Mike looked at his watch, and realized his dinner would be ready in a half hour. He still needed to inspect the puck he brought home this morning, pass along instructions as to how Bob was to be handled, and, damn! He didn't have anything to bring home for Pete.
Pete was such a great find. If he were a free man, Mike would be on him like white on rice. As it was, however, Mike was a Master and Pete was a puck. Pete would always be an object, never a lover. Mike didn't have time to find someone to love. He had 600 pucks to manage. In the bright side, he could fuck any of them, anytime.
Mike opened his phone and called the Training Center, just a few hundred yards away. The Training Center only had six men staffing it- four employees and two pucks. At one time, when he was converting the labor force from employees to pucks, the Training Center staff was much larger. Now, he could probably get away with an even smaller staff, but the so-called employees were too interesting to release. Bull answered the phone.
"Yes, boss?"
"I'm coming to review today's purchase. Get your ass to the door NOW."
"Yes, boss!"
Bull came to work five years ago, shortly after Prisoners Under Contract first became available. He has an amazing way of bringing new pucks into the business. Bull was never a puck.
With the rise of pucks as labor, there were many men looking for work. The New Conservative Party's laws were turning the general labor market upside down. By chance, Mike saw Bull as Mike was going to see his Human Resources manager to see how quickly he could legally shed paid employees and replace them with pucks. Bull's sheer size, and look of bitterness, intrigued Mike. He took Bull into an empty conference room, and asked Bull to describe his background. When Bull was furtive, Mike yelled, "Who the fuck are you, what have you been doing for the last twenty years, and why the hell should I hire you?"
Bull fell to his knees, kissed Mike's shoes, and began to tell his tale. Twenty years ago, before the New Conservative Party changed everything, Bull was a quiet young man who wanted to be dominated. As far as someone could do at that time, he became a slave by signing several contracts and powers of attorney. He gave himself to a charismatic, and vicious, owner of a tattoo studio. His chosen master used Bull for both for practice and demonstration. His owner even had some of the early tattoos burned off with lasers, so there would be fresh "canvas." When his skin was used up, Bull was thrown out onto the street. He came to the Johnson Warehouse Company with only the clothes on his back, begging for a job. Mike remembered the steely gaze he saw in Bull's eyes and asked, "You've been a slave for twenty years. You're no longer wanted or needed as a slave. Do you suppose you can use your experience to train others to be submissive?"
Bull looked up at Mike, and with a voice that brought a chill, even to a man who was quickly acquiring legal slaves called pucks, said, "I know how to control a man. Let me prove my worth."
With that, Bull took a paid position in the newly constructed Training Center. He asked to live there. Mike agreed, charging Bull room and board. While Bull was free to come and go, to the best of Mike's knowledge, he never left The Warehouse. He had no personal belongings. He asked for no special favors. Bull's net pay was deposited in a bank account, and Mike never questioned the working relationship, because there appeared to be nothing to question.
Shortly after Bull arrived, yet another voluntary slave showed up. This one was an informal purchase. Mike received a phone call one day from someone who claimed to have a 25 year old man he had purchased when the slave was 10. Intrigued, Mike asked for the details.
"He was placed into foster care when he was seven after his mother was arrested for drug trafficking. She never named a father. Tommy was shuffled through the foster care system for a few years, then his caretakers asked if I would be interested in purchasing him. He was only ten, but he was tall, lean, and I found him attractive. So did my friends, and he became quite a little moneymaker.
"He was reluctant at first, but came around when he realized there was nothing he could do. His foster parents took the money, and reported him missing. I kept him naked and working as a whore. He had disappeared, so far as the state was concerned.
"After a couple of years, he matured. First, it was a bush around his cock and pit hair, which I had him shave every day. His customers wanted a boy, not some furry thing. Within a year, he was growing leg hair, chest hair, and even arm hair.
"I rented him out to a friend in the construction business as a hod carrier. Tommy was only 13, but could pass for 16, making him old enough to work. He was picked up every day at 6 am, and returned to me at 6 pm. I fed him in the basement, fed him scraps, and picked up old clothes at a thrift store to keep him barely clothed. I banked the money, figuring I could have his hair removed by laser, and put him back to work making real money.
"Laser hair removal costs a lot of money, and the worthless sack of shit was growing hair faster than he could earn the money to have it burned off. Now he's too old to be a boi-toy.
"Would you be interested in inspecting him? I heard that you're looking for workers."
Mike's first reaction was, "No, I like my men hairy, and this stupid SOB is forever smooth."
Then he thought about Bull. Bull was a voluntary slave, and was damned good at training pucks. Mike told Tommy's owner to bring him over for review. Tommy turned out to be an excellent trainer. Renamed Slick, he took a particular delight in torturing men who had the one thing he had lost forever-his hair.
Mike arrived at the door of the Training Center, and Bull was waiting in the lobby. Mike said, "I want to inspect the new acquisition quickly. Take me to him."
Bull opened the door to the hallway, and escorted Mike to the Inspection Room. There was Jack, exhausted and defeated, hanging from his arms, no longer even trying to support his weight with his toes.
"Now I remember why I bought this puck. Look at him! You can't even see his chest or back. The hair's too thick!"
Jack just hung from the chains without moving. He heard his new Master speaking, but had no reason to respond. The words were about him, not to him. He had no more reason to show interest than a farm animal would when being discussed at a county fair.
"He looks good. As always, Bull, you have done a good job presenting the puck. How's his temperament?"
"He's adapting quickly for an inexperienced puck. I think Master will be pleased with his potential."
Jack thought about Pete, and asked, "What's the puck's name? Has he been fucked before? How long do you suppose it will take to get him properly trained and put into service?"
"His name is Jack. He's a virgin. He appears to be very compliant, but he's only been here a few hours. Let me know what you want of him, and I'll deliver him promptly."
"I have an idea. I'd like to see this gorilla fucked by my houseman tonight. Pete needs a bit of fun, and I'd like to see a show. Do you suppose Jack could manage that?"
"I'm not sure, sir. I've only been working with him since this morning."
Mike walked over to Jack, lifted his head by his chin, and said, "Look at me, puck. My houseman needs a good fuck. Do you suppose you could let him break your cherry without too much of a fuss?"
Jack, with a vacant look in his eyes, replied, "Whatever Master wants."
"Let him down. Put a shock collar on him, and lead him to my apartment. You are to accompany him and stand by with a stun gun and controller, and give a second controller for the collar to me. Pete's going to get a treat tonight."
Mike grabbed Jack by the chin again, and said, "I like the way you look. Pete can show you a good time, and I can see a good show. Bull will stand by, just in case you can't behave. Be a good puck. Put on a good show for me. You might even get out of heavy labor, if you're impressive enough."
Mike thought to himself, "The gorilla is certainly impressive enough already. Look at the size of that dick!" On the other hand, if Mike let every puck he wanted to fuck out of heavy labor, there would be no workers! Let Jack have a bit of hope for the moment.
"Bull, bring Jack to my apartment when you have him prepared."
"Yes, sir."
Mike turned and headed toward the door.
"Bull! Who's responsible for the man being punished in the barracks lobby?"
"That would be Paul, Sir."
"Fetch Paul. I have instructions for Bob's treatment. I'll be in front of the building. Hurry along. My dinner will be ready in a few minutes."
Mike walked out through the lobby and to the outdoors. The sun was low on the horizon, the sky was clear, and the temperature was pleasant. Mike sighed, and thought to himself, "I don't like what the New Conservatives are doing to the state, but I can't complain. Life is good."
Paul came running out the door.
"Yes sir. How can I serve you, sir?"
Paul was another great find. He came to apply for a job about a year ago. Initially prone to violence, Paul had to be disciplined by Slick a few times before he settled down.
Paul was also an employee, not a puck. Paul was compact, very muscular, and covered with a heavy layer of blond hair. His head was shaved. He had a few unfortunate tattoos, and Mike was not crazy about the septum ring, but it just seemed to fit Paul, so he allowed Paul to keep it. Paul was a wannabe master, but never could raise enough capital to buy any pucks. He was a hard worker, however, and like Bull, lived in the Training Center. Mike was quite certain Paul was saving his money to go out on his own, unlike Bull, who would probably never leave The Warehouse.
Shortly after Paul started working, he asked if there was a job for his lover. Paul introduced Mike to Sam, who looked remarkably like Paul. He had the same six-pack, wide neck, and thick blond body hair. Both men had very small balls. They obviously took way too many steroids at an early age, explaining the unnatural muscles, bald heads, tiny balls, and thick body hair. Mike noticed their balls slowly getting larger, and wondered if the body hair would begin to thin, now that neither was taking anabolic steroids.
Mike looked at Paul's "brick shithouse" body, and asked, "You are providing guidance to a puck named Bob, now in the barracks lobby. What are your plans for him?"
"I'll leave him in the lobby for a couple of shifts, then bring him back here, punish him for missing a second shift, and send him back to work."
"Bob offended me, and I'd like you to alter his punishment. I added an incentive for him to get well fucked-ice cream for any puck who dicks him. Keep an eye on Bob. If his hole gets filled up, have him shit the cum out into a bucket, clean him off, getting as much cum as you can into the bucket, and get him ready for the next round.
"When it's time to take him back to the Training Center, get the remaining cum out of him, but leave his legs dirty. Roll him back to the Training Center, and give me a call. He can stay strapped to the horse until I'm ready to deal with him.
"Bob's going to drink that cum and ass juice, and I want to be there when he does."
Mike headed back to the old warehouse to take the elevator back to his apartment. He hoped Pete would like his gift, and that the chef managed to make a decent salad this time.