Training the Marine

TRAINING THE MARINE - Part 2

By Pete Brown. petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

I had intended to leave the marine overnight, cuffed and in the dark.

But after my private dinner party for the senior partner of the consulting firm, I was restless (the man had been as inventive as I had expected, and we arranged to discuss "opportunities" the next day). I don't think it was the "daisy chain" of naked oiled athletes all fucking each other that made it hard for me to consider going to bed immediately, as I was used to seeing spectacles like this quite frequently - indeed, in my "set" such shows were becoming rather rare as they were considered boring: there are, after all, only so many things that a group of totally naked men can do with each other and in our mutual entertaining we had seen it all many times before .

It was more that I was eager to get on with the training and make real progress. If I went back to the office, I could perhaps move on to the next stage immediately, and not have to lose another eight hours.

So I went out to the garage and got into my car.

Alerted by the other house slaves of my progress through the house, the chauffeur ran in just as I was settling in. He was still naked, of course, as he had been bedded down for the night, but I told him he need not bother with the uniform as I was in a hurry. I must consider having him drive me this way more often - I had chosen to sit in the front alongside him, and he's a well hung fellow. It was amusing to tease his cock as we sped through the city, and I almost thought it would be interesting to see if his concentration wavered if I were to bring him to climax and then continue jerking him as he shot his cum. Some men then have incredibly sensitive cock heads in these circumstances, as we know, and I wondered if he, like me, was one of them. No slave would dare to tell a master to stop, of course, and I wondered if that incredibly intense sensation verging on acute pain would distract him from driving.

But before I could arouse him further we arrived and drove down into the garage. I waved away the flock of security guards and my "on duty" PA who was there to greet me, and took the elevator down into the fourth basement.

As I opened the door and turned on the lights, I saw him blinking wildly from their brightness. He had sunk down to the floor and was lying on is belly, looking rather uncomfortable: I suppose it was better than sitting against the wall as there his hands in the middle of his back would make it difficult.

He struggled to his feet, and I could see dark urine stains still clearly visible on the front of his uniform trousers: he could of course drink from the slave spigot, but would not have been able to urinate or defecate with his hands restrained as they were. If he was worried about humiliating himself by referring to himself as a slave, how much worse must it be for him to know that I had seen that he had soiled himself, I wondered.

I realised to my annoyance that he had not been totally in the dark - the pilot lights on the controls on the control panel were shining quite brightly, and there would have been some residual illumination - albeit very faint - all the time. Whilst I thought of it, I strode over and flipped the switch that turned them off.

Approaching the bars, I said "Well, slave? Have you been sleeping?"

He looked back at me, and I could see the defiance in his eyes. He would, I thought, be a very handsome brute once he had been shaved and trimmed, and encouraged to smile. But now he just looked at me.

"Last time I was here I was telling you how a slave requested a master to remove his cuffs", I went on. "You declined to petition me to do this. Do you have anything to say now?"

"Get these cuffs off!"

"Not good enough, slave!"

"Please get these cuffs off....... Sir."

"Do you remember the proper form of address for your master, slave? 'Sir' wasn't quite it, was it? I'll give you one more chance - if you would like to spend another eight hours cuffed like that, it's your call."

I could see the struggle going on in his head. He must be desperate to crap by now, and was already humiliated by having had to urinate in his trousers. Could he stand any more time cuffed, or would he submit? Defecation, and the rituals surrounding it, are a powerful taboo in Western society. Even though as a marine I assumed he would have been on harsh missions far removed from the comforts of western "bathrooms", I doubted that he would ever before have been faced with defecating in his shorts.

Grimacing and glaring, and lowering his voice as the sentence neared its end, I heard "Please take these cuffs off..... Master."

"That's better, slave! Back up to the bars here."

I unclipped the restraining chain from the slave collar, but decided to leave the thick leather band around his neck (a small padlock held it closed, and without access to tools the slave could not remove it or cut it off himself). As a conscientious owner I did of course run my finger lightly around inside the collar to make sure it was not chafing, as the slave stood there twisting slightly as I did so as my attention was clearly unwelcome. No, let me be honest with you, reader: I relished the sensation of his hot flesh against my finger. He had not shaved for days, and his stubby growth was exciting to feel. I lingered at the front, and fingered his Adam's apple. And at the back I pressed several times into the bony top of his spine to gauge its power.

With his hands now just above his arse, it was easy to snap the quick release fixings on the cuffs and pull them away onto my side of the cage - I didn't want to leave potential missiles in there with him.

He was quick, I'll say that for him: as the cuffs came off he whipped around with a lightening fast movement and tried to grab me through the bars. Even thought I was expecting something like that, he would probably have succeeded had not his muscles been severely cramped from being held high on his back.

I was glad he failed, and cursed myself for not being more considerate: he could hardly have caused me serious harm as I could have touched the panic button I always carry in my pocket and guards would have been there in moments. No - it's more that a master has to be careful not to place a slave in a situation that's life-threatening to him, especially whilst he's training. If the slave had succeeded in grabbing me and I had had to summon help, I would have had to have the slave put to death. Attacking a master, or even attempting to attack a master, is a capital crime for slaves. And with the room full of guards, there would be no way of avoiding the facts from becoming widely known; and so to secure my own reputation as a fair master I would have needed to enact that ultimate penalty on the slave.

I said nothing, as I considered that I did not want the slave to even think that he might have succeeded. Instead, calmly looking at him, I asked

"Are you hungry, slave? I think you were probably not fed on the way to the slave merchants, and he was unlikely to waste food on you as he sold you on to me almost as soon as you arrived. Ask me, if you would like to eat."

Still rubbing his arms, he just said "Fuck you!"

I smiled. He probably thought that now that his arms were free he could at least defecate if he wished, and he probably wanted to explore his cage more completely to see if he could escape. I know that slaves can go for long periods without food (although their work rate drops off alarmingly, so most masters do not starve slaves for protracted intervals), provided they have access to water (as this one did).

Without saying another word, I simply walked out and closed the door behind me. After a few more hours, this time in total, absolute darkness and complete silence, perhaps he would be more compliant.

As I took the elevator up to the garage, I was rehearsing in my mind the experience I would have with the chauffeur. But when I got there my PA started telling me of an urgent situation in one of the South American subsidiaries, and to avoid wasting my time I told him to continue briefing me in the car as I was driven home. I instructed the PA to implement a rescue plan - we would simply shift large sums in and out of the country to destabilise its currency further, so the troubles of our subsidiary would go unnoticed in the general panic. And as an afterthought I told the PA to remind me to command the chauffeur to my bed one night soon (I was too tired now): I hadn't seen him without his clothes before as in response to the sensibilities of the many foreigners in our capital, slaves who appeared outside the house were now generally clothed. Like all my personal slaves, 'appearance' had been a key factor in selecting him for purchase, but I had not before appreciated what a good body he had and I had found his high-held pectorals, topped with large dark tits, particularly pleasing. It's good to have a change from the usual range of bed slaves occasionally, and I was looking forward to having my hands on his thick cock again - I like a slave to have a thick cock, and always choose a shorter, thicker member over a longer thinner one. This slave would provide a delicious diversion for a night or two, especially as he was probably not used to taking a master up his firmly-muscled, pleasantly shaped ass.

After an excellent night's sleep, I was ready for anything the next morning. In my eagerness to see how "my" slave was progressing, I even dismissed the handsome slave who was waiting kneeling by my bedside to provide relief for my morning erection: quite apart from saving me a few minutes, I thought it would be interesting to proceed with the training whilst I was in a state of heightened sexual arousal - it's a long time since I started a day without a quick shag of a handsome slave.

I breakfasted in the car - although I am abstemious at this meal and usually only take fruit and coffee so this is not a particular problem. Arriving at the garage in my HQ, I was eager to go down immediately to the fourth basement, but the usual crowd of assistants and directors was waiting to greet me and tell me of today's problems.

Well, they could just sort it out for themselves, for a change! I told them I would review whatever decisions they wanted to make "presently", and took the elevator down.

As I opened the door, I could tell immediately that the slave had reacted badly to the isolation: as well as blinking wildly in the light, he looked very disoriented. The total lack of light after I had turned off the pilots, and the lack of sound, was clearly getting to him. I began to realise what a powerful tool this was, and how much more effective it would be if the slave were also to be deprived of any ability to move, or to have sensations in his body.

"Good morning, slave. I will start where we left off last night. Are you hungry? Ask me, if you would like to eat."

I thought it was with considerably less anger than on the previous occasion when he again spat out the now familiar "Fuck you!"

My compassion for the slave did, I admit, get the better of me. My father always used to tell me that you never bargained with a slave, never reasoned with him, and never explained: masters commanded, and that's all they did. But I felt something for this marine, and against my better judgement said

"Look, slave, I will give you one more chance to consider your situation. As you will know from exploring this cage last night - and I assume that's what you did do - there's no escape from it. No one is going to come and rescue you - even if anyone knew you were here, which they don't, no force in this country is going to break into my building: I am one of the three most powerful men in the place. And your fellow country men are not going to risk an international incident by sending in a rescue force - we are an ally of yours, you know, and an exceedingly rich, exceedingly powerful one. In any case, your press are flatly denying that any soldiers were ever sent here on a secret reconnaissance mission in the first instance: so if you never came, you're not here to be rescued!"

"And there are no 'friendly slaves' and no 'secret friends' to come and help you, or slip you a lump of sugar to keep your strength up, or anything like that: you only see that in movies. No one, and I mean no one, can get in here without my express authorisation.

So unless I choose to feed you, you starve."

"I've only made a small investment in buying you, as you were not expensive because you are so disobedient.

And so I will let you starve, unless you show me that you accept, at least in some measure, your new status.

You need to ask me, and ask me properly, to feed you. If you do that, I may feed you, or I may not. But if you do not ask, I definitely will not."

"Now, you have one last chance. I have a day's work ahead of me, and I'm leaving here in two minutes."

I could see he was thinking about what I had said. He clearly did not like it, but could see the sense in what I was saying. He looked like a clever, resourceful sort of a man, so I imagined that he, as I would in his position, thought that staying fit and healthy was for the moment more important than "mere words".

Lowering his voice, as if in shame, he whispered

"Master, please feed me."

"Louder, slave!"

"Master, please will you feed me?"

One does not of course acknowledge slaves or reply to their questions unless one wishes. Instead, I went to the steel cupboard, opened it, and concealing the other contents from the slave as I wanted them to be a surprise late, took out three slave biscuits.

"Normally slaves get four of these biscuits in the morning and four in the evening. But that's when they're working hard - until you start to exercise properly again, I will ration you to three. That will be adequate to prevent starvation and loss of muscle bulk."

"You'll find them bland and uninteresting, as they are specially formulated to ensure that a slave gets no pleasure from his taste buds whilst eating - that's reserved for other activities! But they are nutritionally complete, providing everything you need for a healthy body."

"We have even ensured that slave feeding time is at a minimum, as you'll see they are quite small - which also reduces the expense of storage and handling of slave food. But they will expand in your stomach, so you will feel 'full' after eating: but you must drink plenty of water to enable this to happen."

As I had been explaining this, I casually tossed the biscuits through the bars - later I would want him to feed from my hand, but I could not currently risk going within arms length of the bars, for the reasons I related earlier.

He had to scrabble around the floor to retrieve the biscuits, and crammed them into him hungrily. He really must have been on the edge of starvation, I realised - perhaps he had had to go for several days without food even before he was captured. But I was not going to ask him this, as I wanted no reminders of his former life: he needed to focus on being a slave.

As he crunched away, I continued

"Good! It's my plan to visit you at least twice a day, and, providing you ask me respectfully as you just have, I will feed you. Any time you want to miss a meal, just disobey an order: from now on, if I tell you to do something, you do it. If you do not, I will leave, immediately and without hesitation. If you have then not yet been fed, you will miss a meal. If you have been fed, I will skip the next visit to you.

So it's entirely up to you. Do you understand?"

He did not reply, and I felt my anger rising.

"I said, 'do you understand?'. Slaves always answer masters!"

"Yes."

"Slave, this is the last time. You will either answer me in the proper fashion, or I will leave now and not return for an indeterminate period. Do you understand the need to obey me, at once and instantly?"

"Yes.... Master."

"That's better. Now, I think it would be a good idea if you got out of those clothes. I want to have a good look at my new purchase."

"Sir... Master... I don't want to be disrespectful. But I would remind you of one of the conditions of the Geneva Convention covering prisoners of war - they must not be subject to degrading or humiliating treatment...."

"The 'master' in that sentence saved you, slave! Otherwise I would have considered it grossly impertinent for a slave to speak to a master without permission. But let me point out two things: you are not a prisoner of war, so this 'Geneva Convention' does not apply to you: you are my slave. And it cannot be considered to be degrading or humiliating for a slave to appear naked before his master - why should it? The master owns the slave, and the master has the right of complete access to the slave's body."

"Now, get naked, so I can inspect you properly."

"Fuck you! .... Master!"

I liked his spirit - that ironic use of master in his reply. This could turn into a fine sport. But he had to learn that I meant what I said. Without another word I turned and left, leaving him once more in isolation.

It would have been much better really if I had left the slave isolated until the end of the day, but my interest in progress got the better of me and I went back at the lunch hour. I went in, and simply sat on the couch, looking intently at the slave.

"Look, let me out of here...."

"Call my ambassador....."

"Fuck you, don't just sit there.... Talk to me!"

"Look.... Please let me out...."

The slave was up against the bars, shouting out all these absurd pleas to me. I didn't even bother to acknowledge him, and just continued to read the briefing papers I had brought down with me.

He'd tried shaking the bars with anger or frustration during some of this, but there was no possibility of them breaking and I knew they were so thick and solid that they would not even have quivered under his assault.

He gave up, and went and sat against the far wall of the cage.

I allowed some more minutes to pass, then said, quietly

"You disappoint me, slave. I thought that earlier on you were beginning to understand the situation you are in, and how important it would be to your future existence to learn that you owe me proper respect, and should obey all my orders instantly, without question."

"Now, when I come in, you start this whining about 'letting you out'. And you have even dropped the respectful way in which you address your master. You are lucky that I am a considerate master, as some, faced with this insubordination on your part, would have immediately decided to allow you to starve in the dark for a couple of days. I have decided to make allowances for your inexperience, and this time - and it is just his once - I will forget the last few minutes. I will remind you that you are totally under my control: I need not feed you if I do not want to, and you know that there is no possibility of any outside agency interfering in whatever I decide to do to you. I could, for example, simply turn out the lights, close the door, and leave for a month's trip to my US subsidiaries. Then where would you be?"

"So I am now going to give you one last chance. I will forget the past few minutes, and you will begin to act like a properly respectful slave. This is what will happen: I will go out, and come in again. When I enter you will immediately kneel, and touch the floor with your forehead - that's the way slaves greet their master for the first time each day. You will do this now, and every time I come in here after an absence. When I have given you permission to get up, you will stand with your hands clasped behind your back, feet apart, respectfully looking down at a point a bout a metre in front of you: this is the 'rest' position, and you will normally assume it each time there is nothing else for you to do."

"If you do these things, and then obey my orders, I will continue to visit you, and will continue to feed you. If you do not, I will consider that your case is indeed hopeless and simply not bother to come again."

"Now, and think carefully before you answer, as this is a life-changing decision: do you understand everything that I have just said? Do you understand the consequences for you if you fail to respond properly?"

The slave just stood there, and I thought I had perhaps lost - would the foolish man indeed opt for a long, slow death from starvation, alone in the dark, rather than simply buckling down?

I'm not one who ever backs down after making a decision, and I knew that if the slave did not obey, I would indeed have to go through with it and allow him to die. Was it worth making one final effort, I wondered. Somewhat surprisingly, I found myself saying

"If you opt for disobedience, and the consequence of that, death, that is of course final. You might consider it more honourable to obey now, however distasteful that is to your ethical code, in the hope that you can then survive long enough to escape and once again become of use to your country. I know marines in the past have often chosen 'death before dishonour', but perhaps death is now the easy way out for you: I can promise you that the revulsion that you currently feel at being treated as a slave is as nothing compared to what lies ahead as I proceed with your training. You are perhaps not sufficiently strong to take that training - there will be no harsh physical punishments, but there are some weak men who are simply incapable of taking the mental stress under which I will put you."

"Only the very strong can accept the inevitability of slavery and the total dominance of their bodies by their master. I will make you feel totally humiliated and 'used'. I have no more regard for your sensibilities than I do for those of a pet animal, and you will discover that I intend to make use of your body in ways that you probably now would consider vile and disgusting. As I said, it is only the truly strong who would continue down this path in the hope of ultimately breaking free and once more regaining their pride as a marine."

"But the choice is yours."

As I spoke those words, I turned and went out of the room, closing the door behind me.

I'm not known as the most skilled negotiator in our country for nothing, and I felt certain that my exposition of his position would mean that the slave would in fact obey and not choose death. It was of course all rubbish - escape was totally impossible, ever. But I needed to give the slave a reason for accepting my proposition: if you back your opponent into a corner from which there is no way out in any business negotiation, he will continue to fight. I had long since learned that I always needed to give my opponents, even those who I have just utterly crushed, some way of "rationalising" their decisions to do what was in any case inevitable.

I allowed a vital three minutes, to make the slave think that I had perhaps gone away in spite of what I had said - such a time would be to him, in the dark, subjectively much longer. And of course I didn't want to waste my own valuable time in waiting longer.

The door slid open and the lights came up. The slave, still standing near the bars where I had left him, seemed to ponder and waver. Then, to my relief, dropped to his knees and touched his forehead to the floor.

To emphasise to him that he had started down a track from which there was to be no turning back, I allowed him to stay like that whilst I settled back into my position on the couch, and read another of my briefing papers. I wondered if he would dare to make any move, or even try to look at me, and continued to read calmly for at least five minutes. I knew that the longer I made him stay in this position of shame the more it would emphasise to him that he was acting like a slave. But, equally, I did not want to pass the whole of the remaining 30 minutes I had at my disposal like this as I was eager to proceed.

"You may get up, slave"

He scrambled to his feet, and did, as we had discussed, assume the "rest" position, eyes cast down humbly. I let him remain like this for another five minutes, as I continued reading.

Getting to the end of a particularly boring paper on our organisation's moves to destabilise Venezuela and thus increase the importance of Gulf oil further, to our benefit, I put it down and looked at the slave.

"Since I have owned you I have not had the pleasure of fully inspecting my property. Get naked, so that I can see what I have bought in its entirety."

Even then, I thought it was touch and go and he might refuse my order. When a newly-enslaved man is first stripped for display to potential buyers it is often the first moment that he truly realises what has happened to him. This marine had not been through the public auctions, and so had no experience of standing nude in front of the buyers who would naturally want to feel and fondle his body, including of course his most intimate parts.

I didn't doubt that he was used to appearing naked in front of other men, as he would be used to a fairly "public" life in barracks rooms and in communal showers and the like after military training exercises. But there's a huge psychological difference in being voluntarily naked, with your fellow men all in the same position, and being commanded to strip in front of a fully-clothed man: especially when that man has told you that the reason for your nakedness is so that he can inspect you!

He bent down and undid his boot laces, and slipped them off his feet. Slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off his shoulders. Touchingly, he turned around as he dropped his trousers and stepped out of them - I don't know why, as he was still in close-fitting knitted khaki-coloured boxers. Then he just stood there.

"Turn around, slave"

He turned around, reluctantly, and I saw a very satisfactory bulge in the front of the boxers. I was also pleased to see that he had big nipples in the centre of large aureoles, in a very nice dark tone, that were mounted on pecs that looked invitingly firm and were held high - I do hate men with small nipples, or even big nipples in the middle of aureoles that are the same colour of the surrounding skin so they are not properly differentiated.

I waited, and when it was obvious that nothing more was going to happen, said

"Slave, I thought you were learning! I'm pleased with your progress, but I told you to get naked. When I say naked, I mean naked: get out of those ridiculous boxers and take off your socks - I need to be able to see your entire body."

He went to turn around, and I continued "Stay facing me!"

He was , I'm sure, blushing as he put his thumbs into the elastic waistband of the boxers and pushed it over his hips, then shrugged them to the floor and stepped out of them. I was exceedingly pleased to see that he had an above-average cock, both in length and thickness, and that he was uncut! I am of course circumcised, as all of our race are done shortly after birth, and I routinely have all my uncut slaves circumcised as part of their initial processing - I don't like to think of them hiding heir cock heads from my gaze when they're not erect! But the beauty of having an uncut slave, especially a very "wild" one like this, is that you can order the circumcision at some point in order to emphasise the complete control you have over the slave's body.

An added bonus with this slave was that his foreskin extended well beyond the end of the penis - with many men with very thick cocks like his, the foreskin often stops abruptly. With this long skin, I could have two cuts: first, I would have his foreskin trimmed to a more fashionable shorter length, so that it was still present but was short enough to reveal his piss slit even when the cock was at rest. And then, later, I could have it removed entirely. There would be two opportunities to show my mastery of his body.

It's always a mistake to make decisions about what to do with a slave's body in a great hurry, especially when you have not had an opportunity to fully probe the musculature with your own hands. But on first sight, this one looked very promising. He would have to lose the medium thatch of hair that partially concealed those nice tits, but I thought I would probably allow the treasure trail to remain as it made a nice dividing line across the middle of his washboard belly. I also noted that his midwife had done a good job, as his navel was a deliciously small pit - I hate it when the cord was clumsily tied and you get one of those navels where there is no depth and it looks almost like a pucker on the surface.

As is usual in slaves where no attention has been paid to the pubic hair, his was a complete mess. It was thick, black and wiry like the hair on his head and straddled the whole of his groin area from hip to hip.

There was a veritable forest of it all around his cock and balls, to the extent that, even though they appeared to be satisfactorily big and hung low down underneath the penis, it was difficult to see his balls fully. Still, this is a minor matter and easily attended to: I always insist that all my slaves have totally shaved balls, and only allow a token patch of pubic hair, trimmed to a neat length, on top of the cock.

"Turn around, slowly, and then face the front again."

As he rotated his ass came into view - nicely muscular, and held high, with a good differentiation between it and the top of his thighs. I could see the thatch of public hair extended here, too, as there were curls of it appearing from between his ass cheeks even when he had them clenched closed, as now. It was good that there did not appear to be any hair on his shoulders and back (although with most slaves a little electrolysis can cure this permanently, to avoid the necessity of endlessly shaving the entire area).

Where the base of his spine met the top of his ass, there were those two small "dimples" that I personally find attractive in a man - you don't get them on every slave, just those in good shape, like this one, with a high, tight ass and generally firm musculature. He also had one of those little patches of hair at the base of his spine - a few short, wispy strands. I'm never certain what to do about this - I usually order it to be shaved or removed totally with electrolysis, but, on occasions, when I have been lying with a slave after intercourse, I have found it pleasurable to toy with these hairs. If you're lying with the slave facing you, you can play with a nipple with one hand and gently run your finger tips of the other hand through those hairs - it makes a change from just stroking and grasping at the ass muscles. Well, no need to decide that now, I thought.

Generally, he looked to be in superb condition and all his body looked to be nicely toned. There were no visible signs of fat, or even of incipient fat that might be a problem later. The skin tones were unpleasing, as his forearms, and his chest to some extent, were a very dark brown. His lower legs were a lighter brown, but the whole of his arse, cock area, and a considerable part of his upper thighs were all deathly white: I supposed he did some work in the marines in T shirts, some shirtless, and some wearing long shorts. Still, this is all easily fixed as soon as his entire body is exposed to sunshine.

It was unfortunate that he had one of those silly tattoos on his upper arm - "Semper Fi" it said, which I believe is some sort of marines motto. It's almost impossible to eradicate heavy tattoos like that completely, and the perfection of the upper arm would for ever be spoiled. So I made a mental note to schedule him to have a bigger, "tribal" tattoo all over that arm and shoulder, that would disguise it.

The slave had stopped, and was again standing looking down, obediently.

"Good, slave. I'm pleased with what I see so far. Now, I expect you'd like to shower: it's been days since you last had an opportunity to clean yourself, I'd imagine, and even I, from over here, can smell your rancid stink - it must be much worse for you.

I went over to my cupboard and got out a plastic sack , and brought it over. Poking it through the bars, I continued

"Put your boots and clothes in here so they can be taken for cleansing." What I meant, of course, was "for disposal", but "cleansing" implied he might get them back!

He did as I commanded, and I got my first opportunity to observe the movement of his muscles as he bent down and then shovelled the clothes in to the bag. Sadly, he remained facing me, so I did not get an opportunity to see the ass muscles in action. I thought of telling him to do a few simple exercises so I could observe him fully, but decided that "slowly, slowly, catchee monkey" was the best plan.

He brought the bag over towards the bars, and I was again careful not to stand too close.

"And the wristwatch, slave! Slaves do not need to know the time, and anyway do not have possessions like that of their own."

I saw him struggling for a moment, then I heard

"Master.... Master, please allow this slave to keep the watch. It was my graduation present from my dad, who died shortly after...."

Good. Another test that he needed to pass. Things were falling nicely in to place.

"Slave! How dare you speak to me without being asked, especially about something trivial that does not affect my comfort or convenience. Put the watch into the bag, as I have already commanded you to: you have no need of reminders of your former life, as you should be focusing on performing a slave's duties properly."

Very reluctantly, I thought - but that was better than disobedience - he snapped open the clasp of the metal watch bracelet, took it off his wrist, looked longingly at it, then dropped it into the sack.

"Good. But did I not say 'naked'? You have something around your neck still!"

"Master... It's my ID from the marines. A marine never takes off his dog tags...." "Slave, I don't care what a fucking marine does! And neither do you - you are not a marine, you're a slave!

So take that off, and put it in the bag."

As he was doing so, I continued

"I do not find it pleasing to see slaves with wrist watches or tags - I am going to ornament your body later, but it will be with things that I choose. And they will be fixed a lot more permanently that those toys you have just taken off!"

The slave was now standing obediently, and I decided that his nakedness was in fact enhanced by the heavy leather collar that he still wore and which had been used to hold his cuffs up his back. I decided not to remove this collar now, as when he felt it against his skin, especially when it was wet, he would be reminded of his position as a slave.

His obedience so far merited some reward a reward. Going over to the control panel I turned on the shower, and said "You may shower."

He was soon standing under the stream of water, but was looking for something. Hesitantly, he said

"Master.... Is it possible I might have some soap?"

"No, slave. I do not provide it in your cell. One earlier occupant of your cell became so desperate for food that he ate the soap, and since that time I have not provided it. It was a most unpleasant way for him to die, as it was a disinfectant soap that badly affected his already emaciated stomach. But you raise a good point, and I assume you are asking for the soap only so that your body will be cleaner and more pleasant for me. So I will introduce a cleanser into the water stream for three minutes."

Another touch on the control panel and I could see the cleanser foaming lightly on his skin. I always like to see men showering and washing their hair - as well as making their muscles move in a most pleasing way, the wet sheen on the skin makes it look better, I think.

The water turned back to "plain" automatically, and I expected to see the slave wash away the suds. But he seemed to be having some problems - and then I saw what it was: all that running water had made him want to pee! He turned around very slowly away from me, and I saw the flow of water running off his body increase and change colour - he was having to piss. I saw another opportunity for humiliation, so I quickly cut the water!

Like most men, he couldn't just stop himself in mid flow, and the sound of his piss splashing on the tiles was very loud in our deadened environment.

"Did you piss in the showers when you were with your marine buddies?", I asked him.

"No, master!"

"Turn around when you address me, slave!"

He turned, and I saw he was blushing deeply. He had wanted to stay facing away from me as he was still doing that squeezing action that uncut men have to do to get the last drops of piss out of their cocks - us cut men can of course just do the familiar little shake.

"There is no need to be embarrassed, slave. You will learn that a slave's body, being the property of his master, is always fully open to his master. You will learn to piss, crap, jerk off, and even fuck in front of me, and as many others as I select, if I choose."

"In fact, there are two parts of your body in which I am particularly interested, and my time with you now is short as I am due at a meeting. So come closer to the bars, and pull your foreskin back so I can see your cock head properly."

I thought he was going to start disobeying me for a moment, but he approached and, now flushing red all over his face, proceeded to take his cock in one hand and push the foreskin back with this thumb and forefinger. For some reason, men with foreskins often seem to be especially embarrassed at showing their cock heads to other men - a problem that us uncut men don't have, of course. Perhaps it's because it's usually only exposed at time of sexual arousal, so it's something normally shared only with a sexual partner. But I did see it, and was pleased that it was big and fleshy, with a nice big piss slit, as it sat there shiny and moist.

"Good, slave. Very satisfactory. And now I need a quick visual inspection of your anus. Turn around, bend over from the waist, and pull your ass cheeks apart."

Now I knew we must be making progress - if a man is ashamed of revealing his cock head to you, how much more so his asshole! Of course the slave was not then to know that he would have to do much more than expose it to me in due course, but for the time being, making him expose it was a further step down the road to true slavery.

I couldn't see much, actually: the forest of hair in his ass crack and the thick hairs extending from his ball sack along his "taint" almost completely concealed it. I'd deal with that next time, but for now, I kept him in that humiliating position for a couple of minutes before telling him he could resume the rest position.

"We will continue with your inspection tonight, slave, as important matters now require my attention. Would you prefer me to leave the lights on?"

"Oh yes, please, master."

"Very well. You should know that I am pleased with you, and I will additionally do something else for your comfort: this room is maintained at a steady 20 degrees, which is a pleasant temperature. You are now feeling cold, as the water from your shower is evaporating and cooling your skin, but even after that you will, for the first few days of your nakedness, find 20 degrees on the cool side. As all slaves do, you will soon get used to the air on your skin and it will not be a problem. But I do not want you shivering. So I will warm one area of the floor slightly, so that you may lie on the concrete in more comfort now that you are in a proper state of nudity."

Without saying another word, I set the controls appropriately and went out.

End Of Part 2