ran cold and I cold feel myself breaking out into a light sweat as I muttered "Oh, about the same... Give and take.... You know...." I hoped that would be enough to avoid the training, as in truth I was still, I suppose, a virgin! I don't mind giving cock to another bloke, but no way had one of them ever been allowed up my arse.
The Boss ran his finger lightly over my pecs and down my belly. "You're sweating, Steve. And it's not hot in here - we keep it on the cool side, to encourage a lot of physical activity, as you know.... So why are you sweating, Steve?"
He smiled, a tiny, tight, cruel smile. "Bend over, please, and reach back and spread your cheeks...."
"Sir, please, no...."
"Steve, 'no' is not a word I like to hear form an indentured servant, you know that. Now do as I say, or else you'll be on the receiving end of a prod."
I did as I was told, feeling kind of shaky, and jittery, especially when I heard that characteristic "snap" as a vinyl glove is pulled on over the fingers.
The Boss "steadied" me with one hand at the base of my spine as I stood there bent double, and I felt the rough, almost abrasive latex sliding down my ass as his other hand probed for my hole. I gave a little grunt as it traced a pattern over my pucker, then another, as the Boss started to wiggle his finger to try to get into me. He gave up after a minute or so, and told me I could stand upright again.
My cheeks were burning a bright red at the indignity I'd just suffered, but the Boss had that little evil smile on his face again. "Well, well, Steve - who'd have thought it! I'd judge from the tightness up there that it's a long time since there was a cock enjoying that arse of yours. Am I right?"
"Yes, sir", I muttered, my voice very low.
"How long exactly, Steve?"
I really a flushing with embarrassment now, as I managed to squeak "Never, sir. But please don't make me do that training, sir.... I can be a good indentured servant, and maybe a master or mistress will buy my contract as they want a good cocksman, sir.... Please, sir, don't make me take cock...."
He patted me almost affectionately on my naked bum, and gave a little laugh. Well, I'm glad he thought it was a laughing matter, as I certainly didn't. "Oh Steve, you are silly. Of course we can't miss out that part of your training. We pride ourselves on turning out from here indentured servants who are fully accomplished sexually - and a servant who doesn't take his master's cock if his master wants him to is hardly that, is he? No, I won't hear of it - even if there was a master who didn't want to fuck you even occasionally, what about his guests, visitors to his home, his sons, nephews.... Our reputation as trainers would be ruined if it got around that a prime product of this centre didn't want to service his master's needs."
He turned to the guards, and said "Take him down to the small training room, and shackle him to the wall, and I'll send someone down to take care of him."
They did at least let me pull on a pair of slave shorts so I was spared walking through all the corridor and staircases, those familiar places where I'd spent the last year working, totally naked. But as you know, the thin training shorts really give no real protection and they're more of a "psychological" thing, designed to make the new servant feel that his life has changed. Certainly the odious Lieutenant Andrews who we passed in the corridor thought it was hilarious to see my cock and balls outlined through the thin, almost transparent fabric.
End Of Part Four