The Aftermath

By: Jean-Christophe
(© 2011 by the author)

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

Chapter 11
"327"

Part 1 

The slave lies on his back, tied to the branding table - his movements restricted by the tight straps holding him down. Fearfully, he awaits the arrival of his new master.

He knows he is to be branded - that much is obvious. Heating up, on a table alongside him, is the cruel instrument of his impending torture; an electric branding iron. He turns his head to look at the design of the brand. He is horrified to see the outline of an erect cock and two balls - thrown almost into 3-D relief - contained within an ornamental, five centimetres diameter circle. He supposes this to be the sign of a Patroklos Club "pleasure slave". Futilely, he struggles to free himself; his now smooth chest heaving from his exertions.

He knows from his previous branding that he is about to experience much pain. He vividly remembers the occasion when he received the mandatory S brand at his old master's farm. The slave recalls that there are two types of pain associated with a branding. There's the short-lived, intense, unimaginable pain of the actual branding itself, and then there's the lingering, throbbing pain as the brand heals itself. Helplessly, he accepts the inevitability of both.

He knows it is morning but doesn't know the exact time of day; anyway time is of no relevance to him. As a slave, all his actions are decided for him by his master and his only role is to listen and obey. He is aware that he is to be branded at some time around midday, in the presence of his new master. That much he'd overheard in a conversation between his master and the man who operates this vile place.

Already his body is in distress. Firstly, there is the lingering itching of his body as a result of the removal of his body hair. And secondly, there is the pain in his swollen nipples to remind him of their recent piercing; both nipples, puffed up and throbbing with pain, are aggravated by the weight of the platinum rings he now wears. And he is, as yet, unaccustomed to the weight of the new platinum collar around his neck and the matching cock-ring and ball cinch fastened around his genitals.

Left lying on the table, he has time to reflect on all that has happened to him over the past twenty-four hours. Yesterday, he'd been displayed and sold; that much he remembers with clarity. After that, everything is a jumble of confused thoughts, discomfort, pain, and soul-destroying humiliation.

*******

Firstly, they removed his former master's rough, iron collar from around his neck. Uncollared, for the first time in the six, long years of his slavery, he felt that freedom that is enjoyed by all free men; yet, without the collar, he felt strangely "naked". Then he'd been taken from the display room to a rudimentary ablution block to be cleaned up by the establishment's slave assistants.

Humiliatingly, he'd been "flushed clean." Forced to bend at the waist he'd had a nozzle inserted into his arse and water pumped into his bowels. Then, made to squat over a latrine set into the floor, he expelled the foul mess before the nozzle was re-inserted. This process was repeated four times before the assistants were satisfied that he was running "clean". And all this was done in the assistants' presence; as they nonchalantly watched him "empty" himself. Through the years of his slavery, he thought he was inured to all the indignities a master could inflict upon a slave. He was wrong; this was a new low. In his mind, his already poor perception of himself plummeted to a new depth - one he'd never envisaged. He now felt the heavy weight of utter worthlessness and bleak despair.

Next, the assistants had vigorously scrubbed him from head to toe him with a coarse, grey soap that had a strong carbolic smell. Then, hosed down, he was left to dry. Once dry, he was taken to the "stripping" room.

There, he was hurriedly chained, spread-eagled, into an upright frame and left to wait. Looking around he saw that he wasn't alone - there were two other slaves wriggling in identical frames. Like him, both were young and hairy - the one in the frame next to him was particularly so. Thick, black hair covered the chest, belly, back, arms and legs of this slave; its coarseness and thickness concealed his impressive musculature. How long they'd waited, the slave didn't know. Soon, to ease the strain on his outstretched body, he too began to wriggle.

Eventually, the three, waiting slaves were joined by the proprietor and his two slave assistants. The slave knew the man's name was Samuel Norton; his assistants were nameless and were referred to simply as "slave".

Sam Norton was businesslike in his approach to the three suspended slaves. Approaching the first slave, he barked the order to "STOP WRIGGLING! And that goes for the three of you." Then, laughingly he added. "You'll soon have a reason to wriggle."

Quickly and methodically he ran his hands down over the first slave's body. Turning to his assistants he simply stated, "Medium treatment for this one."

Then, standing in front of the hairy slave, he stated. "You're an ugly brute aren't you? You're a real gorilla. I wonder what your owner sees in you. Let's see what you're like under all that fur." Then, after examining the slave's body, he instructed his assistants. "This one requires full strength."

Next, it was the slave's turn and for the second time that afternoon, he felt the man's hands on his body. As they moved swiftly over the slave's body, Sam Norton confirmed his earlier decision to use a weak solution on this slave. The slave's skin was tender and Sam didn't want to damage him in any way. Anyway, his hair was fine - in places it's little more than down - and it will remove easily, unlike the hairy slave next to him. Unfortunately, for that slave, he will, most probably, require further treatment.

Sam enjoyed his examination of the slave and as his hands moved slowly over the magnificent body, he envied Simon's ownership of such a beautiful slave. Still Simon had kindly invited him to visit the Patroklos Club and had offered him the free use of the slave. This was an offer too good to refuse and he'd certainly avail himself of Simon's generosity. He determined to ensure that the slave's conversion from a rough field slave into one of the club's "pretty boys" met with Simon's approval. He instructed his assistants. "This one only requires a weak solution, but make it a bit stronger around the genitals and in his crack."

Respectfully the slaves replied. "Certainly, Master. Do you require them to be gagged?"

"Of course, that goes without saying. You SHOULDN'T need to ask," Sam snapped.

The chastened assistants humbly apologized with a profusion of "Sorry, Master. I'm sorry Master."

Ignoring their apologies, Sam left them to continue with their work.

Working quickly, the assistants coated each of the slaves with a milk coloured, jell-like substance before thoroughly massaging it into their skins. Particular attention was paid to those areas of the body where the hair grew thickest; the armpits, beards, chests, bellies and pubes. As one of the assistants worked on the slave's genital area - and suggestively stroked his cock - the other was busy applying the gel to the cleft between his buttocks. Stimulated by a finger playfully tickling his hole, the slave was soon in a state of arousal and like the other two slaves his rampantly erect cock poked out at right-angles to his belly. Finally the three slaves were gagged and their job now done, the two slave assistants left the room.

Unable to talk and with restricted movement, the slave hung suspended in his frame. He felt uncomfortable from the stickiness of the glue-like substance covering his body; but there wasn't any pain. Like his fellow slaves he 'fidgeted' to relieve the strain on his aching limbs. He wondered for how long he'd be left to hang like this.

Slowly, the late afternoon light, filtering in through a skylight, gave way to an early evening gloom. Suddenly, he became away of the "hairy" slave's agitation and muffled moans as he began to thrash about in frame. Soon, he was joined by the other slave .Then, the slave noticed a tingling sensation enveloping his body. Slowly, as the room darkened into night-time blackness, the tingling turned to a burning sensation and the slave too began to moan through his gag and wriggle in a vain effort to find relief. Within the darkness of the room, the three moaning slaves thrashed around in their restraints futilely seeking to ease their suffering. Through his distress, the slave recalled Sam Norton's earlier comment to Simon about "an uncomfortable night but it can't be helped". Despite his pain, he was aware that his treatment was mild in comparison to that of his fellow slaves. He can only guess at their suffering; particularly that of the hairy slave.

Through the long hours of darkness the three slaves writhed in their common misery; their muffled moans breaking the silence of the night. Then, as the first light of dawn showed through the skylight, his suffering eased - the burning gave way to an irritating itch.

Unable to physically relieve this itch, the distressed slaves vainly sort relief through the constant movement of their bodies. Then, in the early morning light, the slave looked at his companions and saw that their bodies were bright pink under a messy mixture of gel and hair. Glancing down over his own body he saw he was also coated with the same mess as his fellow slaves.

Eventually, when the assistants returned, their gags were removed and the slaves unfastened from their frames. Once their hands were free, the three slaves immediately sought to ease the tormenting itch by vigorously scratching their bodies. As they did so, the assistants laughed heartily at their contortions to reach the inaccessible parts of their bodies. Their humour was lost on the three, suffering slaves.

Quickly, the three were hurried into the ablution block and ordered to relieve themselves before being hosed down and scrubbed clean, ready for inspection by Sam Norton. The slave luxuriated in the cool, calming effect of the cold water as it sprayed over his tormented body; he watched as his hair disappeared down the drain. He looked at the other two slaves and was amazed at the sleek appearance of their now smooth, hairless bodies. He supposed he must look the same.

Ordered to assume the display position, the three slaves were allowed to "drip dry" and wait for Sam Norton's arrival. Still irritated by their itching, the three slaves struggled to maintain their positions and they were "encouraged" to do so by the canes of the two assistants. Soon they were joined by Sam Norton

Slowly, he walked around the three slaves before pausing in front of the slave. Then, with the expertise born of much experience, Sam moved his hands over the slave's body paying particular attention to the smoothness of the skin. He grunted his approval as his hands slid over the now hairless chest and belly before he ordered the slave to "Raise your arms above your head, slave." Obeying, the slave tried desperately to maintain his composure as Sam Norton's fingers tickled the silky smoothness of his hairless armpits; his quivering response earned him a sharp slap to the side of the face with the even sharper rebuke to "Stand still, fuck you!" Sam smiled as tears of pain and shame trickled down the chastened slave's cheeks. He was pleased at the slave's response.

For Sam, there isn't room for either sympathy or leniency in dealing with slaves; they are undeserving of any such displays of emotion from their owners. Slaves are, after all, only a "commodity"; they exist to serve the needs of their masters. He thinks of slaves as just another form of domesticated livestock - although, in truth, he has a higher regard for horses and dogs than he does for slaves. These latter require very little training to give unequivocal affection and loyalty to their owners.

Slaves however, possess a higher intelligence and this requires that they be more strictly controlled by their owners and handlers. Every aspect of a slave's existence must be channeled into serving his master's requirements. Above all, a slave must be totally submissive to his master; he mustn't be allowed to think for himself and he has to be subjected to the firmest discipline. Sam sincerely believed that a master must be forever vigilant in controlling his slaves. Sam's own slaves are subject to his very definite views and, as a consequence, they routinely receive harsh treatment. Therefore, this slave's tears weren't of any consequence to Sam.

Pausing to explore the deep navel with his index finger, Sam's hands then moved down over the slave's belly to his smooth groin where all traces of the pubic hair have been permanently erased. He was delighted with the incipient hardening of the cock and its eager response to his ministrations. As he stroked the cock to a full erection, he rolled the balls between his fingers. He was surprised at the warm suppleness of the scrotum - it had the soft, satiny texture of the finest kid leather - and really the slave was a delight to handle. He felt the first stirrings of his own erection as he continued to play with the slave's balls. However, all good things come to an end, and reluctantly, he removed his hands from the slave's genitals and placed them on the inside of the slave's thighs - squeezing them to gauge their muscular hardness. Then, testing for any residual hair that needed removing, his hands traveled slowly down the inside of the legs to the feet and then back up the outside to the waist.

The slave struggled to ignore Sam's attention to his body; desperately he willed himself to remain "calm" so as not to anger the man. Once more, Sam grabbed hold of the cock and balls and reflected that very shortly they would be ringed. In his imagination, he saw the slave's genitals gathered together into a tight, prominent package that placed them on permanent show for all to see and admire. He had a mental picture of the tightly cinched balls, hanging low in their sac, swinging freely between the thighs and of the semi-erect cock being forced forward into an obscene display. He was sure that Simon's clients would truly appreciate this slave. He knew he did.

Ordering the slave to lower his arms, Sam ran his hands over them, testing their smoothness before moving over the shoulders to the neck. As Sam placed a thumb on either side of the throat, he felt the hard throbbing of the arteries keeping time with the slave's rapid heartbeats. He smiled as he thought of the collar soon to be fastened around this neck. He'd spent time yesterday evening engraving the collar with the slave's new designation - "327". He thought the platinum collar - highly ornate as befits a pleasure slave - would further enhance this slave's natural allure to those who will use him at the club. He eagerly anticipated his own visit to the club in response to Simon's kind invitation and the chance to see the slave at "work" in his new environment.

Suddenly, Sam's attention was drawn to the slave's labored breathing. He watched as the powerful chest rose and fell and the clearly defined abdominal muscles rippled with each gulping breath. Drawn to the two very erect nipples adorning the slave, Sam reached out to touch them - the slave drew back. At Sam's shouted order to "STAND STILL!" the frightened slave hastily complied.

Sam, grasping the nipples between his forefingers and thumbs, slowly and deliberately began to work them by alternately pinching them and stretching them out from the body; the slave winced but stoically maintained his position. Sam, for his part, was expertly examining each nipple with a view to its impending piercing. Sam did his own piercing and decided the slave would be easy to ring. The nipples were large and stood out from their surrounding areoles - it would be a simple matter to pierce them and insert the rings. It was an operation he'd performed many times in the past; he reflected that if he had a drachma for every slave's nipple he'd pierced over the years, he'd be considerably richer than he already was.

Then, he turned his attention to an area of the slave's right pectoral just above the nipple; the area where the slave was to be branded. Quickly, he accessed the thickness of the slave's skin and decided to apply the branding iron for the minimum amount of time necessary for the brand to be effective. The slave's flesh is young and Sam knew from experience that it will take the brand beautifully - you only needed to look at the S brand on his left flank to see that this was so.

To date, Sam was very satisfied with his examination of the slave's body and there now remained only one other area to examine; perhaps the most important part and certainly from Sam's perspective the most enjoyable. The slave was ordered to "Turn, bend, and spread."

As the slave shuffled into position, Sam gazed over the inverted V shape of the slave's body, moving up from the widely spaced feet to the firm, rounded mounds of the buttocks. Slowly his eyes traveled up the slave's legs pausing to appreciate the hard knotted, muscles of the calves and the bow-string tightness of the corded thighs before coming to rest at the apex of the triangle. As Sam watched, the slave reached behind and, as instructed, parted the twin orbs of his buttocks exposing his most intimate part to Sam's scrutiny. Sam stood entranced.

The slave's testicles hung loose in his scrotum and swung freely between his thighs; Sam appreciated their more than adequate size and the way one hung slightly lower than the other. Then, even as he watched, he saw the gradual contraction of the scrotum as it tightened its grip on its precious contents and drew the balls closer into the body. Lasciviously, Sam ran the tip of his tongue over his lips as he thought of the accompanying, but unseen, hardening of the slave's cock. Suddenly, he was painfully aware of his own throbbing erection.

Once again, the slave felt the sense of degradation and shame that he always felt when ordered into this position. He felt the sudden rush of blood to his head and a burning sensation in his face. Was he blushing from embarrassment and humiliation? Or was he flushed with an anticipatory excitement at what he knew would inevitably follow? He didn't know.

His mind was a seething cauldron of mixed emotions. On one level, he was acutely aware of the utter self-worthlessness he felt at this abuse of his body yet, at the same time, he recalled the enjoyment he felt when this man had "inspected" him the previous afternoon. Was he about to experience this pleasure again? Despite his feelings of self-loathing he really hoped so.

He was confused by his conflicting needs - on the one hand he wanted to be spared the humiliation of an examination and yet, on the other hand, he hoped for the sexual release he so desperately yearned for. As he looked back between his outstretched legs to the man standing behind him, he felt the contraction of his balls and the rapid erection of his cock. He felt the first, tiny sparks of pleasure as beads of pre-cum dribbled out of his piss-slit and threaded their way down to the floor. Suddenly, he sensed movement behind him and his body quivered as Sam's hands came to rest on his arse.

Sam enjoyed the feel of the warm, hard buttocks under his hands and he particularly appreciated their hairless smoothness. Then, he moved his hands down over the knotted muscles of the slave's back to the broad shoulders. He was pleased with the feel of the slave; especially of the warm, silky texture of the skin. Unusually for Sam, he lovingly stroked the slave's back and playfully ruffled his cropped hair. The slave shuddered in response.

Sam admired the deep, golden tan of the slave's body. He was particularly fascinated at the way the deeper colour of the buttocks faded into the paler, softer tones of the protected valley dividing them; the subtlety of the colour changes perfectly complemented the deep, rosy-pink jewel gleaming at the centre of the cleft.

Sam had always wondered why people persisted in ludicrously referring to an arse-hole as a rosebud. Within the limited scope of his imagination, he couldn't see any similarity to that flower. Was it the colour? Perhaps it was someone's idea of a joke or was it simply a case of "poetic license"? Still, as he watched the involuntary contractions of the slave's sphincter; the striated flesh radiating out from the central opening did vaguely resemble the unfolding petals of an opening flower. Perhaps that's it?

Sam was enchanted by the daintiness of the slave's anus- its pulsations promised so much pleasure. Damn it! He really needed to fuck this slave.

Sam recalled from yesterday's inspection that the slave is tight. Once more, he was eager to explore the warm, moist interior of the slave's rectum. But first he ran his index finger up and down the crack to determine if it was free of any residual hair; he was gratified to find no trace of either hair or stubble. Then, he used his finger to "excite" the slave.

The slave enjoyed the touch of the man's hands resting on top of his buttocks. He knew he should feel revulsion at their touch but instead he longed for them to further explore his eager body. As the hands moved down over his naked back to his shoulders, he shivered with an expectancy of further pleasure. And as they softly stroked his back and tousled his hair, his brain began to register the countless sparks of pleasure now coursing through him; reducing him to a quivering mass of nerve-ends. He moaned softly at the exquisite agony as the finger relentlessly teased his anus. Bewildered, he wanted it to stop, but he wanted it to continue and, most of all, he desperately wanted to feel the man's finger enter into his body.

Confused, the slave wondered, 'What is happening to me?' The slave didn't know the answer to his question. He only knew that in the past two days he'd been "awakened" to new feelings and new sensations that he'd previously been unaware of. He'd always enjoyed mutually agreed upon sex with his fellow slaves - especially with his friends, the two blond cousins. Suddenly, the thought of them overwhelmed him and intruded into the pleasure of the moment.

His eyes filled with tears as he thought of them. He wondered, 'Where are they? Have they been sold? Are they still together or have they been parted and sold separately? What type of slavery have they been condemned to?' A silent, solitary sob racked his body as he realized that, most probably, he would never see them again. The slave felt hatred for his former master and his callous decision to sell him and his two friends; this hatred even extended to the cruel treatment of the former farm steward, Toby. Momentarily, he knew the suppressed bitterness, hurt, rage and frustration that all slaves inherently feel but, fearful of the direst of punishments, they carefully keep hidden from their masters.

Suddenly, these thoughts were interrupted as Sam's finger was thrust deep within him causing him to gasp, audibly. Helplessly, he yielded his body to Sam's ministrations and as the finger continued to violate him, the slave surrendered himself to the intense pleasure engulfing his body.

Then, the slave's confusion returned.

Once again he asked, 'What is happening to me?' Previously, he'd never willingly submitted to being fucked by the other slaves at the farm. Of course, there had been occasions when he'd allowed the cousins to do so; but that was different and had only been done out of his affection for them. However, he'd never really enjoyed the experience. Now, he wondered; why he hadn't?

For some inexplicable reason he found himself enjoying this, what was for him, new, unaccustomed use of his body. What did it mean? Did it mean that at some deeper level he was realizing his true nature? Did this mean that he would "enjoy" his new life as a pleasure slave? Would his life at the Patroklos Club give him the same intense pleasure as he now felt? He really hoped so. Or was it just an acceptance of the reality of his new status - that of a slave whose only purpose in life is to submit to his new master's clients giving THEM the sexual pleasure denied him? He didn't really know the answers; yet at some level of his consciousness, he realized that the enjoyment and excitement he was experiencing at the hands of this man was a capitulation on his part.

Then, as his body shook and his legs trembled, he suddenly heard himself pleading for the release that only a master could grant. "Master! Please master! Ohh master, pleaseee!"

Contemptuous of the slave's pleading and callously disregarding his needs, Sam roughly withdrew his finger and with a loud, dismissive slap on the arse, he ordered the slave to "STAND! FACE THE FRONT AND DISPLAY!"

Disappointed and frustrated, the slave stood quietly as his cock quickly wilted from his unfulfilled desire. Sam now turned his attention to the other two slaves standing alongside him.

Dealing with them in the same efficient manner, Sam quickly dismissed them - one to be placed in a holding cage to await collection by his master and the other - the hairy slave - to be returned to the stripping frame for further treatment. But first, Sam instructed that the three slaves were to be given food and water.

Part 2 

Fearfully, the slave stood alone in the middle of the room. Placed there by one of the assistant slaves, he was ordered to assume the display position and wait in silence. He was grateful for the food and water he'd just been given; the first since leaving Dave Matheson's slave pens the previous day.

With his eyes cast downwards, he had very limited vision; his spatial awareness of his surroundings was more of an assumption rather than an actual recognition.

He guessed at the room's drabness and overall ugliness. His nostrils wrinkled at the faint, stale smell of charring; at first it was vaguely familiar and then suddenly his memory recognized it as the smell of branded flesh. Filled with terror, he realized he was in the branding room; his body shook violently.

Around him were the furnishings necessary for the processing and branding of slaves. He stood alongside the waist-high branding table; its long, wooden length worn smooth and polished by the struggles of countless slaves; its surface darkened by the fear-induced sweat of its many, hapless victims. Lying atop the table were the leather straps and chains that would soon hold him in their grim embrace.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a wooden, reclining chair also equipped with straps and chains - he could only guess at its use.- and alongside it was a small table on top of which was placed, ready for use, a chrome tray of gleaming surgical implements.

Panic-stricken, he began to quake in fear; his trembling legs barely able to support him. Fighting for air, his chest rapidly rose and fell as his belly bellowed in and out with each gasping breath. Sweating profusely, he fought hard to control his bladder and bowels. Feeling trapped, like a cornered animal, he looked around for some means of escape even though his brain told him there weren't any. Convulsed with loud sobs, his tears streamed down his cheeks.

The slave was truly at the nadir of his existence. Then, suddenly:

"What the fuck is all the fuss about?"

Somehow, for the slave, there was an unexpected air of re-assurance in Sam Norton's question.

Again the question was asked. "What's all the fuss about, slave? Lift your head and look at me."

"I'm sorry, master. But I'm afraid."

"What are you afraid of?"

"O -o -o -of what is going to happen to me, master."

"Nonsense. You're here to be fitted out as your master requires - that's all. There will be some pain but that can't be helped. But I'm not going to damage you. You're far too valuable. Now pull yourself together and let me get on with my job."

"Yes, Master," the slave sniffled, not completely re-assured. For the first time he noticed the assistant standing slightly behind Sam holding a small basket.

"First of all, I'm going to fit you with your collar so let's have you down on your knees."

As the slave knelt he watched as Sam retrieved a collar from the assistant's basket.

"You're in luck, slave. Your master is giving you a shiny, brand new, platinum collar that's never been worn before and its got your number on it. I engraved it there myself. Now bow your head."

The slave shook as the collar was fastened around his neck. Was it only yesterday that his old collar had been removed from him? At first, he'd felt naked without it but he had soon grown used to it not being there. Now, once again, he felt the physical weight of his slavery as the new collar was locked around his neck. He knelt patiently as Sam ran a finger around the inside of the collar checking that it wasn't too tight.

"It's a perfect fit and it suits you, slave. Now up on your feet and what do you say?"

Scrambling to his feet, the slave simply said ."Thank you, Master."

"You'll need to remember the number '327' that your master has given you. From now on that's what you'll be called. So what's your number?'

"It's '327', Master."

"Good boy. Now let me check your cock and balls. We need to get them 'ringed' don't we, 327? You want them to 'look good' for your master's clients, don't you, slave?"

"Yes, Master."

The slave stood placidly at display and looked straight ahead, not knowing what to expect. Was he to feel pain or discomfort as the rings were fitted, he wondered? Would it take long? He was now very aware of the weight of the new collar fastened around his neck. Would his cock and balls feel a corresponding weight?

He flinched nervously as Sam gently maneuvered his genitals through the tight fitting platinum rings. Then, the inevitable happened; aroused at Sam's touch, his cock began to harden into an erection.

"Keep it down, slave," Sam laughed, "at least until I get you ringed. When that's done, you can 'show' for all you're worth."

Then after a few more adjustments. "There now, we're all done. That didn't hurt - did it slave?"

"No, Master," the relieved slave answers.

As Sam stood back to survey his handiwork, the slave was very conscious of being "off balance" - the placement of the rings had forced his genitalia forward and upward into a prominent display. Once more, fully aroused, his cock was showing hard and he ached for the release denied him earlier.

Not quite satisfied, Sam stepped forward to "adjust" the rings on the slave. He checked to make sure that the cock-ring, encircling both the cock and balls, was flat against the plane of the lower stomach. Then, with a gentle tug, he ensured that both testicles were positioned at the bottom of the ball-sac and permanently confined below the cinch ring. Finally he ordered the slave to "Turn around, spread your feet, bend, and grab hold of your ankles."

Ever the perfectionist in these matter, Sam scrutinized the slave from behind. And he liked what he saw. Both balls hung low and heavy below the cinch and were individually contoured through the stretched tautness of the hairless scrotum - just the way Simon liked them. Sam reflected Simon will be pleased at the slave's "new look" and, no doubt, it will also be appreciated by the patrons at the Patroklos Club. Stepping up, Sam took them in his cupped hand, playfully bouncing them up and down, before making one final and imaginary adjustment to the cinch. Then with a pat on the buttocks, the slave is ordered to "Stand, face the front, and display."

"Well slave, that was the easy part. Now comes, what for you, will be the hard part. We need to get these ringed." Sam tells him, almost maliciously, as he pinched both nipples.

White-faced, the slave plaintively pleads. "Please, Master, don't do this; please, Master."

"Right then, into the chair and be quick about it. Your master will be here in a couple of hours. So let's move it along."

"Please, Master. Please don't," the slave vainly continued his pleading. "Please, Mast... ARGHH!"

Ignoring the pleas, Sam nodded to his assistant standing behind the slave.

Totally unprepared, the slave heard the gentle 'swish' of the cane passing through the air just seconds before the 'loud thwack' as it cut across his buttocks.

"ARGHH! Oh, shit," the slave cried out at the second stroke of the cane.

Furiously, Sam roared, "MOVE! Get your arse into the chair, NOW!

The chastened slave, ruefully rubbing the red criss-crossed stripes on his rump, hastened to obey.

Moving quickly, the assistant soon had him constrained within the chair; with straps fastened around his ankles, wrists, belly and neck. Fearfully, the crying slave watched Sam's every movement and trembled as he felt Sam's fingers fondle his nipples.

"You have beautiful tits, slave. After I've enhanced them, I'm sure they'll be very popular with your master's clients. Let's get started, shall we?"

The slave gasped in surprise as the chair was inclined backwards, lowering his head and raising his feet, but placing his chest at the right level for Sam to work on. With his neck held fast by a high leather strap, he was unable to raise his head and had very limited sideways movement. Out of the corner of his eye, he nervously watched as Sam stood at the adjacent table examining the instruments on the tray . Suddenly he needed to urinate.

Sensing his distress, Sam ordered his assistant to help him by holding a bucket between his legs and correctly positioning his now flaccid cock to enable him to piss. Sam wasn't surprised; in his experience, most slaves reacted to the threat of pain by loosing control of their bladders and bowels and this slave wasn't any different. However, from long experience, he knew the telltale signs of when a slave was about to loose control and he always took steps to minimise any mess. After all, he hated working on a slave who had fouled himself.

"Have you finished, slave?"

Humiliated, the slave answered, "Yes, Master."

"Good! Here we go then." Sam replied as he used an antiseptic swipe to sterilise both nipples and their surrounding areas.

Sam was very particular with hygiene when working on a slave. His record to date was impeccable; he'd never had a slave suffer from an infection as a result of any of his procedures. He was proud of this and he wasn't about to spoil it now. With his acute business acumen, he knew this emphasis on a slave's well-being was valued by his many customers and because of it, they didn't have any qualms about entrusting their slaves to his care - a fact that Sam greatly appreciated. After all, as a businessman, he stood or fell by the quality of his workmanship. Consequently, he ensured all the instruments he used were of the finest quality and that they were sterilized immediately before and after each use. After all, slaves are valuable and represented a considerable investment of their owners' money; another fact that Sam - himself a slave-holder - appreciated.

Apprehensively, the slave waited as Sam worked on his nipples. Unable to raise his head to see what was happening, his chest rose and fell in time with his rapid breathing and he was covered in a sheen of sweat born out of his fear. Had he been able to see, he would have seen Sam using a black felt tipped pen to mark the entry and exit spots for the needle on each side of his sensitive nipples. Sam ensured these spots lined up perfectly with each other and were carefully positioned where the nubs of the nipples met their surrounding aeroles.

Sam took his time in doing this. From his point of view it was essential to get the preliminaries right - he would never jeopardize his work with sloppy preparation. Satisfied that the marks were in line, he then used a set of calipers to determine the thickness of the nipples - he needed to know what length and diameter of needle to use. He decided to use a 16 gauge needle; the slave's tits were large and thick enough to take this size and anyway, Simon had stipulated the the slave was to be fitted with heavy gauge rings.

Sensing what was to happen next, the slave arched his back and struggled in a futile attempt to free himself from the chair. Once more, he began to plead although he knew his pleas would be ignored.

With a re-assuring "STEADY! STEADY!" Sam stroked the slave's sweating, straining chest. Then, not unkindly, he placed a piece of leather strapping between the slave's teeth with the instruction, "Here … bite down on this. It will help to ease the pain."

Then, disgusted at this display of sympathy for a slave, he gruffly added "It'll stop you from biting your tongue. We don't want you damaged, do we?"

Sam had never, ever shown compassion for a slave. Why then did he just do that? Looking into the slave's fear-filled eyes he felt an inexplicable attraction to the slave -certainly the slave was very appealing. He decided that the only "cure" for this attraction was to fuck him. For that to happen, he'd need to visit the club at the earliest opportunity. Now, once more in control, he picked up a needle and approached the slave. The slave steeled himself for what was to follow.

Sam worked swiftly; he never prolonged this procedure. In his experience, it was better for a slave if it was performed quickly; not out of any consideration for the slave's suffering but rather to prevent him from going into shock.

The slave's expectation of pain was greater than the reality. Certainly, he felt the quick, penetrating pain as the needle passed through both nipples but it wasn't as severe as he'd anticipated. However, this was followed by the deep, throbbing pain of his lacerations. As Sam worked on him, the slave bit down on the leather gag and jerked as Sam inserted the heavy, five centimetre rings through his perforated nipples. Finally, satisfied with his work, Sam stepped back to appraise the slave.

He was very pleased with the slave's transformation. This time yesterday, the slave had been a rough field slave; his superb torso unkempt and covered with body hair. Now, his beautiful, glabrous body displayed the perfection of his musculature and his new body jewelry enhanced that perfection.

Sam always took pride in his work, and over the years he'd transformed many slaves into objects of beauty for their owners. However, this slave was exceptional; Sam couldn't recall another to beat him. Many others could come close to matching him - but not quite. Sam was extremely gratified and he knew that the slave's new owner, Simon, would also be delighted.

"Well, '327', that's done and I've got to say, you look even better than I thought you would. Your master will be pleased with you."

The slave flinched as Sam moved the new rings through his painful nipples with the advice to him to " move these from time to time until you're healed. I'll also mention it to your master before you leave."

As Sam leaves, he instructs his assistant.

"Let him settle down for twenty minutes or so, then move onto the branding table. And don't forget to heat up the branding iron ready for when his master arrives."

*******

Now, the fearful slave lies strapped to the branding table and waits.

The only sounds to break the silence of the room are his nervous breathing and the occasional "click" of the thermostat on the branding iron as it cycles through its heat settings. Like a moth's attraction to a candle, his eyes are fixed on the glowing end of the brand; he shudders violently as he anticipates its inevitable use on his body.

In his misery, he reflects that three days ago he was happily - well, as happy as a slave can be - employed as one of Andy Trevorrow's farm slaves. There, he knew the affection and companionship of his fellow slaves - especially that of the two blond cousins. Once more, tears well in his eyes as he thinks of them.

Although his life as a field slave had been hard and the labour repetitious, he had, however "enjoyed" a degree of certainty and stability in his life. Monotonously, each day was the same as the one before it; he would be woken before dawn, fed and watered, and then driven into the fields to began a long day of back-breaking labour under the supervision of his master's overseers. This supervision had been "benign" in that the Trevorrows, conscious of the good appearance of their slaves, had always insisted that they not be punished unnecessarily; whips and canes were to be used only when warranted. Then, at the end of the day, once more, he'd been fed and watered and locked in the stables for the night. There, lying between the two cousins, he'd enjoyed the warmth and comfort of their hard, naked bodies pressing against his own. And of course there were the many, happy hours of sex with one another. He weeps at his loss.

Suddenly he hears approaching footsteps and voices. Turning his head, he sees his new master and Sam Norton enter the room.

"Well, Simon, what do you think? Does he 'come up' to your expectations?" Sam asks.

Simon leaves the question unanswered as his hands move over the slave's body testing it for its new smoothness. He fingers the collar around the slave's neck before moving down to his chest. The slave flinches and yelps as Simon 'toys' with the rings now piercing his swollen nipples.

"I've instructed the slave that he must move the rings from time to time to prevent the flesh from adhering to them as he heals. I suggest you make sure he does so, Simon."

"Thanks, Sam. I'll make sure he does. Or I should say, I'll make sure his 'buddy' does."

"A buddy? What's a buddy, Simon?"

"Well, I usually pair a new slave like this one with one of my more experienced slaves. It's that slave's job to serve as an example to the new slave and show him the ropes so to speak. He'll instruct the new slave in the things he needs to know to be the perfect pleasure slave. He'll teach the new slave the different positions that he'll need to adopt in front of my clients - and things like walking and displaying his body seductively - the proper manner of address and speech to my customers, how to serve as a valet, work as a waiter and as an assistant in the club's pool and bathhouse areas. You know - things like that. But most importantly, he teaches the new slave how to service a patron's cock."

"That sounds like a good system to me, Simon. Does it work?"

"You bet it does, Sam," Simon laughs." As part of the training, I adopt an inflexible policy of 'if one slave offends both slaves are punished'. Take it from me, that exercises their minds and ensures they remain focused on the task in hand. It never fails to work."

"Do you have a 'buddy' picked out for this slave, Simon?"

"Indeed I do, Sam. I've chosen my most popular slave to pair with him. This particular slave is a firm favorite with the patrons which, however, is unfortunate for him."

"How so, Simon?"

"Well, he's so popular that 'supply can't keep up with demand' so to speak," Simon chuckles. " I literally have to take bookings for his services, and I'm hoping that this new slave will prove as popular. Somehow, looking at him I suspect he will. Although, he'll need to do better than this," Simon adds, in disgust, as he fondles the slave's disinterested cock.

"I wouldn't worry on that score, Simon. You should have seen the show he put on for me earlier when I fitted him with his cock-rings. It was very impressive, believe me. I guess it's the thought of the branding iron that's keeping it down at the moment."

"Good! I'm glad to hear it. And to answer your first question, Sam … Yes, he is everything I expected of him - and more. I'm delighted with him. As usual, you've excelled yourself. My congratulations and thank you for a job well done."

"My pleasure, Simon. The slave was a delight to work with. But I guess you're anxious to be on your way back to the club with him. I see the iron's ready, so let's get him finished."

The slave, fully aware of his imminent branding, plaintively begs his new master, "Please, Master; please?"

Straining against the straps holding him to the table, the slave hears Sam ordering him to open his mouth. Defiantly, yet futiley the slave disobeys.

"Open your mouth, fuck you," Sam angrily shouts as he pinches the slave's nostrils and waits for him to begin breathing through his mouth. Then, as he does so, the slave once more, tastes and feels the leather strap between his teeth. Desperately, he bites down hard in anticipation of the brand.

"Where do you want the brand, Simon? The usual spot?" Sam asks; indicating a spot on the right side of the slave's chest.

"Yes, Sam. Right about there. On his right pectoral about five centimetres above the nipple should be right."

"I'll just wipe away the sweat before I apply the brand; it takes better if the skin is dry."

The slave raises his head and watches in horrified fascination as Sam retrieves the branding iron. Desperately he begins to thrash around; struggling against the the tight straps holding him to the table. Arching his back and thrusting his chest upwards in a vain attempt to break free, his musculature is highlighted by the stress of his struggling. Through the confusion of his panic, he hears Sam telling him to "Settle down, slave. It'll soon be over." This serves as an incentive for the slave to struggle even harder.

"Simon, the slave's struggling means I'm going to need your help. If you could just hold his legs steady, I'll get my slave to hold his shoulders down long enough for me to apply the brand."

Now, as the slave struggles helplessly in the hands of his master and Sam's slave, he curses unintelligibly through his gag.

"I think the slave is abusing us, Sam. Do all slaves re-act like this?"

"Yes; usually, most of them do. Their fear overcomes their normal good behaviour. But then, some slaves accept the inevitable and just lie placidly as they are branded. That type makes my job much easier. But those slaves are the exception rather than the rule. Most of them act up just like your slave here."

"Well then, Sam he's just earned himself a caning for his bad behaviour. As soon as we arrive back at the club he'll receive ten of the best delivered by my head trainer, and believe me, he doesn't hold back when applying the cane to a recalcitrant slave."

"It makes good sense to punish him right at the outset. It fixes in his mind that you are the master and that you won't tolerate this type of bad behaviour from him. My guess is that his 'acting up' is fear induced and completely out of character. Nevertheless, a caning will be good for him. I believe slaves should receive a periodic whipping or caning. All mine routinely receive one, whether it's warranted or not. It does wonders for their attitude. Now, just hold him steady. Steady... Here we go... NOW!"

The slave screams into his gag as the iron sears itself into his chest. Lost in the intensity of his pain, his suffering borders on the unendurable. For the slave, his mind clouded by shock and pain, time stands still. He is unaware that Sam has withdrawn the brand - its grim work done; the severity of his pain convinces him it is still searing itself into his flesh. Then comes the gradual realisation that the actual branding is over. With his body aflame, he is sweating profusely and through the fog of his pain and confusion he hears himself crying. Looking up, he sees his master and Sam, engaged in conversation, gazing down at him.

"Well, that's it, Simon. He's finished. I know the brand looks a bit angry at the moment, but it'll heal up cleanly." The slave cries out in pain as Sam, placing his fingers just above and below the brand, stretches his tortured flesh. "Great! Crisp and clearly outlined - just the way a brand should be. Just keep an eye out for infection until it heals over."

"The slave looks distressed. Is that normal, Sam?'

"He's all right, Simon. He's just a bit 'sick and sorry' for himself. But he'll soon get over it. Slaves are resilient and I've never lost one to branding," Sam laughs. "We'll let him settle down for a few minutes and then we can have him off the table and you can be on your way with him."

"Excellent, Sam. And he'll be even 'sicker and sorrier' when I get him back to the club; he'll have a sore arse to think about after his caning. But once again, thank you for a job well done. And don't forget that my 'thank you' invitation to you to visit the club and use the slave still stands."

"Thank you, Simon. I'll certainly take you up on that. I look forward to spending time with him."

"Look, Sam, I've just had a thought. Why don't you come to the club for the slave's initiation? I'm sure you'd find it interesting and entertaining."

"It does sound interesting, Simon. What happens?"

"Well, as I was explaining to Dave Matheson only yesterday - by the way, he'll be there - it's a charity fundraising night. When this slave is introduced to the club's patrons for the first time, we'll 'auction' him off to the highest bidder. The winning bidder gets to fuck the slave before anyone else does. I guess I should qualify that a little. As the slave's owner, I get first bite of the cherry, as you'd expect. Anyway it's a fun night and all the money raised goes to a worthwhile charity. So what do you think; how about it?"

"Simon, count me in. I'd be delighted to attend. It'll give me the opportunity to see how my handiwork has turned out. When is it?'

Not until he's fully trained. I'd guess about two to three weeks from now. Naturally, I'm keen to get him started as soon as possible. I need to start getting a return on my investment in him, so his training will be speeded up. Anyway, I'll let you know in advance so you can arrange to be there, Sam."

"Simon, I look forward to it and thank you."

"No! Thank you, Sam, for your excellent work. I guess all that needs to be done now is for me to settle up with you for your work on my slave. Shall we go to your office for that?"

"Certainly, Simon. By the way, are you going to tomorrow's auction? I hear there's some interesting stock being offered for sale; some captured soldiers from the north."

"Yes, Sam. As usual, I'll be there. I attend all auctions as I'm always on the lookout for suitable recruits for the club. Occasionally I find an outstanding specimen, but mostly they're just 'run of the mill' stuff. But I keep an open mind and attend as you never know what you'll find on offer. And, actually you're right about the soldiers. I took a quick stroll through Dave Matheson's pens yesterday and saw a couple of possibilities for the club. I'll check them out tomorrow and decide then if I'll bid for them. You'll be there of course? And with your new display boards?"

"Yes, Simon I'll be there. And yes, I'll be introducing my displays to the general public tomorrow."

"Good. I'll make sure I look in on your booth tomorrow and see what reaction you've had to them. They should prove to be quite a novelty."

"Before we go to my office, I'll just instruct my assistant to make your slave ready for you. What do you want done with him, Simon?"

"Oh! The usual I think, Sam. Fasten his wrists behind his back, put a leash around his neck and fasten him to my waiting rickshaw if you don't mind, Sam. He can run alongside my ponies back to the club. No doubt, the exercise will be good for him"

"Consider it done, Simon."

Once released, the slave clambers painfully off the table and stands waiting.

As his hands are fastened behind his back, he yelps with pain at the strain this places on his tortured chest. Then, leashed he is led to wait alongside his master's rickshaw.

Within the hour, he'll be at the Patroklos Club and his life as pleasure slave '327' will begin.

To be continued...

Posted: 07/01/11