This is a Gay, Authoritarian story, you can use my email address, and I accept the nifty.org terms. I encourage everyone that reads and enjoys this story to consider supporting Nifty.org to support the archivist and keep the archive online. You can learn more here: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
As a note to the reader, while characters in this story are over eighteen, the narrative contains descriptions of bondage, oral and anal sex, body modification, and various forms of domination and submission. If any of these acts offend you or are illegal to read where you reside, please move on. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Texas Slave Market
Chapter 4
Outside in the fields of the farm, C856 pulled a handkerchief from its right boot and wiped its brow. The air was shimmering from the intensity of the summer sun, and the heat had left its body covered in sweat. The slave stood six-foot-four inches tall and weighed two hundred eighty-five pounds. A former college football player, C856 had incredible strength in its bulk mass, and its large hands and feet gave it the necessary grip to focus it. A mix of Spanish and Irish genes provided the slave with darker skin that contrasted with its deep green eyes and brown hair with red highlights. A trimmed goatee framed its chiseled jaw, and a large silver septum ring hung above its lip. Its chest hair was dense between its pecs but thinned as the trail of fur ran down to its sizable package. The slave was unaltered and was packing two extra-large testicles that sat low in an ample, stretched, hairy sack. Draped over them was an impressive, thick, uncut cock that was four inches soft but could grow to nine inches long and seven inches around when aroused.
"Fuck it is blazing out today," C856 groaned as it walked through a metal gate separating the pastures.
Turning around, it saw a cloud of dust come up the driveway behind Frank's truck. It could make out a form in the passenger seat and another in a cage in the back.
"Looks like Master picked up the new slaves today," C856 said with a smile. "I remember being in that truck for the first time with my Lord. It is hard to believe it has been so long since I came here."
Chip Howell was twenty-two years old and living his best life before his world radically changed. The third oldest child of ten, he was the first in the family to go to college, and that was only because he had received a football scholarship to the local division two school. His father and uncle owned a large farm in Nebraska where they grew corn and soybeans, and everyone in both families worked in the fields as they barely scraped by and could not afford to own slaves. Many intense arguments occurred in the household when the young man decided to leave. But Chip eventually promised his family to return when school was not in session to help.
On campus, Chip was a beast on and off the field. While he never had impressive scores or stats, he hit hard and had the spirit to keep going even though the team had a losing record every year of his career. When he was not playing ball, he was bedding a revolving door of women on campus and had made it through most of the local sorority houses by the time he was a senior. His good looks and sizable cock combined with incredible stamina made him quite the lady's man. However, when the last game was played in the fall, he had little hope of being selected for the NFL, and his grades were horrible. He only made it to his senior year thanks to the coach pulling some strings with some of the professors, and that benefit would not be available in his final semester.
Thus, it was unsurprising that he returned home in January without a degree and no prospects for a future. The timing could not have been worse. The previous season's crop yield had been horrible, and the winter had forced both families to cut their budgets to the limit. There was not enough food to go around, and Chip's father, George, and his Uncle, Ted, had been spending long nights trying to make some hard choices. Chip was sitting in the family living room reading to his younger sister one night when his cousin came in to announce that a decision had been made.
"Dad and George need to see you and me in the barn," Patrick said.
Chip stopped what he was doing and looked over. Patrick was a month older than he was and built just as strong. They had been inseparable growing up. In grade school, they had always competed against each other in the locker room to see who could bench the most. While both had been offered athletic scholarships, Chip was the only one who accepted. Patrick refused to leave the family when needed and had harbored a grudge against his cousin for going for a long time, though they had recently reconciled.
"What is going on?" Chip asked as he put the book down and stood up.
"No clue," Patrick replied. "But they did not look happy."
"They have been moody for over a month," Chip said. "But, given our troubles, I understand. Let's go."
Patrick and Chip put on their heavy coats and shuffled across to the large barn behind the house. The snow was falling and had already covered the path they had shoveled not a few hours before. As their boots disappeared into the accumulating mass and the chilly air bit at his cheeks, Chip felt a feeling of dread overcome him.
When the two opened the door to the barn, they saw that their fathers had placed a table between two stalls. Several empty bottles of cheap beer sat near a mass of paperwork, and the two were facing each other and arguing over one of the documents. The older men stopped what they were doing and looked at their sons before beckoning them over.
"Take a seat, Chip," George said as he pulled a chair over.
"You too, Patrick," Ted said as he did the same.
When the two young men sat down, their fathers looked at each other and finished their beer before speaking.
"Boys, we are in a lot of trouble here," George said. "Without an infusion of cash soon, we will not be able to feed the family or make the mortgage payments this winter."
"I'll take some of the blame, George," Ted said. "We have been living near the edge for some time, and when the weather started drying out this past season, I should have taken some action."
"It's not your fault," George said as he slammed his beer on the table. "I told you that. These things happen. I wish it had not come to this."
"What's going on, Pops?" Patrick said.
"We can't take out a loan, Son," Ted said sorrowfully. "George and I have been running the numbers and trying to find some other alternative, but we don't have any other choice. We will have to put two of the children into slavery."
The blood on Chip's face drained away.
"What?"
"It is the only option," George said as he placed a hand on Chip's knee. "I have ten kids to support, and Ted has nine. The only way we will put food in your sisters and brothers' bellies is to put you two up for auction."
"I'm sorry," Ted said as he looked at Patrick with tears in his eyes. "You two are both young and strong, and the local auction has told us you could bring in at least ten thousand dollars at a minimum after fees and taxes and double that with state-matching funds."
Patrick was stunned.
"That is the only option?"
"Son, if there was any other way, believe me, we would have thought of it," Ted said. "Most of your brothers are too young, and girls are not allowed to be sold."
"I did consider your older brother, Chip," George said. "But, you know I have come to rely on him the past few years to keep things together."
"I know," Chip said. "He took up the slack for me when I left home for school. You made the only logical choice."
"Fuck!" Patrick shouted as he stood up and walked away.
"Patrick!" Ted shouted back as the young man exited the building.
"Let him go," George said. "He needs to process it all. Lord knows we have had to do the same."
"When?" Chip asked. "When do you want to sell us?"
"The winter auction is in two weeks," George replied. "I know it is not long, but we need the money."
"I know we do, Dad," Chip said. "It was stupid of me to leave the farm when I did. If I had stayed, maybe I could have helped avoid this."
"Don't beat yourself up," Ted said. "I don't think it would have made much of a difference."
"What do we need to do?" Chip asked.
"We will break the news to your mother and aunt tonight," George said. "The paperwork is all filled out. You both will have to sign them in person when you arrive at the auction to show you are willingly going into this, though."
"Will they modify us?" Chip asked. "I've seen the slaves that the Jones's have, and they have a lot of mods. I don't want to be castrated or enhanced in any way, Dad."
Chip grabbed his groin and begged.
"Please don't make them do that to me or Patrick."
"There is a clause that allows families selling their children to opt out of extreme modifications," Ted said. "Both George and I agree we don't want you to suffer through those operations."
"It means we take a little less of the cut of the profits, but we both agreed it was worth it," George said. "But we can't opt you two out of piercings or markings. You know that all slaves are tattooed and branded."
"I understand," Chip said.
"Plus, as a green tag, you two will only be put into slavery for a specified period," Ted said. "Of course, the longer the period, the more money you are worth. The state matches the sales price of slaves if they agree for longer periods. We need you both to agree to at least twenty years to make this worth it."
"Fuck, Dad!" Chip groaned. "That is insane! It is such a long time."
"I know it sounds like forever now, Son," George said. "But you'll be in your forties when you complete your contract and return to life as a citizen. That is still young enough to start a new life and have your own kids."
"Fucking hell," Chip replied.
George put his arm around his son and hugged him.
"I better go and check on Patrick," Ted said.
"I'll do it, Uncle Ted," Chip said as he stood slowly. "We both need some time to think about all this anyway."
"I am sorry," George said, slumping in the chair. "I've failed you as a father."
"No, Dad," Chip said. "Don't be like that. I don't blame you. Maybe this will be one way for me to make up for the past few years."
His father put his head in his hands as Chip turned and walked out of the barn. Upon exiting, the young man saw his cousin, Patrick, shivering in the wintry night air and leaning against one of the barn supports. His breath was creating a cloud of vapor that lingered around his face. As Chip walked over and put his arm around his cousin, he could tell the young man was crying.
"This is a shock," Chip said. "But we will be ok. I know you have the strength to endure this. We both do."
"I know this needs to be done, but it fucking sucks," Patrick said as he leaned his head against his cousin's chest. "Fucking hell, Chip!"
"I hear ya," Chip replied as he patted the young man's head. "I don't know if there is any way for us to stay together, but I will do my best to be there for you as long as possible."
"Thanks, Chip," Patrick replied.
The following two weeks were long and difficult for both families. It took much explaining to the younger children what was happening, and Patrick's mother went into a deep depression. However, everyone knew there was no other choice and accepted the decision. When the day came for the young men to leave, the two said their final goodbyes, bundled up, and trod out into the snow to meet a neighbor who agreed to drive them to the auction. As each young man hugged his parents and family for the last time, they tried to put on a brave face, but climbing into the back of the truck and driving away made things hit hard.
"This is a noble thing you are doing," said Jose from the front seat.
In the back portion of the cab, Chip nodded his head.
"Thanks. I wish my stomach would calm down. I feel like I am going to be sick."
"Same here," Patrick said. "And I wish we could have brought some things with us."
"Slaves are not allowed possessions," Jose replied. "In fact, in most parts of the country, owners keep them naked. Of course, in colder climates like here, we allow jumpsuits in the winter, but you've seen my two on the farm. They have only what they need to survive and nothing more."
"I don't know if I can be exposed like that," Patrick groaned.
Jose laughed.
"You two have exceptionally fine bodies. You should have nothing to be ashamed about."
"Plus, you can finally show off that big package of yours," Chip said with a smile.
Patrick rolled his eyes.
"You aren't helping Chip. Plus, there isn't much use showing it off if I can't use it."
"You never know," Chip said. "Someone might buy both of us to use as studs."
Patrick couldn't help but chuckle.
"Well, I just hope someone like you buys us, Mr. Sanchez," Patrick said. "You have always treated your slaves fairly."
The two cousins said nothing more as the truck drove through the winter wonderland stretching around them. The snowstorm had passed, and the sun bounced off the drifts and brightened the morning, considerably contrasting with the young men's mood. The drive took over an hour, and when they reached the small town that was their destination, they saw the truck headed towards a large building on an old fairground.
"Is that the auction house?" Chip asked.
"It is," Jose said. "And we made good time."
The truck pulled near the entrance, and the two young men could see that the wooden doors were latched closed. The parking lot was deserted, and it seemed eerily calm and quiet.
"Is it open?" Patrick asked.
Jose laughed.
"Oh yes. Today is processing day. We are here a little early, but it is better that way. There is less of a rush. They will have the sales tomorrow."
Jose turned off the engine, climbed out, and motioned for the two young men to follow him. As they complied, they watched their older neighbor walk to the doors and knock three times. Soon after, a latch was heard, and the door swung open to reveal a large, older man with a long white beard.
"Yes?"
"I have two slaves to deliver for sale," Jose said as he handed the man the young men's paperwork.
The older man looked through the documents and then up at Patrick and Chip before smiling.
"Ok, you two, come with me."
"Yes, Sir," Chip said as he and Patrick walked forward.
"I will part ways with you here, boys," Jose said. "I have things to attend to back at my farm. Behave yourselves and remember that good slaves always follow every order they are given. Hopefully, I will see you both again one day."
"Thanks, Mr. Sanchez," the two young men replied as they walked inside, and the door closed behind them.
The inside of the building was cavernous. The sound of men talking, the hum of the electric heaters and lights overhead, and the clanging of metal could be heard around them as they were led forward, left, and then into a large room. At the front was a desk, and the older man moved to sit behind it to review the young men's paperwork.
"Which one of you is Patrick?" the older man asked.
"I am, Sir," Patrick replied nervously.
"Come over here, then," the older man said. "I need to witness your signature."
Patrick walked over and saw where a large X had been placed at the bottom of the form.
"Your parents have filled out everything already," the man said. "This is a standard contract for twenty years of slavery. You have opted out of extreme modification."
"Yes, Sir," Patrick replied.
"A twenty-year contract has a lower rate of return on a sale but should net your family with some cash given how strongly built you look."
"Yes, Sir," Patrick replied.
"Are there any changes that need to be made?" the man asked.
"No, Sir," Patrick replied.
"Then sign at the bottom and date it," the man said.
Patrick looked at Chip and took a deep breath before signing the form. When he was done, the older man co-signed it and put a notary seal on the final page. He then collected the paperwork and reached into a box to pull out a green tag. After writing the number on the tag at the bottom of the top page of the document, he looked at the young man.
"Your name and designation is now C689. Remember it and respond to it. Understood, slave?"
"Yes, Sir," Patrick replied.
The man pressed a red button on the table, and a blonde-haired technician appeared from a door behind him.
"Slave C689 is ready for processing," the older man said.
"Come with me, slave," the technician at the door said to Patrick.
Patrick looked at Chip and waved.
"Good luck."
"You too," Chip said.
Patrick smiled and followed the technician out of the room. The heavy door slammed behind them, and there was silence in the room as the man looked through the next stack of papers.
"Are you Charles?" the man at the table asked.
"I go by Chip, but yes, Sir," came the reply. "That is my name."
"Come over here, then," the man said.
A similar contract to what Patrick had signed was placed in front of the young man.
"You heard how this goes," the man said. "I am required to inform you that your parents have filled out a standard contract for twenty years of slavery. You have opted out of extreme modification."
"Yes, Sir," Patrick replied.
"As I told the other slave, a twenty-year contract has a lower rate of return on a sale but still will be profitable."
"What other options are there?" Chip asked.
The older man looked at Chip inquisitively. He was not used to having that question asked of him at this point. He paused a moment before continuing.
"Well, we have twenty-year, thirty-five-year, and permanent contracts," the man said.
"And what is the rate of return on those?" Chip asked.
"Seventy percent commission on a twenty-year, eighty-five percent on a thirty-five-year, and a permanent contract will give all proceeds to the family minus the state and government taxes and fees. Additionally, those contracts come with a matching payout from the state."
"Matching?" Chip asked.
"Yes," the older man said. "To encourage volunteer servitude for longer periods, the government will match the sales cost of a slave at a specified level and send it to the person listed as selling the slave. In this case, that would be your parents. The match rate is maxed out at three hundred percent for a permanent slave. So, if you are sold for eight thousand dollars, for instance, the state would contribute a matching fund of twenty-four thousand for a total of thirty-two thousand dollars that will be sent to your family, minus the taxes, of course. If you opt for a thirty-five-year contract, the commission match would be at two hundred percent, and a twenty-year contract is matched at one hundred percent."
"Wow, that is a lot of money!" Chip replied.
The man laughed.
"Son, when I was young, before the second great depression, government reorganization, and the adoption of the North American Trade Dollar as currency, thirty-two thousand would only cover about six months of expenses for one person! But, yeah, in today's money, that amount is quite a tidy sum. Hell, I only make thirty grand a year, and I am living high on the hog. Still, most voluntary slaves don't want to give up their whole lives for even that amount, and I don't blame them."
Chip paused and thought for a moment. He had seen the hardship his younger brothers, sisters, and cousins were dealing with and knew they needed help. He still felt it was partially his fault they were in the predicament they were facing because he left the farm and went to school.
"Currently, your family chose the twenty-year contract," the man said. "If your sales price were eight thousand, as I had in the previous example, then the commission would be seventy percent, which is five thousand six hundred dollars. The state would match that at one hundred percent, and your family would be paid eleven thousand two hundred dollars. If you are interested in a thirty-five-year contract instead, I can work those numbers up."
"It's ok, Sir," Chips said. "I've decided I would like to modify the contract to be permanent."
"You would?" the older man said, surprised.
"Yes, Sir," Chip replied.
"Are you sure, boy?" the man said. "You are really young. There is no going back from this once a contract is signed. A permanent contract is permanent. The only way you can be released from it is if an owner pays the government to repatriate you, and I've never seen that happen."
"I'm sure, Sir," Chip said.
"Very well then," the man said. "Give me one moment to fill out some additional sections."
Chip waited calmly as he watched the man change the information on the second page and initial additional areas on the third. When he was done, he asked the young man to step forward and sign on the bottom of the fourth and last page.
"What prompted this change, if you don't mind me asking," the man said as Chip signed.
"My family needs the money, Sir," Chip said as he put the pen down and stepped back. "My sisters and brothers are hungry, and I need to step up and help."
"Good for you," the man said as he witnessed the paperwork, notarized it, and then grabbed another green tag from the box on the table. "I could not have done that at your age, but good for you. Your name and designation is now C856. Remember it and respond to it. Understood, slave?"
"Yes, Sir," Chip replied.
The man stood and stuck out his hand, and Chip grabbed it and shook it. The grip was firm, and the man smiled.
"I'm proud of you, slave."
The man released his grip and reached down to press the red button again. When the heavy metal door behind him opened again, the same technician that was there before appeared. The older man handed over Chip's paperwork and tag.
"Slave C856 is ready for processing."
"Follow me, slave," the technician said as Chip took a breath and walked through the door.
The next room was a long, white hall with a floor-to-ceiling black window on the right side. On the ground, there were large gray squares aligned parallel to the glass wall. Young slaves stood completely naked in the room's last three squares. The one at the far end was a thin boy with chestnut brown hair. In the middle square was an average-sized young man that looked older and had blonde hair. It had its hands over its groin, hiding itself. In the square nearest C856, it saw its cousin. C689 looked scared to death and embarrassed to be nude. Its skin was flushed red, and it turned and looked away when it saw C856.
The metal door behind Chip slammed shut and echoed in the room, scaring the young man. Like a booming announcement from the universe, Chip knew his life as a slave had begun.
"Strip your clothes off C856 and stand in the box next to C689," the technician said as he pointed to the square next to C689.
C856 nodded and removed its boots and socks before removing its coat, shirt, and pants. It was used to stripping down in the locker room with its teammates, but this was a completely distinct experience. This might be the last time it would have clothes of its own. When it got to its boxers, it paused momentarily and looked at C689. Its cousin was just as hung as it was but had slightly larger balls. C856 smiled as it slid its underwear down, letting its package flop out. Their fathers might not have had any business sense, but at least they had good genes.
"I see we have two well-built and well-endowed slaves," the technician said as he collected C856's clothes and boots and shoved them through a door in the wall marked `trash'.
C856 smiled.
"Yes, Sir. We are cousins."
"I didn't ask you to speak, slave," the technician snapped back. "From this point forward, you all are to remain quiet and obey any order you are given."
C856 wiped its grin away and immediately faced the window and kept silent. Eventually, two more young men appeared and were placed in squares adjacent to C856. After they were stripped and their clothes were collected and disposed of, the technician walked back and forth in the hall while he spoke again.
"Slaves, this is the processing area for the market. From here, you will be sent to be evaluated and categorized according to your characteristics and abilities. Your clothes and personal articles have been disposed of, and you stand here naked as the day you were born. Indeed, this is the first day of your new life. Obey your masters, and you will be treated fairly. Disobey, and you will be punished severely. Nod if you understand."
The five young men nodded in the affirmative as they stared at their naked reflections in the dark glass panel before them.
"You will find various categories of slaves in our facility. Those of you with strength, stamina, agility, or some combination of the three will be designated as working stock'. Working stock slaves are primarily used for manual labor and are the most popular slaves sold. Those of you that are good-looking, slender, or have a background in cooking, music, or cleaning will be designated as cultured'. Cultured slaves are primarily household servants. They maintain homes and see to their owners' domestic and entertainment needs. Slaves such as our two well-endowed cousins here can be designated as `breeding stock', assuming the tests on their sperm come back within certain parameters. Breeding stock slaves can be used as studs to produce seed that can be sold to medical clinics. Their owners share the proceeds of this product with the state, which uses its cut to cover the costs of the slave programs and other civil expenditures. Breeding stock can also be used to satisfy the sexual needs of their owners or the community, whether by using the slave's cock, mouth, ass, or all of the above."
C689 and C856 turned to look at each other nervously when they heard about the sexual services. They were both straight, and neither had considered that using their ass or mouth would be a potential part of their enslavement.
"Regardless of your designation, remember that your new owner will determine how you are used. If they want to put you in the fields and work you from sunup to sundown till your body collapses, you will accept it. If they want to dress you up and humiliate you as a servant, you will be compliant. If they want to milk you dry until your balls are on fire to sell your seed, you will allow it. If they want to strap you down and fuck your ass till you are raw, you will endure it. A slave's life is hard, but you are a valued commodity, so you will be well fed and taken care of if you perform your duties well."
"When you leave here, you will be assigned a handler. That man will determine how you will be designated and perform tests on you as appropriate. You may also be listed with no designation if you do not meet any of the criteria. Neutral slaves are rare but can be used for niche uses by owners."
"When you signed your slavery contracts, you were assigned a colored tag. This tag contains a barcode, a letter, and a number. It will be attached to your body and be a record of your identification for as long as you are a slave."
The technician walked to the wall and grabbed a metal device. Approaching the first slave at the end of the hall, he loaded the tag inside it and placed the ends of the device around the cartilage of the young boy's right ear. Pressing the handle, the device made a loud clicking sound, and the boy squealed as the tag was permanently attached with a metal stud. The second slave was tagged next, and when C689 was tagged, C856 saw the slave jump and cry out. Preparing itself for the pain when its turn came next, it was surprised when the pinch was unpleasant but brief. It remembered injuries on the football field that were far worse. As the final two slaves were tagged, C856 looked at its reflection and the green tag in its ear. It reminded the slave of the tag cattle were given.
"Does everyone know their new designation?"
The slaves nodded, and the technician returned the tagging device to its holder on the wall.
"We process blue and green tags in this part of the facility," the technician continued. "These are the tags that correspond to several types of voluntary servitude. For those of you with term contracts, your birth certificate will be stored in the state archives and replaced with your slave registration. When your term ends, your slave certificate will be rendered null and void, and your birth certificate will replace it. You will then be considered a free citizen again. For our permanent slaves, your life as a citizen is now over. Accordingly, a death certificate will be issued and sent to your family, and your slave certificate will become your legal document of existence. In all cases, your certificate will list your eventual owner as your guardian. They will own you. As of today, you have no legal rights. You are considered property that can be bought and sold. Is that understood, slaves?"
The slaves nodded again, and the technician continued.
"Red tag slaves have been convicted of crimes or have serious attitude issues. They are always permanently-contracted slaves. Security is extra tight around them as a result. You are to avoid red tags if you are ever placed near them. Yellow tags are normally less of a threat as they are often homeless individuals or illegal immigrants that have been caught multiple times. They usually have very short terms of slavery and are low risk. However, some can have undiagnosed mental or psychological conditions, so I would still avoid them for your own good."
"That is the extent of your orientation. I want each of you to stand at attention and look forward at the dark, glass wall. Spread your feet, put your hands by your side, and pull your shoulders back. Your pictures will now be taken for our slave catalog."
C856 took a breath and stood still as it looked forward into the opaque wall. After about a minute, the technician asked the slaves to turn, and pictures of their sides and back were taken. When they were done, the slaves were asked to face the middle of the room. The slave next to C689 tried to cover itself again, and the technician swatted its hands to its side.
"Quit trying to be modest! You will be spending most of your life nude. Get used to it. If I see any of you trying to cover yourself again, you will be punished!"
The technician stood in the middle of the room and paused a moment before continuing.
"You are now officially slaves for sale. Stand where you are while I ensure the next area is ready for you."
The technician turned and left the room, and C856 took the opportunity to look at its cousin.
"Stay strong, Patrick," C856 said quietly.
"You too, Chip," C689 replied.
The door at the end of the room opened again, and the technician shouted.
"Forward slaves!"
The five slaves turned and began to move in a line. The door led into the open air of the facility, and they saw other slaves in chains with red tags on their ears being led in a different direction. Taking a right turn, they came around to row after row of cages, and inside were bound and nude slaves that had been processed for sale.
C856 watched as each slave in front of it had a large ball gag shoved in its mouth and then strapped tightly around its head. Their hands and feet were then chained before they were placed into a cage that was then locked shut. When it was C689's turn, the handler pulled it aside and did the same to C856.
"You two slaves are being moved to a different facility. Wait here for a moment."
The two slaves nodded and watched as the handler continued down the line.
"Where do you think we are going, Chip?" C689 whispered.
"No clue," C856 replied quietly.
"I'm not going to lie," C689 said. "I am about to shit myself. I am so scared."
"Quiet!" came the voice of a man from behind them.
A leather strap was brought down and hit C689's ass hard. The slave screamed and jumped into the air as its skin turned red from the impact. Immediately, the man that had beat it strapped a gag in its mouth and then turned to C856 to do the same.
"This will shut you two up," the man said as he grabbed some chains and secured their arms and legs.
"This way, slaves!" the man said as he walked down the line of cages.
The two slaves trudged along the concrete floor. The dragging of their chains echoed in the hallway as they passed cage after cage of bound and shocked young men. They eventually turned and went through a large metal door that led outside and onto a loading dock. The frigid air immediately hit them as their bare feet touched the metal flooring. They began to shiver.
"Don't worry, slaves," the man replied. "You two will only be here a moment. Your transport is right over there."
C856 looked over and saw a large vehicle resembling a moving van. The back door was raised, and metal chairs were bolted to the floor on either side. Slaves had been secured in each one with their legs locked to the floor and the chains between their hands suspended to hooks above their heads. Another man similarly dressed to the man who had locked it in chains was writing something on a clipboard. When he was done, he approached C856 and C689 and nodded.
"Follow me, slaves."
The two slaves were brought to the van and secured in the last chairs next to the back door. Looking around, C856 could see twenty slaves in the back of the vehicle, including itself and its cousin. When the man was satisfied that all the merchandise was secure, he left the cargo area and closed the heavy metal door. There were no lights in the room other than the cracks of daylight around the back door. As the darkness enveloped C856's body, the gravity of the situation finally hit it.
It was cool in the cargo area, but there was a movement of warm air that C856 could feel across its naked skin. Some of the other slaves were grunting, and one was crying. The sound of their chains clanging filled the room as the vehicle's engine started up, and the slaves were jolted to the side as it began to move. C856 took a deep breath and pulled on the chains over its head to adjust its position, preparing for the drive.
The slave's journey bound in the back of the truck took almost fifteen hours. The vehicle stopped three times for fuel at a secure facility, and the slaves were let out to stretch their legs. A designated grassy area, similar to a dog run, had been created near the fueling stations, and it was here that the slaves could piss or squat to shit. But they were only given ten minutes before they were locked up and stored in the truck again. When the vehicle reached its final destination and came to a halt, the slaves were relieved. They could tell the air was dryer and warmer as the door opened.
"Welcome to Texas, slaves," came the voice of a large cowboy with brown leather boots and a white hat. "As you are released from your seat, please step out onto the platform. You will be severely punished if you try to run or escape."
C856 was released first, and as its chained hands came down, it felt the blood rush back in. After being suspended for so many hours, the feeling of pins and needles was unpleasant. It shuffled forward onto the concrete loading dock and over to the side where another man in a white coat was standing. C689 was released next, and it stumbled over to stand by its cousin as the other slaves followed. After they were all lined up, they were brought into a large metal building.
C856's eyes widened as it entered the facility. It was much larger than the one back home, but as it approached the lines of cages, it saw that the slaves inside were stored similarly. When it reached an empty one, the large cowboy motioned for it to stop. C856 was pushed inside the cage, and its leg irons were locked into a bolt on the floor.
"If I remove that gag are you going to cause trouble, boy?" the cowboy asked.
C856 shook its head.
"Good," the cowboy said as he reached around and unhooked the strap around the slave's head. "As big as you are, you look like you could do some damage even chained up."
As the gag popped from the slave's mouth, it felt the soreness in its jaw.
"Thank you, Sir," C856 said.
"I didn't say speak, slave!" the cowboy replied as he slapped C856's face. "You will follow orders!"
C856 shook its head and grunted in response. It was not expecting to be treated in such a manner. The cowboy motioned to an assistant who approached and handed the cowboy a pill and a bottle of water.
"You will swallow this," the cowboy said, holding up the blue pill. "Is that understood?"
C856 shook its head in the affirmative and opened its mouth. The pill was placed on its tongue, and it was given water to drink. After swallowing, the bottle was removed, and C856 was made to stick out its tongue and prove the pill had been consumed. When the man was satisfied, the gag was put back into its mouth, causing the slave to grunt in frustration.
"Hush up!" the cowboy replied. "That gag is staying in your mouth till you are sold, so get used to it."
"So, this is C856?"
C856 looked toward the source of the voice and saw a large black man with bulging muscles in a tight T-shirt. He had a wad of tobacco in his lips and carried a clipboard. Below his waist, his package was barely contained within the denim of his jeans, and he had on large, shiny boots.
"Yup," the cowboy replied. "Take a gander at the size of its balls and cock, Kelly. Have you ever seen a beast like this? And its frame! I bet it could bench press several hundred pounds, run a mile, and still have the energy to fuck a load in a bitch."
Kelly laughed.
"Are you talking about me or the slave?"
The cowboy blushed.
"It is impressive," Kelly said. "Hopefully, our tests prove it is virile. I will conditionally list it as both working and breeding stock."
C856's eyes darted between the two men as its body was critiqued.
"I always love those corn-fed slaves from Nebraska," the cowboy said as it closed and locked C856's cage. "They always bring in the top dollars."
"Slave!" Kelly announced. "Look at me."
C856 turned to look at the big man.
"I am the night manager here. I want to welcome you to the Texas Slave Market! As stipulated in your contract, you will soon be entering a life of servitude and slavery to the person or persons who decide to purchase you. As a permanent slave, I have already processed your death certificate and sent a copy to your family. Your slave registration certificate is on file and will be signed over to your new owner tomorrow after the sales. Texas is part of the Slave Pact Agreement and, as such, will agree to match your sales price at three hundred percent, with the proceeds going to your family according to the contract terms. Nod if you understand, slave."
C856 nodded.
"Good. As I hope it was explained, you now have no legal rights. You are considered property. You are a commodity to be bought and sold. You will obey every command you are given or face the consequences. Is that understood?"
C856 nodded again.
"As potential breeding stock, we need to have you tested. The pill you just took will induce you to have an erection. Once you are ready, my assistant will photograph your genitals and collect your sperm for testing. Since you were traveling, you missed our normal feeding time, but the technicians will stop by later to bring you some water. The morning feeding is at eight. Your liquid nourishment will be hung on the bars of the front of your cage. The protruding metal tube on the feeding bag can be put in the hole in your gag to allow consumption. The auction starts in less than twelve hours at noon. If you need to piss or shit, do it in the cage. The drain in the floor will allow the removal of the liquid waste, and the handlers will come by periodically to hose you down and remove anything solid. You will sleep on the floor tonight, so try not to shit everywhere. Any questions, slave?"
C856 shook its head no, and the two men smiled.
"I wish all the slaves were this well-behaved," Kelly said. "Ok, let's go to the next one."
As the men left, C856 closed its eyes and took a breath. It was almost too much to process. As it leaned against the bars, it looked around and saw all the slaves that had been gagged, bound, and registered. Most were curled on the concrete floor, trying to sleep. C689 had been placed in a cage across from C856. When the cowboy and black man were finished with it and had left, C856 knocked on the bars of its cage till its cousin looked over. C689 had tears in its eyes, and C856 felt horrible. The two stared at each other for some time, trying to communicate non-verbally, but eventually, they had to focus on their predicament.
It did not take long for the drug in C856's system to take effect. Within fifteen minutes, the slave's cock had filled with blood and pointed out in front of it like a steel rod. The tissues had expanded to their fullest extent, and even the slave's balls started to ache. C856's foreskin had rolled back, exposing its thick head, and it glistened as precum trickled out and dripped onto the concrete floor below.
C689's cock was also pulsing. Their similarities stood out as they stared at each other, naked and aroused. C856 had slightly darker skin, and C689 had more body hair, but physically they looked like brothers rather than cousins. Both had been blessed with enormous pricks, though C689's was thicker and longer.
"I see you two are ready for collection," came the voice of a man in tan overalls carrying a steel pole with an attachment at the end in his right hand and a box in the other.
C856 watched as the man propped the implement against the bars and placed the box on the floor. He then fiddled with a bundle of keys to find the right one to unlock C689's cage. As the door swung open, the man spoke.
"Stand still, slave."
The man grabbed a camera and focused on the engorged phallus on full display. After taking several close-up pictures of C689's balls, shaft, and cock from different angles, he stood, held up his hand, and spun his fingers in a circle
"Turn around, C689! I want you to spread your legs, lean over, and support yourself on the bars across from you."
The slave nervously complied, and C856 saw its cousin's hairy ass displayed as it bent over and held firmly onto the back of the cage for support. Its stance was not wide enough for the man's liking, so the man kicked at C689's feet till they were spread to the farthest maximum extent that the leg irons would allow. C689 almost lost its balance, but it bent over farther and held on to the bars tightly.
Next, the man reached into the box and pulled out a small, square wrapper. Opening it with his teeth, the man removed a condom, got on his knees, and reached under C689. Unrolling it a few inches, he secured the condom around the head and shaft of the slave's thick cock, leaving a space at the end. He then stood up and grabbed the metal rod. Looking closer, C856 could see the end was flared and had an attachment that looked like a dildo.
The man reached into the box and pulled out a small container. Flipping the top off with his thumb, he squeezed the plastic bottle, and a thick fluid spurted out onto the attachment. The man then smeared the lubrication around until the attachment glistened, and then he looked at the slave.
"Now, don't move!" the man shouted, moving the pole down and lining it up with C689's ass.
With a firm thrust, the man jabbed the implement up C689's hole, and the slave squealed into its gag. The dildo slid smoothly about five inches inside, and C689's big feet lifted upward, and its body tensed as a result. Simultaneously, the man pressed a button on the rod, and a mild electric shock was delivered directly into the slave's ass, stimulating its prostate. C689's cock reacted immediately. The shaft pulsed, and two shots of thick cum spurted out and filled the tip of the condom. Afterward, the man quickly removed the rod, and the slave gasped into its gag.
The entire procedure took less than a few seconds, but C856 was left horrified. C689 relaxed its body and hung on the bars as the man leaned down and pulled the condom off the slave's still-hard cock. He then tied off the rubber and placed it in a sterile sample container before sealing it. As he collected his things, C689 could be heard crying.
"Oh man up, slave," the man said. "You will get worse treatment in your life."
The man closed the door to the cage and locked it as C689 slowly pulled its feet together and turned around. C856 saw the tears streaming down its cousin's face, and it tensed as the man turned and grinned.
"Your turn now!"
In the morning, C856 awoke to the sound of its liquid meal being hung on the bars. It had tried to hold it but had to shit in the night, and the stench of the pile in the corner had made it sick to its stomach. It was also sore from its sperm collection hours earlier. The electricity of the prod was unpleasant, but the forcing of the large pole up its ass was the most uncomfortable part of the collection process. It had wondered how people who liked being fucked in the ass could ever get used to it.
As it stood, its stomach grumbled. It had not eaten anything in twenty-four hours, not since its last meal with its family. It pushed the metal tube into its gag and sucked down the fluids, and nearly turned green from the taste. It was acrid and vile, but it managed to swallow it all as it did not know when it would be fed again. An hour later, a crew came by to clean its cage and hose its body down so it would be presentable. The slave was wet and tired. It had not slept well at all. Its neighbor slave had cried all night, and the cramped conditions of the cage did not help matters. It had also lost contact with its cousin, who had been moved to a different part of the facility about an hour after their sperm collection.
The first customers started arriving around ten in the morning. C856 soon found a stream of men of all shapes, sizes, and ages checking out its spec sheet and gawking at its body. It was apparently highly prized. It stood for most of the time as it was viewed but had just leaned against the bars to rest when a muscled, older bear of a man knocked on the cage.
"So, you are a permanent green-tag slave, huh?" the man said.
"C856 stood again and nodded at the man."
"I see you are listed as working and breeding stock," the man replied. "Well, I need a slave to do the hard work on my farm. I don't have a breeding program, so I do not need a slave's sex drive or sperm. That being said, as long as the slave is obedient, I will allow it to masturbate on its own time privately. I have a whip and am prepared to break in a red tag, but I prefer a slave committed from day one. Are you obedient and ready to work?"
C856 nodded yes.
"Then maybe we will see each other later," the man said as he tipped his hat. "My name is Burt. But should I buy you, you will call me Lord."
C856 wiped its head again with the handkerchief as its mind returned to the present. The memories of its first day as a slave were just as vivid now as they had been almost a decade ago. Its Lord had purchased it for ten thousand dollars at the auction, and nearly forty thousand dollars had been sent home to its former family. Its owner had modified it with a large septum ring, and it bore the man's brand on its ass and the tattoo of its slave number on its limbs, but otherwise, its body had not changed much. Getting used to never wearing clothes took some time, though it was allowed to wear working boots and a large-brimmed hat to keep the sun off its neck and face.
It quickly learned the farm routine and bonded with the cattle and pigs. Burt had a fully stocked gym in the back of a building behind the main house, and C856 worked out daily in it after a long day in the fields. Its muscle mass and core strength had increased, and there was very little it could not accomplish. It missed its home and its family, but it had adapted. It was granted time on its own in the evenings to wander the fields and even was allowed to have alcohol on special occasions such as its purchase day and holidays. The only thing it truly missed was fucking a hot piece of tail. But it also wondered what had happened to its cousin.
"Well, I better go and get my workout in before I meet my new slave brothers," C856 replied. "This is going to be an interesting evening."
= = = = = = = = = = = = = =
As with my other stories on Nifty, I accept and love to get constructive feedback and criticism from my readers. You can contact me at slavebear1976@gmail.com