Christopher Enslaved
for Life at the Age of 22

By: Randall Austin
(© 2011 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 7
The Processing Room

As I entered the processing room viewing area I was surprised to see that it was empty except for Dexter and Beamer, who were leaning against the large Plexiglas window which extended the entire length of the room and looked out and down onto the processing room. When they saw me they shouted out to me as though we were the best of friends, and walked over to greet me. I nodded to them, hoping they would stay put, but they made their way towards me as I took in the overwhelming sights which greeted me in the viewing room.

It was a long narrow room, and one wall was entirely Plexiglas through which the slave processing operation could be viewed. The opposite wall was covered in posters and advertising copy relating to the San Diego Slave Bureau and General Facility and the slave trade in general.

I noticed immediately that the only other significant element of the room were two vending machines which offered snacks and soft drinks. I thought how disgusting it was to sell snacks in this environment, and wondered for a moment what type of person would be able to relax enough to eat snacks in the processing viewing area, until I noticed that both Dexter and Beamer were eating potato chips as they peered through the Plexiglas.

My eyes caught one of the posters, "Does your slave or team need reprocessing? A smartly turned slave means added value and productivity. Meet with our slave accessories consultant to customize one slave or a hundred. Let us help you meet your or your company's optimal needs. Make an appointment with a customizing specialist on your way out."

I approached the Plexiglas and peered out, and I had to stop and catch my breath at what I saw; a sea of hundreds of trussed naked male slaves hanging from meat hooks. Such a sight as earlier I would not have believed took place within the boundaries of the city I grew up in. Over two hundred bound, naked, and trussed males hanging from meat hooks in one large room. Moving along a conveyer track to some 80 stations along the track route, each station manned by anywhere from one to four processors, capable of performing requisite body modifications, often in a matter of seconds. From the casual (ear piercings) to the profound (castrations).

The rail track zigzagged in an "s" pattern. Walking amongst the various stations were processor apprentices carrying long poles with leather padded loops 7 inches in diameter on the ends. With these poles they could speedily loop a hanging slave at the base of his cock and balls from either the front or the backside of the slave. With this leverage at the base of the slave's crotch they could halt a lead slave on the trolley while some delay was rectified, or else pull the slave off to a switch track to lead him to some other station.

A sign in the viewer room addressed the grapplers: "Did you know that the processors who man the grappler rods are highly trained through an apprenticeship program that takes 2 years to complete? It may look rushed or haphazard, but their skill in handling the rods insures that drudges are processed efficiently and safely."

I momentarily stood transfixed reading the signs, which were as strange to me as the sights in the processing room.

Another sign right next to the first one I read said, "All procedures are safe and humane, and are performed solely for the long term benefit of the drudges."

Another sign, with a drawing of a processor pushing a trussed slave with a grappling hook, read: "Did you know that slave processors are highly paid professionals? Processors in all departments are needed. Please check out the employment opportunities with San Diego SBGF personnel department on your way out, Thank you. The California Bureau of Slaves."

Finally I heard Beamer say, "Hey Dex, there's your loser brother making his grand entrance!"

"Wow, look at the expression on his face. The family slave doesn't look too happy!", shouted Dexter, as both boys laughed and high fived. "This is sooo fuckin cool! You should have your dad enslave Justin, then you could have a family slave too, and make some extra money."

"Fuck man, look at that, they're lowering him into a vat of water or something!", shouted Beamer.

Dexter and Beamer had wide happy smiles as they viewed the proceedings, as excited as if they were at a major sporting event, as they scarfed down their potato chips.

I looked out across the sea of suspended slaves. Two hundred naked bucks suspended, slowly twirling on their chains. Two hundred men dangling like slaughtered animals. Two hundred men being grappled at the base of their cocks by young apprentices moving them this way and that. Two hundred trussed slaves with every part of their body accessible, being trollied through the processing stations, being stopped and modified at some stations, being passed over at others.

Screams of slaves being punished by having anesthetic withheld during the processing could be heard continually, though faintly, through the plexiglass.

The only other sound in the viewing area was the nonstop chatter of Dexter and Beamer. "Serves those slave assholes right, they're just getting what they deserve!", opined Beamer.

"Holy fuck, look at that goof getting his eyebrows removed!", laughed Dexter.

Having to listen to Beamer and Dexter's continual obscenities made my time spent in the viewing all the more difficult. As it was, the sights in the processing room alone were almost unbearable to me. Human beings getting processed. Getting lowered on their chain, getting raised. Getting dipped, clipped, shaved, pierced, ringed, branded, cinched, collared, tattooed, stapled, punched, belled, dyed, circumcised, infibulated, castrated, tagged, looped, hooked, soldered, cauterized, stained, scarred. Some anesthetized, some not. Some used to the processing room. Some terrified to death of it.

A voice over the intercom broke my concentration: "The following drudges report to Room 34-A for performance evaluation: Hoser, Squeege, Bingo, Strapper, and Elf."

Dexter, excited, alerted Beamer, "Yo bro, check it out! Chris just got a boner from his cock shaving!" They both laughed out loud, as Dexter exulted, "No more strokin that thing, dude! Fuck, look at him! What a fuckin loser he is."

Slaves are "losers" in the eyes of the unenlightened, and before me were row upon row of naked losers, with their knees spread wide, their arms chained to their bent legs behind their backs. Hanging, dangling, spinning, swaying, losers. Two hundred loser cocks hanging lower to the floor than any other part of their bodies, erecting and deflating. Two hundred dangling sweaty loser scrotums filled with four hundred loser balls. Four hundred arm pits sweating at maximum capacity, emitting the stench of the lost.

Two hundred helpless slabs of meat-hooked loser flesh at the processing plant. Getting pulled around by their groins by young apprentices, who were not losers, manning grappling hooks. From two hundred penises dangled laminated cards coded with processing instructions. Instructions for processing two hundred totally exposed and vulnerable animals who once thought they were men. Who once thought they were worthy of respect.

"Hey," Beamer shouted, "they're stopping Chris at the nose ring station! He's getting his septum punched."

"Cool, he needs one of those!", replied Dexter. "Fuck, look at the size of that nose ring they're putting on him!"

The room became a blur after a while, one naked slave looking like another. Most of the time I couldn't spot Christopher in the sea of flesh. After almost an hour in the viewing room I started to get queasy, and I needed something to eat. So finally I had no choice but to use the vending machines. I got some pretzels. As I went back to watch, Dexter pointed out that Christopher was just about to pass the track nearest to and almost directly below the viewing area. When Christopher was stopped directly below us and the processors were checking his laminated penis card, Dexter and Beamer started pounding on the plexiglass to get Christopher's attention. After a few seconds Christopher heard the noise and looked up and saw the three of us, holding snack bags and eating our chips and pretzels. I felt awful, but before I could gesture to explain the situation to Christopher his attention was suddenly diverted, as an apprentice grappled his groin and rapidly pulled him forward to the next station.

The sight of my friend Christopher left me dazed and sad. His processing was only half completed, and already he looked like a slave. I stood there pondering the friend I had lost, and gradually I grew numb to the unbelievable scenes before me. My mind wandered, and for a long time I recalled happy times Christopher and I had shared together, and how we never would have imagined that it all would come to this.

It was a relief when what seemed like a very long time later I was finally stirred from my numb reverie by Dexter and Beamer telling me that Christopher was just about finished being processed, and that they would meet up again with me and Christopher when the transport bus arrived.

As soon as Christopher was off the hook and untrussed, they pushed him against a section of the wall painted white and brightly lit, and started taking pictures from all angles of the naked freshly processed, hairless, collared, ringed, cinched, tattooed, branded and belled Licker. He was given brown slave fatigues, sandals, and a 10 inch tall cone shaped gray cardboard hat that was held in place by a little elastic cord that went under his chin. It seemed like he was being told to dress in a hurry. When he put his cone hat on I saw that it said in bold lettering, "CAUTION: Freshly Drudged - For Delivery to Baldwin/Fletcher."

To be continued...

Posted: 04/08/11