Changed Circumstances

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 6
"Up on the Bench"

I rest on my hands and knees, and I'm shivering — not from the icy coldness of the stainless steel bench, but rather from my trauma. My whole body quakes as I wait on the Registrar. But he's not to be hurried. He walks slowly around the bench pausing several times to peer intently at me.

As I wait for the Registrar, my emotions are raw, my body trembles uncontrollably, and I hear my wild sobbing. I cry out in pain as the guard, Harold, applies his strap to my back before he is stopped by the Registrar. Now I feel Cyrus Humboldt's hands move soothingly over my back as he gently "shushes" me. I respond to his touch and slowly my panic eases and my crying subsides. Through my misery, I hear the Registrar explaining his actions to Jason.

"Jason … sometimes the shock of what is happening to him traumatises a new slave so much that it results in him losing control — just as we are seeing with this slave. If you think on it, Jason, just two hours ago this slave was a free man completely unprepared for what is now happening to him. And as soon as I've finished with him, he'll be taken to the forge for branding and collaring. I think you can appreciate how he feels at the prospect of that?"

"I sure can, Mr Humboldt, and I really feel sorry for him. I see you do, too. Is that why you're being kind to him?"

"KIND?" the Registrar snaps impatiently. "I'm not being kind to him. I'm settling him down so that I can continue with my assessment of him. Jason, you must NEVER be kind to a slave — he'll misunderstand your motives and try to take advantage of your good nature."

"I'm sorry, Mr Humboldt," the chastened Jason apologises. "I thought you were being kind to the slave — telling Harold not to use his strap on him and stroking him like that. I'm really sorry, Mr Humboldt. I do have a lot to learn about handling slaves, don't I?"

"That's all right, Jason." The Registrar notes the young guard's crestfallen expression and adopts a more conciliatory tone. "I'm sorry, Jason, if I sounded abrupt with you. I forgot it's only your second day on the job, and, therefore, you don't as yet know about these things. Tell me Jason — do you have a pet?"

"Yes, Mr Humboldt. I have a dog named Spike," Jason answers.

"Then tell me, Jason. What do you do when Spike is upset or frightened?"

"I pat him and hold him till he settles down, Mr Humboldt."

"Exactly, Jason, and that's what I was doing with this slave. I was settling him down so that my assistant can 'milk' him. That's not kindness — that's common-sense. You do see the difference, don't you, Jason?"

"I do now, Mr Humboldt."

"Then come over here and help me calm the slave ready for his milking."

"What do you want me to do, Mr Humboldt?"

"While I stroke his back you can reach under him and gently stroke his chest and rub his belly. That never fails to sooth a slave when he's worked up and afraid. Can you do that for me, Jason?"

How can I describe my utter sense of shame or the humiliation I feel at what is happening to me? I kneel in abject misery as the Registrar and Jason treat me no better than Jason's dog, Spike.

Yet strangely, I do calm down — my crying lessens and my trembling ceases as my body slowly responds to the stimuli of their hands. If I'm honest with myself, I would have to admit to the pleasurable feelings now sweeping over me.

My body has always been sensitive and responsive to the touch of my former pleasure slaves — who were especially chosen for the lightness of their touch — and now I find myself succumbing to the touch of these two men who, for as long as I remain under their control, are my temporary masters.

As the two "calm" me, I give myself over to the soothing touch of their hands; to the gentle stroking of my back and the ruffling of the hair on my chest and stomach. My skin comes alive with a million nerve ends all sending little sparks of pleasure surging through me, my chest heaves and my belly pulses with my rapid breathing. My distress gives way to an immeasurable pleasure, and I feel that delightful tightening of my balls within their sac and the inevitable thickening and lengthening of my cock that presages an erection. Soon my hips begin a slow, gentle thrusting and I shiver in anticipation as I feel the Registrar's hands testing the hardness of my arousal. I hear him say, "Thank you, Jason. I believe the slave is now calm enough for us to continue."

Wordlessly, the Registrar snaps his fingers at his slave who moves to the bench and begins to masturbate me. As he does so, I listen in to a discussion between the Registrar and Jason about the ownership of slaves.

"How many slaves do your parents own, Jason?"

"None, Mr Humboldt," Jason answers embarrassed, "my parents are too poor to own a slave."

"Really! It's most unusual for a family not to own at least one slave." The Registrar can only guess at the poverty of Jason's parents. "Well, young man, that is a situation you can soon correct. You are aware of the special benefits available to you as an employee of the Justice Department — that help you to a buy slave, aren't you?"

"No, Mr Humboldt, I don't know anything about that."

"Well, Jason, once you have successfully completed your qualifying period and gain permanent employment with us, you're eligible for a long term, 2% interest loan that allows you to buy a slave of your own. It's one of the 'perks' of the job. And if you buy your new slave from a recognised, state-licensed dealership, you get a 10% discount as a further incentive. What do you think of that?"

"That sounds great, Mr Humboldt. I'd really like to have my own slave. Perhaps I could buy a slave like this one?" Jason exclaims excitedly, pointing to me.

"You aim too high young man," the Registrar laughs, "I think this slave might be a little beyond your means. He's what we call a 'fancy' and he will sell for a very high price. You might need to lower your sights a little and settle for something like one of those three," he adds, pointing to the three waiting slaves.

"How many slaves do you own, Mr Humboldt?"

"I have five slaves, Jason. They are all young males."

"What do they do, Mr Humboldt?'

"They keep me happy, Jason. They keep me very happy. My advice to you Jason is to start saving a deposit now and before you know it you'll have your very own slave."

"Thanks for the advice, Mr Humboldt. I'll start saving out of my first pay packet."

"Good lad, Jason, Every young man like you deserves to own a slave. They can be such a help and comfort."

My loud grunt announces my impending eruption and interrupts their conversation. All eyes turn to the bench and are now centred on me.

The slave, very experienced in these matters, quickens the stroke of his hand and positions the glass receptacle over the head of my cock. I "sense" his sympathy for me and, ignoring the Registrar and the guards, I focus on him and the enjoyment he is bringing me. I feel the churning in my balls, and my dick — throbbing with an impatient urgency — is eager for release. With my knees spread wide, my ass-hole is exposed and I experience the delightful sensations of my sphincter pulsating in time with the pumping of my hips. I'm lost in the enjoyment of the moment, and all sense of my shame and humiliation are temporarily forgotten. I'm even oblivious of my watching audience.

The pace of my thrusting quickens and my need for release intensifies. Detached from all around me, I hear my ecstatic shout as I pump out my release. The wild thrusting of my hips adds to the sensations of pleasure sweeping over me. For a few short moments, time stands still, and I'm only aware of the intense pleasure of my ejaculation.

Inevitably, I return to the reality of my situation, and as I look back beneath me I see the thin, after thread of my ejaculation dribbling from my piss-slit to form small, viscous droplets on the bench-top. My shame and humiliation return; my sense of degradation is overwhelming, and once more my eyes brim with tears. My crying prevents me from hearing the Registrar's discussion of my "sample" but I do hear Jason's excited exclamation.

"This slave has a lot more 'swimmers' than the last one, doesn't he, Mr Humboldt?"

In my distress, I don't hear the Registrar's reply, but I do hear the loud, crude laughter of the two older guards. Are they laughing at my expense? Somehow, I sense they are.

Shame-faced, I now wait for my "shots". I look up as the Registrar's slave retrieves the tray of syringes from a bench and stands patiently at my side. Suddenly, I feel the Registrar's hands resting on top of my ass and I brace myself in anticipation of the first jab. Instead, he parts my buttocks and uses a finger to probe at the sensitive tissue surrounding my anus. I gasp as the finger is rudely thrust through my sphincter to begin a deep probing of my body cavity. I squirm with the discomfort and indignity of this and my silent protest is rewarded with a resoundingly loud slap on my buttocks and the order to, "STAY STILL!"

"You'll no doubt view what I'm now doing to the slave as distasteful, Jason. But it must be done; it's important to check out the soundness and health of his anus. Even though a buyer always checks out this aspect of a slave before he bids for him, I still need to record that I've examined him and found him to be sound."

"Will I have to do that, Mr Humboldt? Will I have to stick my finger up a slave's bum?" asks Jason, distastefully.

"Yes, Jason. Eventually you will be required to do so. But I'm sure your seniors won't throw you in at the deep end and will let you ease into it; isn't that so, Harold?"

The double entendre of his remarks is lost on the naive Jason.

"Of course, Jason will be allowed a period of learning before he's expected to handle a slave, Mr Humboldt. We'll give him time to get used to what must be done to the slaves in our charge. But Jason, if you want to work here, you'll need to overcome your squeamishness very quickly."

"Shouldn't we wear gloves, Mr Humboldt? Wouldn't it be more hygienic and cleaner to do so?" Jason adds.

"Jason, I never wear gloves. I find they tend to hinder my examination; they deaden the sensation. No, there's nothing quite like a naked finger to get the 'feel' of a slave. There's no barrier between you and the slave, and besides, once the slave relaxes he quite enjoys the feel of my finger — just like this slave."

"How do you know the slave is enjoying it, Mr Humboldt? I'm sure it would be uncomfortable; I don't think I'd like what you're doing to him to happen to me."

"But then, you're not a slave, Jason. And as long as you stay free it won't happen to you. How do I know the slave's enjoying the feel of my finger? Well, I can tell by the way his muscles grip my finger almost in a milking action. It's very pleasant really," the Registrar answers Jason's questions before asking me.

"You are enjoying it, aren't you, slave?"

I'm too ashamed to answer, and I cry out as the Registrar humiliatingly delivers two sharp slaps to my ass with his free hand.

"ANSWER ME, BOY!"

"Yes, sir." I whisper.

"Yes, sir, what?"

I yelp as I'm given another loud slap. As it reverberates through the room, I hear the loud laughter and coarse comments of the two older guards.

"Yes, sir. I'm enjoying the feel of your finger, sir."

And to my shame, I tell the truth. The feel of the Registrar's finger exciting my prostate is indeed pleasurable.

"Anyway, Jason, my finger is the least of the slave's concerns. Very soon I suspect it'll be more and a finger probing him."

The Registrar's comment elicits loud guffaws from the watching guards who are amused at my embarrassment, while Jason blushes at the implication of his words.

"You see, Jason, a handsome, well-set-up slave like this one is sure to arouse his master's passions, and I'm sure he'll spend some of his time either on his back or on his hands and knees serving as a pleasure slave. It's inevitable, I should think."

"Tell me, Mr Humboldt," Harold asks, "is his ass-hole tight? Will he make a good fuck?"

The Registrar winces at the crudity of Harold's questions. Really, do these guards need to speak so crudely when discussing the slaves in their charge? His concerns aren't for the sensibilities of the slaves — after all, they don't rate a second thought. For the Registrar, it's a matter of good taste that such crude language is avoided. Still he knows that most of the guards are like Harold. Perhaps this disregard for the niceties of speech is a necessary part of them working with slaves.

"Yes, Harold, it's very much so — and delightfully tight," the Registrar answers haughtily as he withdraws his finger. "I'm sure his new master will be pleased with it."

I blush with embarrassment at his less than subtle remarks — but then I quickly realise that, as a slave, I must get used to this abuse of my body and listen dispassionately as it is discussed in the crudest of terms.

"Right you are, then! I'm nearly done with him. I'll just check his teeth, give him his injections, and then it will be up to you three to get him over to the forge."

Moving from my rear to my head, the Registrar orders me to, "Lift your head, slave. Now open your mouth. WIDE! WIDER! Now poke out your tongue."

I hasten to comply, and as he tests the health of my tongue and the soundness of my teeth, I distastefully wonder if the finger he is using to do this is the same one that had probed my hole. Evidently satisfied with the soundness of my mouth, he now moves back behind me.

I prepare myself mentally for the needles, and I brace my body, but I'm not prepared for the callousness of his actions. I yelp in pain as one by one the needles are brutally plunged into the firm mounds of my buttocks. Finally, I wince as he dismissively slaps my ass with the comment.

"There! We're all done, slave. Now hop down from the bench and take your place with your three friends over by the wall."

As I move to take my place alongside them, my three fellow slaves begin to cry and plead for mercy. Like me, they are aware that our branding and collaring are imminent. Their pleas fall on deaf ears, and they are ignored.

"Well, that's it for me for the day," the Registrar sighs as he prepares to take his leave from the three guards. "I'm going home. I'll leave you three to it."

"Good afternoon, Mr Humboldt, and thank you for all your advice and helpful hints," Jason politely thanks his mentor.

"Well, thank you, Jason. It's been my pleasure, and I hope to see you working with me in the future."

The Registrar is impressed with the new guard's politeness and the acknowledgement of his superior knowledge. Given the lad's naivety, he does hope that this pleasant, young man isn't corrupted by the older and coarser guards. Then a thought occurs to him.

Perhaps he could request that Jason be assigned to work with him in assessing the newly enslaved criminals sent to him. Yes, he'll consult with the "powers-that-be" on this matter tomorrow. After all, a position as important as the one he holds does warrant having an assistant. It would be nice to have a pleasant, young assistant to work with him as he goes about his duties. And Jason would be perfect for the job; innocent and unversed in the ways of the world, he would be so easy to manipulate.

Of course, his superiors will argue that he already has an assistant — but that is irrelevant. He is a slave and, really, he doesn't count — does he? After all, one doesn't converse with slaves.

To be continued...

Posted: 06/03/11