Part 1 of 6
Like a lot of young guys, I was bored. Things hadn't worked out with my long-term girlfriend and my job at the local sports gym - I studied sports management as a major – just wasn't very exciting. I could see myself working there for the next forty years just getting older and going grey, never achieving anything. There had to be more to life than this; I couldn't see how I would get on, see the world, or afford to buy a house on my salary.
Mind you, there were some benefits. I never had to buy drinks in the bar as the patrons always liked to drink with the instructors. And some of the younger women in the exercise classes, especially those who had just broken up with a boyfriend, were after a "kind" man to comfort them. Once you've got her crying on your shoulder, it's but a very short distance into bed. Compared to being unemployed, starving, or whatever, I wasn't bad-off for a 26-year-old, but it wasn't enough for me.
And I certainly didn’t inherit a big chunk of money from my parents, who were killed in a car crash when I was eighteen; they'd never been well off. Dad's business went down the tubes, and the bank took the house to help pay the remaining debts. As I sat in my small rented apartment on one of my days off, I wondered how I would break out of this stifling straightjacket of a relatively low-paying job with few prospects. I'd been having this conversation just the night before in the bar with Derek, one of the guys I play tennis with at the gym. I don't just work there; I also enjoy sports and using my body as well! We went through a list of possibilities for me, none of which seemed practical even after we'd had a few beers: rob a bank, get a job as a merchant banker, go into the army, or marry a rich widow. Only the last one seemed even vaguely possible.
As I pointed out to him, most of the widows at our club were scrawny and old; young women didn't want to get married anymore.
"Yes, Bentley,” he said, almost choking on his beer and his own wit, "But with a cock like yours, you'd be able to drill right through them, and then you'd BE a rich widower.”
I sometimes wonder about Derek. We've been in the showers together at the club and everything, so he knows I'm well-hung, and there's never been any overt approach toward me. I don't think he's queer, but he's never had a steady girlfriend either, and he likes to make remarks about guys' asses.
All in all, I suppose I was pretty depressed. No, that's the wrong word. One should save that word for guys who are really badly off, those with actual clinical depression (and that’s no laughing matter). No, it was more that life seemed to hold no promise, no fun in store, and no excitement. I'm surprised I even tore open my subscription copy of "Fitness Professional" when I got home that night. I just wanted to go to bed and wank, but I was somehow restless, and there was nothing good on TV. I'd watched all my DVDs and couldn't be bothered to trawl the Internet for sexy pictures, so I opened the magazine and leafed through it. It was as if fate had finally intervened on my behalf. There, staring me in the eyes, was an advert for the perfect job.
"Young, unattached, trained fitness coach?" a big, glaring headline asked. Well, yes, I was, so I couldn't help reading on. "We're looking for men with a background in the fitness profession who are looking for an exciting career opportunity. Based in a tax-free zone with a fantastic climate, you could spend your days doing something entirely new yet utilizing your existing fitness and health knowledge. Build up your tan and your bank balance! We're looking for several young professionals with the right background and attitude to join our new adventure. This could be the career boost you need.
After working tax-free, you could be in a position to have saved enough to start your own business. We offer free accommodations, pay all your travel expenses, provide generous staff benefits, and offer a lifestyle based on a healthy, mainly outdoor existence. You’ll be working with some of the richest men in the world."
WOW! I couldn’t believe it. As I read, "Because of the nature of the accommodations, we cannot offer opportunities for men with family commitments. This is for single men who still need to build a career, wish to utilize their existing physical fitness standard, and would enjoy the challenge of working in a foreign environment. This is an opportunity of a lifetime. If interested, call the number below to arrange an interview."
Well, this looked perfect to me! Young, unattached, and fit. Going abroad, something totally different, this could be just the thing I was looking for. And it seemed to mesh with my training and experience; it must have been fate. I was so eager to get an interview that I dialed the number on the off-chance that there'd be an after-hours answering machine or something, but to my surprise, I got through to a live person. The girl at the other end of the line sounded fun, and I gladly told her my age, height, weight, and details of my previous experience. She sounded surprised when I said I wasn't married or even dating seriously any longer. I guess she could tell I wasn't gay as I tried to come on to her and get her to meet me for a drink later in the week! We chatted briefly, then she set up an appointment for my interview in two days. Just before we finished, she told me to come with a set of exercise gear, as one of the things they'd want me to do at the interview is demonstrate that I really was fit and strong.
I was only half a mind to attend the interview that Thursday. For one thing, I had to take a day off work as this interview was in a big hotel. And for another thing, I'd picked up a girl at the club, and we'd almost hit it off. She wanted to meet up that day, and I knew that if we got together, there'd be a good chance we'd fuck. But on Thursday morning, when I woke up with my usual morning hard-on, something inside me said that my whole future was more important than a casual fuck (and only a chance of it), so I just wanked as I lay there.
It's always a problem when they ask you to turn up with exercise gear. Should you be very smartly dressed to show them you're taking the interview seriously? Or should you go in the work-worn stuff you use at the club every day so they can see that you're a real worker and not just a poser? After showering and shaving, I took a long time pulling together something that was a compromise; a T-shirt, faded cotton shorts, dark gray trainers, and short white socks. The T-shirt was quite snug, but I thought it showed off my shoulders quite well, and the more I thought about it, the more I was convinced I'd made the right choices. The shorts were tight and showed off my hard ass and thighs. For the interview itself, I dressed casually.
I slung all my gear and a towel into my gym bag, then had to go at quite a fast walk to get to the station on time. I'm used to London, well, not like a native, but I can find my way around, and eleven o'clock saw me on time for the interview at a big, modern hotel on Edgeware Road. At the reception desk, they directed me to one of the conference suites, and inside there was a nice-looking girl who smiled, checked my name off of a list, and asked me to wait, offering me coffee as she did so. In the next room were eight other guys, all much like me, in obvious good health, all lean and trim looking, and around my age or a few years older. We all smiled nervously at each other as one does at these events. We were all in competition for what might be only one job. We exchanged a few remarks about this and that and sat there waiting patiently as one after the other of us was called through into the interview room.
My turn came eventually, and I found three middle-aged men sitting behind a table with a chair in front of it, evidently intended for me. They were very businesslike at first, checking my name, age, qualifications, and the other stuff I'd given over the phone. They seemed pretty interested in my domestic arrangements, and I assured them I had no attachments. I explained about my family, and they nodded sympathetically.
"So, Bentley, what do you think this job is all about?"
I looked at the questioner, as that's always a good thing to do, and said politely, "Well, sir, I guess you're starting a new health club somewhere, and you need staff. You want a well-trained staff with the proper background to participate in your new gym adventure abroad."
"Partly right. Yes, we are recruiting here in London as we're after native English speakers, as well as in the USA and Australia too. But we're not setting up a health club: we're making a movie and looking for new young talent to star in it."
I grinned and half rose. "Well, that rules me out, then! I couldn't even get a job carrying a shepherd's crook in the nativity play at school! I've never done any acting or anything like that."
The chief interviewer smiled and said, "Don't worry about that. What we're looking for are men who come over well on-screen. The camera's funny, you know. Someone who's stunning across the table here can look dreadful on film, and conversely, an ordinary guy in real life can light up the screen when he gets into the shot. But tell me, when could you be ready to leave London? We need to get started relatively quickly, as we think we're the first into this new way of making films. We're concerned that one of the major studios might try to pre-empt us by rushing some rubbish out."
"Well, I have to give four weeks’ notice. I guess I could be packed-up and ready to go in four weeks and one day. But, as I said, I can't act."
"Oh, that's a pity. We really are keen to get going. Perhaps your current employers might let you go earlier, assuming you pass the auditions, that is? A few simple tests and we can tell if you're suitable, and the ability to act isn't important as we want it to be 'natural.'"
"Well, I could ask. But then again … I could also walk out if I'm going to be in the movies. I don't suppose I'll ever want that job back anyway!"
"That's the spirit we like to hear, Bentley. Look, we're not promising you a major role, but I think you've got what it takes. We're all impressed so far. But it will be hard work and long hours. Movies are not easy, especially not how we will make this one." The other two men nodded in agreement, and he went on, "So, have you got any more questions?"
"Well, I did, actually, Sir. What about salary?"
"We'll pay you whatever you're getting now.”
He saw me looking surprised but said, "Well, it's hard to pay more until you're established, so we're just offering everyone the same as they're currently getting. Obviously, we'll want to see current salary documentation, but think about it for a moment. We're paying for your travel, all your accommodation expenses, all your food, and all your clothing needs. And it's tax-free, so effectively, everything you earn goes straight into the bank and stays there. That's a pretty spectacular financial benefit."
I nodded but was still unsure. "But I can't act. I do want you to know that. I don't want to take this job under false pretenses, get there, and then find that I'm useless."
"You let us worry about that. We'll test you here for your 'camera appeal,' and that's all that's necessary. The whole essence of this new method of movie-making is that it’s 'natural'; those taking part react as they would normally, and it makes for a different experience for the viewers. And there's another advantage for men like you who have never acted before, no lines to remember. We make the film as it happens, and the director issues instructions. Anything you say to him and to the other actors is 'real' and ‘natural,’ which is the whole idea."
"But what is this movie about, Sir?"
"Well, it's about a group of young men making new lives for themselves which radically differ from the ones they currently have. See, it's going to be easy."
I nodded. He must know what he is doing. It sounded odd, but they were spending a lot of money, so it must have been professionally planned.
"No more questions then, Bentley?” I shook my head, deciding I might as well run with it and see what happened. After all, I could always turn the job down later.
"Right, go through that door and change into your gym clothes…you did bring some?”
“Good. Well, change, and we will watch you work out a bit; we've got a room set up as a gym. Use any or all of the machines as you wish; you choose the settings. We need to see what you look like in motion. We must ensure you've got the stamina to get through a hard day's work, as being in a movie isn't as easy as it looks.”
I changed, left my street clothes there, and went to the large room they had set up as a gym. I found that they had about ten machines of various types, half of which were already occupied with guys working out. There was an open crate with bottles of water; the only difference between this and a normal gym was the presence of two guys filming us. The camera was of the professional type carried on the shoulders of one man, and a second guy carried a battery pack, cable, and sound boom.
I walked around inspecting the stuff and smiled faintly at the other guys, but I wondered what to do. If I set the machines low, it would be easy, and I might look good, but then I wouldn't sweat. On the other hand, if I set them too high, I'd have to strain at my workout. If that went on too long, I'd look stupid. I was making this, like most things about this job, too complicated, so I just used the settings I was comfortable with on the machines at my own club and left it at that.
I have to say I thought I did well. I worked away for more than an hour, moving from machine to machine, and had a nice sheen of sweat all over me after a few minutes. It was reasonably warm in the hotel, and my workout clothes soon had that bar of wetness down the front and back that I always thought was kind of sexy. Well, I mean, I'm a bit of a hot-looking guy, even if I say so myself, and the presence of the sweat adds to it. I did notice that some of the guys were cheating. I'd take over a machine and find it set to a deficient weight, and they’d spent a lot of time preening themselves and trying to push their faces into the camera. The camera operator wasn't having any of it; he only shot what he wanted. I think I was reasonably well-represented.
Afterward, we all sat around and had a buffet lunch. We hadn't changed, and some men almost shifted away from me as if they were afraid of a bit of good honest sweat! Then one by one, as we sat and drank coffee, we were called back into the interview room.
"Stand if you like, Bentley,” the chief interviewer said in a less friendly tone. "You're still sweating, but that’s OK. Sorry, we know there aren't any showers as we're here in a hotel conference room. But at least it shows you did work out, and we like that.” The other two nodded as he pointed to a big TV screen where shots of me were playing. I saw how my face screwed up when I pulled the torsion bar down and the heaving of my chest as I stood there gasping in between exercises. They seemed to have concentrated on body shots, and there wasn't all that much of my face.
"Frankly, we like what we see. You're one of the few men who bothered to really show us what you were capable of. And you come over quite well on screen, too. All other things being equal, we'd like to offer you a job, but first, we need to confirm that you have no blemishes."
"Yes. You know, unsightly birthmarks on your skin, disfiguring moles, that kind of thing.
"Oh no, Sir, I've got none of that stuff!” I smiled at him, and he smiled back.
"I'm sure you haven't, Bentley. But we're investing a lot in this little enterprise, you know, and we have to make sure. There are bound to be some scenes when you're at a swimming pool or even in the showers, so we do need to make certain. Get out of your clothes for us, please."
He saw me hesitate and added, "Oh, come on! Surely you're not embarrassed? We're all men here, and you must be used to stripping off at work."
He was right, of course. I couldn't imagine why I even thought about it. I pulled my shirt over my head, dropped my shorts, and stood there in my trainers, socks, and white briefs. I stepped out of the shorts where they'd pooled at my feet and turned around in front of them, saying softly, "OK, Gentlemen?"
"Thanks, Bentley. But we really do need to see all of you. Can you take the shoes and socks off and drop the briefs, please, if only for a moment?"
"As I explained, we're making a big investment here, and it's got to be right. For all we know, you may be missing a toe or something, and customers don't like that. And although you seem to be well-hung, we need to ensure there are no problems. You’ll be in special costumes, you know."
I removed my shoes and socks and wiggled my toes. Then I took off my briefs, feeling the hairs on my legs bristle as they fell, and then I stepped out of them. It was pure reflex at that point, something I did without thinking as I'm so used to doing it: I reached down and gave my cock that little "flip" to free it from where it was stuck to my balls due to the tightness of my briefs. I was also very, very sweaty down there from the workout.
I noticed the men nodding almost appreciatively, and then before I could stop it, the camera guy was zooming in and out on my naked body as I just stood there. On the TV monitor, I saw flashes of the whole of me, then a burst showing a nip standing out proud and dark from my pec. For a couple of seconds, it showed my hairy butt, then a close-up of my dick, showing it lying there over my low-hanging balls. I wanted to stop this, but somehow that seemed stupid. It was only them seeing what they needed to see, so I gave a mental shrug, turned around a couple more times so they could all see I was "unblemished,” then politely asked, "OK, Gentlemen?"
They nodded to each other but made no sign of telling me to dress. I stood before them, buck naked, and the chief interviewer said, "Thank you, Bentley. You have a nice body, a handsome face, and a pleasing smile. You seem to come over well on the screen. We'll make a final decision by the end of the week. Assuming you are selected, which is highly probable, we'll need to move quickly and have you on a plane ten days later. Do you think you could manage that?"
"Well, yes, if I had to."
"Good. Now, would you mind dressing in the other room, as we have another candidate to see? And on the way out, you’ll find an envelope with cash for you, which I think adequately compensates you for a day's work."
I bent down to pick up my discarded clothes, being rather aware of how my nude body must look and walked out across the room with all sorts of strange feelings inside me. Was I actually enjoying the physical sensation of walking across the carpeted expanse in my bare feet, with my cock bobbing up and down?
I hated having to wipe my body free of sweat with just a towel and no shower, but I dressed and went out. I opened the envelope and was pleasantly surprised to see how much they apparently valued one day of my time. It was all in cash, so the government would not take a share: nice! And to tell you the truth, I was really anxious about the job for the rest of the week. It seemed intriguing, and, after all, if I was a success, who knows where it might lead? Modeling? Movies? A TV show? They were always looking for "celebrities" who had done something, even if it was just a bit part in a movie. It would be a real change from my boring, regular life. Later, when we went for a drink after work, even Derek was surprised at my change in attitude; he commented on how much happier I seemed to be, though I did think he overdid the cries of shock and horror when I paid for both rounds. I usually can't afford it, but with all that cash in my pocket, I was feeling like more of a man.
Then I got a call from the same girl who'd been at the interview. She told me I'd gotten one of the jobs and should be at the same hotel at 10:00 AM, exactly two weeks from that day. I muttered something about it being very short notice, but she said in a cheery voice, "Oh, come on, Bentley! Most single men could throw a few things in a bag and just walk out. It's not as if you own your place or anything. Just leave the keys for the landlord, and tell him he can have any of your stuff that he wants. If you come back, you'll easily be able to buy new."
"If I come back?" I was shocked!
Part 2 of 6
"Oh, come on, with a whole new life out there, you might never want to return!"
"You're right!” I told her and rechecked the details. She told me to look for the Postman the following morning as there’d be another envelope with more cash to help put the stuff I might want to keep in storage. She also cautioned me about luggage: no more than a gym bag that could go as hand baggage and to be sure to bring my passport. I wouldn't need foreign currency, as "Everything is covered for you, remember?"
Well, it all seemed simple enough, but my employer was pissed off and told me he’d never give me a job again. He insisted I stay on and work the entire two weeks. I should have just walked out, but I'm pretty responsible, so I stuck it out. However, it made all the business of packing my possessions into crates and sending them off to storage that much more rushed. I was so busy that I hardly had time to see any of my mates to say goodbye, and I only got to have a farewell drink with Derek on my very last evening. I was utterly worn out, so we didn't talk much. I couldn't give him too many details of where I was going or what I was doing because I didn't have all that many myself.
There were five of us at the hotel the next morning. After we'd all been given coffee and made brief introductions, we went to a minibus to go to the airport. The other four were not unlike me, in their early to mid-20s, fit-looking, and all with the sort of toned body that says, "This man takes care of himself.” Yet, none of us were muscle hunks on steroids and too many hours at the gym. We were all neat, trim, attractive, and kind of uniform in physical size. No one was too short or too tall.
We all sat in the minibus speculating about where we were going, but we did not know, nor did the driver. He said he was just told to pick us up at the hotel and drop us off somewhere near Heathrow. We were all a bit surprised when the bus dropped us off outside one of those warehouse-type buildings adjacent to airline terminals. We asked the driver if he was certain this was right, and he said yes. Confused as we were, we all stood there wondering what to do when suddenly the girl I'd first seen at the hotel poked her head out of the door in the featureless walls of the place and called for us to come inside.
What was happening? We were all promised five-star accommodations, yet here we were in a large industrial warehouse. My mouth dropped open when we entered: I saw five large, metal animal cages. “What the hell are these for?” I thought.
"The flight's later today,” she told us, “And it's nicer to be here than in those awful terminals. You've got a long flight ahead of you, so would any of you like to work off some of your excess energy? We have a gym here."
Some of the guys said yes, but frankly, I was tired from all the stress and work of packing and so on, so I preferred not. However, when you're in a group, you feel compelled to do what the group wants, so I mumbled a "yes,” too, and we went on through.
It was a good gym, and no expense had been spared in fitting it up. There was a bench with hooks over it, so we all stripped off and pulled our gym clothes out of our bags, and went off to use the machines. Actually, even if you are tired and stressed, it's good to give your body a good, hard work out. Once the blood starts to flow and the endorphins flood your brain, you feel better, mentally refreshed, even if you're physically tired. The camera guys were much in evidence as we went through our routines, but when the girl came in and told us to hit the showers, we laughingly pushed him out when he tried to come in there and film us!
I'd just turned off the water and reached for a towel when the shower room door burst open with a great crash. There were four men in some kind of half-uniform: tight jeans, black boots, and crisp polo shirts in white. Just behind them was the chief interviewer, and after our initial surprise, upon seeing him, we calmed down.
"Right, you five. All ready for your new life?"
"Yes,” we all chorused happily.
"Right. Follow these guards here out to shipping. Don't bother with your clothes. You won't be needing them."
We all began to shout, and suddenly there was a zinging noise, and one of the guys fell onto the wet floor of the shower. He was lying there, unable to speak, his whole body spasming and contorting, looking like he was in a lot of pain. Working at a fitness gym, you have basic first aid training, of course, so I once knelt down and tried to get him into the ‘safe’ position so that he wouldn't choke on his vomit. As I knelt there naked beside this fallen fellow, I shouted, "Call an ambulance!"
"Silence!” the interviewer shouted above the uproar. "There's no need for an ambulance. Your colleague has just been the unfortunate first one of you to experience the cattle prod!"
Now we were even more confused and shocked. We wanted to know what was happening, but we all fell quiet.
"These cattle prods were modified from the devices normally used in a slaughterhouse to control livestock. These have been modified to be more powerful, although what you saw used on that man was set at only half power. Every time you men disobey a direct order, one or another of you will feel the prod and, believe me, you do not want that sort of extreme pain."
Actually, the guy on the floor near me did not seem to be recovering, and as he tried to move his arms and legs, he was groaning.
"If necessary,” the interviewer continued, "We will use it on full power, at which point you will be rendered unconscious. You’ll feel true agony when you come around."
"What the fuck's all this about? You can't treat men like cattle!"
"Oh yes, we can. Because that's what you are now, animals. And when animals refuse to obey the orders of their owner, they are punished."
"For fuck's sake, we're not animals; we're off to make a movie!"
"Indeed you are! But perhaps not in the way that you envisioned. Now help that man to his feet and enter the shipping department so we can get started. That's what happens to animals, you know. They get shipped!"
“OK, that’s enough. I’m not going with you. I am canceling my contract. Keep all your fucking money. I’m out of here.” one man yelled. The rest of us yelled in concurrence. But then, a guard advanced on us, holding the cattle prod with the metal, electrified tip pointing out toward us. "Shut up!” the guard snapped. "Do you want a dose of the prod at its highest setting? Maybe you won’t survive."
We saw that all the guards were now holding these things, and I felt extremely vulnerable as we were totally naked and wet. With much awkwardness, we allowed ourselves to be “herded” into the next room.
They made us stand there as they got on with their preparations. Naked and feeling chilled as the water evaporated from our bodies, we stood huddled together but avoided skin-to-skin contact. I mean, when you're with other guys in the showers and so on, everyone behaves this way.
Other than one of the guards with a prod thing standing close by us, we were mostly left to ourselves as we stood together in a small group. We started talking, but for some reason, the atmosphere was conducive to talking in low voices, almost a whisper. We all wondered what the fuck was going on. Like me, the other guys had been told they would make a movie and wanted ‘unknowns’ with nice bodies to participate. I said I thought we'd all been duped, as this wasn't my idea of movie-making! One of the others pointed out that all the time we had been stripping and showering, the guys with the movie camera had been hovering around filming us.
The guy standing next to me began offering his thoughts, but the guard snapped, "Shut the fuck up, men! You're only allowed to speak when you're spoken to." He was waving the prod thing around as he said this, and frankly, no one wanted to argue, so we stood there silently. It's difficult to stand there with a bunch of other guys when you can't speak and can't move. Even the stuff you'd usually do, like sticking your hands in your pockets or adjusting your clothes, wasn’t possible.
Then we again noticed the cages, all five of them. If we had been able to speak, we'd all probably have been questioning what they were for since they looked like animal cages. But what animals were around here to place in them? They looked like cages for large dogs, except that these were larger, and the steel mesh they were made of looked thicker and much stronger than necessary. Other guards were fussing around with a lot of strange boxes of stuff, and I caught a glimpse of some stuff made of metal and leather.
We found out soon enough! One of the men standing near the cages approached us, pointed at me, and said, "You first!” I stepped forward, and as I did so, he reached out and tugged at the thin gold chain I wore around my neck. It was a present from one of my girlfriends and I'd never bothered to take it off, even though we'd broken up. It wasn't all that thick, as gold is so expensive, but even so, as he pulled at it, it hurt until it snapped. He tossed it casually on the floor and snarled at me, "Didn't you hear us when we said ‘totally naked’ earlier? You'd better learn, boy. When you're told to do something, you do it properly, or else you'll be in big trouble!"
I thought this was taking realism too far and snapped back, "Hey, that's mine, a present from my girlfriend!"
"Shut the fuck up! That's something else you need to learn: you only speak when you're spoken to!” He was waving his prod thing around menacingly now, and I didn't want to even think about getting a taste of it. I mentally made a note to add it to the money I'd claim from them. I mean, they said I was being paid my normal salary, but this was above and beyond what anyone had a right to expect!
I could hardly believe this was happening to me. This guy brought me to the side of one of the animal cages, lifted the lid, and gestured. When I stood there looking dumb, he snapped, "In you go! This is a shipping crate, and you'll soon get used to it!"
Well, what was I supposed to do? The prod was there, I was naked, and there was no way I could overcome the guards in their uniforms and heavy boots. One hard kick from him against my bare legs or feet, and I'd be done for. So I stepped over the edge, and as the man watched, I sat down. It was rather like sitting in a small bathtub, such as you get in cheap motels, in that it wasn't long enough. With my back against one end and my feet touching the other, my knees were bent up in front of me. They seemed to know what they were doing. Before I had time to react, one of the other guards was bending down by the side of the cage, and almost before I could think about it, my ankles were attached to the mesh with something soft and flexible. Another piece was cinched around my waist, holding me firmly against the back wall. Then they simply grabbed my arms and fastened them to the mesh on each side. Even though I'm strong, I was at such a mechanical disadvantage sitting there like that. It was just not possible to prevent them from doing it.
There's something utterly terrifying about being totally helpless. It was bad enough being scared of the prod and having to do what they said, but at least I was relatively ‘free’ with the vague possibility I could escape. But once I was lashed down in this cage, all hope was gone; they could do whatever they liked. A sickening thought came to me: suppose they were making a movie, a snuff movie?
I thought about them filming us as we were being tortured and killed. I'd heard that these sold for considerable money to sickos who wanted to see people killed. They could drop the cage with me into the sea and film me drowning. How could I stop them? No, they wouldn't even need the sea. They could get a large tub filled with water, one inch lower than the cage top. Then lowered the cage in slowly, and as the water rose up my body, I'd be straining futilely to get my nose up through the top bars of the cage to breathe. Or they could just put duct tape over my mouth and then hold my nose closed…how long before I suffocated? Or do one of those magicians' acts where they stab swords through a cage holding the assistant, but this time for real. I couldn't move my body out of the way of a sword poking through the mesh, not even an inch.
Oh, fuck me! This was it. I began to panic and tried everything I could to break free, desperately pushing against all the ties holding me to the cage. One of the guys was approaching me with something evil-looking, and it was headed for my face. They were going to choke me or suffocate me. I started to scream and shout, but the man just laughed. "Easy, boy. I can either force this into you the hard way, and you'll get hurt. Or you can be calm and sensible, and it will all be over instantly."
Look, it may sound silly, but he looked like a sensible sort of guy. He didn't look like a killer, not that I know what a killer looks like. After all, some pretty normal people can end up as guards in concentration camps and stuff. But something about him made me think he was trying to do his job, so I tried to calm down as he pushed something against my lips. I could smell the scent of his hands, antiseptic, like soap, as he calmly said, "OK, boy, open up! I need to get this into your mouth, then you can relax."
It was hard and tasteless plastic, and it rested on my tongue and filled the inside of my mouth, but not enough to make me gag. I found I could close my teeth around it as there was evidently a ridge or bar of some kind that I could bite down on that was faintly yielding. The man bent over me, fastened a strap around the back of my head, then stood up. I pushed at the thing in my mouth, but it wouldn't come out, and the thing pressing my tongue down meant that I couldn't speak; I could only make inarticulate gurgling noises.
"Comfortable?” he asked me. I shook my head vigorously.
"Well, perhaps it won’t be exactly comfortable until you're used to it; having a plastic penis in your mouth isn't a whole lot of fun! But are you about to choke? Is any skin or anything trapped?” I shook my head.
"Are you sure?” I nodded. “Then you will wear this for a few hours to keep you quiet. Still, it looks OK, so I'll attach the water tube."
All I could do was sit there as he hung a water bottle upside down inside the cage. Then he ran a thin plastic tube from an opening in the bottle to the hole in my mouth plug. He adjusted a little valve at the bottom of the bottle and said, "OK, boy. Suck, and let's make sure it's working."
I sucked and got nothing and looked at him, shaking my head. "Oh no, boy! Harder than that! This is training too, you know! Imagine it's a nice cock that you're chowing down on, so really suck it to get the juices flowing."
Shaking my head in disbelief because, as a straight man, I'd never even thought about sucking another guy's cock, I sucked vigorously away. I was rewarded with a mouthful of warm, slightly salty water.
"Good,” the man said, seeing my efforts rewarded as I swallowed. "Now, don't drink it all at once! It's got to last you the best part of a day. It's only so that you don't get totally dehydrated. And now that we've got you all set up let's attend to your buddies!"
He bent down, then knelt, and the next moment I felt his hands on my cock! I tried to struggle again, but the ties held me. He poked his head in front of mine as he was now down at my level and said, "Don't worry, boy! I'm not going to hurt you. But you'll want to piss, and we don't want it making a mess all over the cage now, do we? So I will slip this catheter device into your dick hole and connect it to a waste container.” I felt him lock the catheter in place. “Nothing to worry about at all; many old men wear these even if they're just a bit incontinent.” He strapped a closed plastic-type bag around my thigh, explaining it was the reservoir for my released urine.
My cock was hanging down there, helpless between my thighs, which were bent upward due to the short length of the cage. There was absolutely nothing I could do to prevent him from reaching under me and grabbing hold of my cock and my balls if he wanted to. I felt completely vulnerable, and when your balls are exposed like that, it makes you want to shiver. I'd never had another guy touch my cock before. Well, I suppose the doctor did when I was a little lad and they were doing those inspections at the baby clinic and school. The thought of another man touching me so intimately was disgusting. I mean, it's OK with your girlfriend, but another man? Never! To make matters worse, the moment I felt his warm fingers on me, gently teasing my cock away from my balls, I felt myself getting an erection! No, this couldn't be: it was fucking disgusting to have another man touch me at all, but to have him touch me to the point of erection?
"Don't worry,” he said softly, perhaps sensing my embarrassment. "It happens a lot! Young guys like you can't help getting hard-ons when someone touches their cock. There. All done." I strained to look down at my predicament. He stood up, gently pushed my head forward and down a bit, and closed the lid. I watched from my half-bent position as he snapped a lock on it.
"Right, boy, that’s done! Now we're just going to put the solid sides on, as it wouldn't do for any of those cargo handlers at the airport to see what was really in our case of novelty toys, would it? And remember, go easy on the water; it's got to last you several hours. Oh, and it's got a mild sedative in it, too, which is another reason for not drinking it all at once. It's really boring in that cage, and we don't want you to get overly anxious or panicky."
I was utterly trapped now, I knew. I couldn't break out; they could do with me whatever they wanted. I was still terrified they would kill me, but somehow this guy was reassuring. They wouldn't go to all this trouble about enabling me to piss if they were going to do that, would they? All I could do was watch as the camera watched me, as they clipped solid plywood sides around the cage. When the last one went on, none of the steel mesh of the cage could be seen. It was as if I were in a solid wooden box, like a shipping crate, and in total darkness.
I tried to guess what was happening, but it was difficult in pitch blackness and with the walls of the crate muffling sound. I waited and waited, probably just as my four companions were. Then there was a lot of shoving and heaving, and my crate was half-tipped to its side; I had to clutch at the bars with my tied-up hands. Then we must have been loaded onto a motorized transport because there was a lot of swaying, then somehow I knew my crate was being raised into the air. I sucked vigorously at the cock plug in my mouth, as I was dry by now. It was quite warm inside the crate, and I was covered in a fine sheen of sweat. I don't remember what happened next, as the sedative in the water caused me to drift off. I was sort of awakened by the unmistakable motion of a plane taking off, the acceleration, and the slope as it climbed, so I knew we must be in the air.
There's no way of knowing how long a flight is when you're in total darkness. There are no means of telling the time, especially when every time you have a sip of water, it makes you drowsy, and you doze off! I knew time was passing because I noticed I had pissed several times. And then I felt that characteristic thud as we landed, and a lot more jerking movements went on for some time. I came more fully awake and heard scraping sounds outside the crate, and then the next moment, one of the sides dropped away, and light flooded in. I screwed up my eyes momentarily and silently gave thanks for having survived the journey.
Something was different. The air smelled of humidity, and there was a sensation of heat. I began to sweat all over as my body tried to adjust. A petite, dark-skinned guy, very foreign looking, came and bent down and removed the catheter from my cock and carried it and the nearly full plastic reservoir away. He came back and similarly released the cock plug from my mouth, along with the empty water bottle. I worked my jaw to get some flexibility back into it, and it really did feel good to be able to move my tongue again.
"Hey, where the fuck am I?” I shouted to the little guy. He shrugged, said something like "No comprendo,” and walked off. There was nothing I could do. I was still strapped in, so I just sat there and watched the other cases being opened, revealing the men who had been with me in London. A cameraman was recording it all the time, but a different one from the one in London. Like the guy who'd undone my gag and piss tube, he looked darker and ‘foreign.’ Despite me shouting questions at him, he ignored me as if he had always done this and had heard it all before. He didn’t even bother to acknowledge that I was speaking to him.
Big doors at the end of our space burst open as a squad of gun-toting soldiers came in. They wore short-sleeved khaki shirts, shorts, and black military boots. I could see rank badges on some of them. They were all armed with holstered handguns. And in their hands was something I recognized: those menacing cattle prods. They looked tough and mean, and I wouldn't want to tackle them. They looked as if they were used to being obeyed and keeping order, and creating fear. They walked up and down, looking at all of us as we just sat there. Since they were laughing at us, they were obviously making some sort of jokes among themselves in their incomprehensible foreign language.
I was sweating even more now and could feel it trickling down my skin. The soldiers were hot, too; they had big wet patches under their armpits and an obvious sheen on their foreheads. Wherever we were, it was hot and steamy! Even the cameraman was sweating, but perhaps that's understandable, as he had that heavy camera to lug around.
We all just waited like that until another man came in. He was evidently in charge as the guards all stopped inspecting us and quieted down, standing in a line on one side of the room. He motioned to the cameraman to relax; he was relieved to be able to put the camera down and stand there stretching.
The in-charge fellow took up a firm stance and said in a heavily accented voice, "Right. The camera's off momentarily, so we can break out of the movie. Remember that you've all survived the journey, but we aim for total realism. We'll start recording again in a few moments, and you'll behave naturally! But if anyone makes any reference to a cameraman, or to a movie, or anything like that, punishment will be severe and swift. I believe you have all been introduced to the cattle prod, and even if we have to risk losing continuity by taking time out to punish one or more of you, we will."
"What the fuck is this movie we're making?” one of my companions called out. "I've never read a book where guys are caged."
Part 3 of 6
Then you have not been reading the right books, my friend! But you are right; there is no book associated with this movie. There might be one afterward, as that's the only merchandising opportunity. No, this is a screenplay based on an erotic story by one of the world's foremost writers of gay male erotica.
But he is someone you will not have heard unless you have specialized tastes and have subscribed to the right Internet interest groups! Not that there's a screenplay, as such; you will be forced to live out the experiences described in this erotic story, which is why we did not want actors."
"That's fucking rubbish!” another guy called out. "There's no point in making a movie like that. You could never show it. You're not allowed to show cock in most cinemas or on TV."
"Who said this movie was for public consumption? Mr. and Mrs. Joe Public lack the refinement and taste to appreciate erotica like this anyway. No, our patrons are a small, super-wealthy group of men with proper sensibilities who have read and enjoyed the erotic stories I have described. The movie is being made now, and you are all the chief actors and several other men you will meet in due course. Not that you are actors. Our emphasis is on total realism, which is why we just selected ordinary men like you to take part."
He paused for a breath, wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, and continued, "The men who have paid dearly for this movie have decided they want more, much more than the stories. So, instead of imagining how a man feels when he is put on the auction block to be sold, they will soon be able to see it. The camera will capture the emotions that run through you as the bidding mounts and men with voracious sexual appetites bid for your bodies."
Before we could shout out that this was mad, he repeated, "Of course, this can only work if the experience is totally authentic. We didn't want actors to play the parts of the men who were being sold and so on. But the written word is not as powerful as the visual images you will provide them. We do not want our rich, powerful patrons to be disappointed; there's a real danger if we use professional actors. So if you all thought that this was just a movie, however realistic, you wouldn't react totally 'naturally' to whatever we do to you. Somewhere inside you, a little voice would tell you it would all be over soon, and you'd be back in London dining out in luxury. You were all duped into signing up to make a movie that is very different from the one I think you imagined, and perhaps now is the time to totally reveal that duplicity. Listen carefully, as this is the last time you will hear this."
You could have heard a pin drop as we sat there listening. I could almost hear my heart thumping away. "Although this is a movie, although you are all being filmed as we process you, you are not actors, not even inexperienced ones. This experience is for real. You will never go back to London or wherever you came from. When we sell you off at our auction, that is for real; you will be sold to new owners, and all sales are final." he smiled.
There were cries of "Fucking shit!” and the in-charge guy looked angry.
"You men may not want to hear this,” he snapped, "But it's in your own interests to understand it and understand it well. You are deep in the heart of South America." There were some gasps of astonishment from us all, but he just ignored them. "I do not think that most men from developed countries truly appreciate the sheer size of the rainforest and the remoteness of this particular area. There are no roads, no railways, and the only access is by private plane. Even a trip on the river to the nearest small town is more than two days, assuming you have a boat, know the way, and can hack through the overhanging vegetation."
"In this vastness, it is easy for rich men, and here we are talking about the super-rich, to do as they please, with no authorities to interfere. They own millions of acres, pay millions in bribes each year, and for this, they have their own kingdom, their own land where their writ rules and there are no other laws. A group of these rich, powerful men has built themselves palaces surrounded by estates in the depths of the Amazon. Those houses and estates are run by slaves. You, gentlemen, will join those slaves when you are auctioned, and it is for real. Your flesh is going to be sold to the highest bidder, and, as his slave, you then have no choice as to what happens to you. You will be merely your owner's property for the rest of your life, who can do with you as he will. There is no law here save for the desire of your owner to amuse himself. No one will come to rescue you, for not only does the world not know where you are, but the bribes I mentioned ensure complete seclusion and privacy."
Most of us were shouting now, expressing our total disbelief. He held up his hand in a gesture demanding silence. "This is the last time we will speak of this. We are striving for authenticity in our movies. You will act out in the unknown situations that are presented to you. This is life, life for you. This is real, the only reality you will ever know from now on. You are no longer men, not even actors. You are slaves, pieces of male flesh that belong to us now and will shortly belong to new owners who will do with you as they wish. Life for a willful, disobedient slave can be even harder than life for a slave who properly understands his place in this society. And some owners quickly lose their patience with slaves who do not obey or are disrespectful and insufficiently servile. I suspect that you like having your testicles, yes? There is no guarantee you will keep them. They do not belong to you. Remember that the easiest way of 'calming' an unruly slave is gelding him. This is easily done with little risk of destroying the slave's overall usefulness. Most owners consider it a reasonable option, as easy as a dog owner considers castration for an animal that needs to be calmed. Remember this, and let it condition your behavior."
There were some shouts and the beginnings of arguments from some of the guys, but the guards quickly forced us into silence with threats of their prods. We were all told to stand still, naked, and to “stay.” It actually felt good after we'd been confined for so long in those crates. A white-coated guy came in and went along the line of us several times, collecting first blood, then piss. Then, even more humiliating, he had us bend over and spread our ass cheeks so he could get a scraping of crap from our asses. All these samples went into individual little tubes and vials, and then when we thought it was all over, he came back with five more little cups.
"All slaves awaiting assessment are required to give a semen sample, too,” he said. "I would enjoy coming along the line and taking it from you, but experience shows that it is difficult and takes too long. You may each take one of these cups and produce the sample for me yourselves."
We looked at each other and couldn't believe it at first. I mean, you don't jerk off in front of other guys, do you? And, to make it worse, that fucking camera was there, watching the expressions on our faces as we began to realize what we had to do.
Shifting from foot to foot in embarrassment, we all just stood there. The white-coated guy said simply, "Suit yourselves! Maybe I will enjoy the feel of your penises after all."
Well, for me, the thought of having another guy jerking me off was even worse than the thought of doing it publicly myself, so I reached down and began to stroke myself into life. I saw some of the others starting to do it, too, and of course, the fucking camera was everywhere, zooming in and out at us as we went at it. What sort of a fucking film was this going to be? There was no way they could ever show it on TV or in cinemas! But then, perhaps we were merely going to be ‘after-dinner entertainment’ for these ‘super-rich guys,’ or perhaps they even had their own private cinema somewhere in this vast complex.
I was working my dick, but jerking off while standing up is awful. Whenever I’ve tried it, and I start to cum, my cock thrusts forward as if looking for a nice warm cunt to get inside, making my knees bend the wrong way. So afterward, while I'm standing there recovering, I feel weak in the knees, and I hate that. So, I usually do it lying down on my bed or sprawled out on a chair. But here, there was no choice; I didn't think I could sit down on the floor and do it, so I stood there. And it was fucking embarrassing not just for me, but for all of us, pumping our man juice into little cups. Most guys can't help grunting and moaning as they wank, and even I found myself making that funny sort of noise as the last hand stroke started my balls pumping the cum up and out!
Afterward, when we were all standing there, breathing hard as one does after a good wank, the white-coated guy came around and collected the little cups we'd been given. He used a magic marker to label each one with a single number, from one to five. He reached up before I could stop him and put a big three on my chest between my nipples. He put another three on my right ass cheek. I could see why he did it. He obviously wanted to know which samples came from which guy, but I hated being marked like an animal.
We all stood there feeling pretty foolish. We were waiting for the guards to come and ‘escort’ us into the next room, which turned out to be bare concrete like the rest of the place, with simple fluorescent tubes lighting it. Down one side were what appeared to be the kind of prison cells you see in old Western movies. The cells had a row of bars between them, bars at the front with a barred door, and each one just contained a bunk bed; each of us was, in turn, locked into one of these cells. As we stood there looking out, wondering what the fuck would happen next, the man who had been in charge appeared and spoke again.
"That completes the first part of your processing,” he informed us. "We now need to get your blood, urine, semen, and stool samples analyzed to ensure you're harboring no infections, parasites, or anything else. We want to have nice, clean, tested stock for sale at the auction, so we'll keep you in isolation in these cells until we have run all the tests. We've got a little leeway, as the next auction isn't for five days."
"I won't ask if you have any questions,” he added, smiling, "As I'm sure you have hundreds! But they're irrelevant, so there's no point in asking them. Just remember that you have something to look forward to in five days. That’s your auction when you can enter your new life properly."
The guards left us then, and we stood naked at the bars of our cells, just looking out and trying to understand what had gone on. We all agreed that we'd really been deceived; how could we have been so naive as to have been duped like this? All that talk of big money, an exciting new life, and a new start made me dizzy. Well, life isn't like that, really. Some of the guys thought it might be one huge trick and that we'd be set free after they'd made their movie. It might be like one of those game shows on TV where they suddenly reveal that you're the subject of an elaborate practical joke. If so, what they were doing to us had already left them wide open to a lot of lawsuits from us; there was no way that I would waive my rights if that turned out to be true!
One of the others thought we'd be rescued, but as we stood there talking about it, even he ultimately had to admit that the prospects were slim. We'd all left quite suddenly, but we had all made proper arrangements to pack and give up our places, and none of us had current girlfriends or close relatives. No, as far as I could see, we'd just vanished off the face of the earth as far as the authorities at home were concerned. And if no one made a fuss about our disappearance, no one would come looking for us. I remembered seeing an article in the newspaper only a week back about how many single people just ‘walked out on their lives,’ as the writer put it. There was no incentive at all for the overworked police to start investigating, even if someone did notice eventually. No, we seemed to be stuck in this place.
It was odd at first, standing there totally naked in a cell, having a ‘normal’ kind of conversation with the other guys, but it was amazing how easily one got used to it. It was warm and very humid in there, so it wasn’t as if one felt cold or anything, and the strangeness of being without clothes soon wore off. Mind you, after a bit, it got really boring. We exchanged names, told each other about our lives, and repeatedly considered our circumstances. Then there was nothing else to do. All the other stuff guys talk about, like football, the news, and the latest movie, seemed so remote and unreal that we couldn't summon up the energy to discuss them. And none of us was going to talk about women, well, I mean, with your cock all naked in front of you, it's too risky. Just like you don't talk about your girlfriend while naked in a locker room!
I lay down on my ‘bunk’ made of plain wood, without a sheet or cover, and just lay there. I'm not used to lying down in the afternoon as I've always got something to do, but once I lay down and closed my eyes, I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was stiff, in two senses of the word; my body felt all kind of weary from being cramped up in the cage and then from lying on the hardwood ‘mattress’ with my cock rock hard.
You know how it is when you first wake up: you lie there briefly as your brain gets into gear. At first, I thought I was home and reached for my cock to do what I always do in the morning, have a good wank. But then, of course, reality set in. I remembered where I was, and all the things that had happened to me recently came flooding back. I let go of my cock as if it were red hot. There was absolutely no privacy in our barred cells, but when I looked around, I saw that the others were all asleep, so I began to stroke myself to get rid of my erection. Funny, isn't it, that no matter how worried you are, once you start to wank you forget everything, and the only thing you can think about is the fantastic sensation in your cock as you slide your hand over it. I was really getting turned on and could feel my balls tightening as they got ready to fire when suddenly my happy mood of intense sexuality was broken by remembering there was nothing to catch the cum!
I stopped stroking myself, but it was too late. I gasped out loud as a big load shot out of my dick and splattered up onto my belly and chest; there was nothing I could do to stop it. All I could do was lie there for a few minutes, letting my breathing go back to normal and enjoying that wonderful feeling of afterglow you get when you've just shot your load. All that exertion had made me sweat even more than I had before. I knew my body was covered in a dense sheen of sweat, but above my normal scent, I was also getting that characteristic smell of cum. “Oh, fuck me!” I thought. What was I going to do now? There wasn't anything in my cell to wipe it up with, and as I raised my head and looked down at my body, I could see the creamy white trails of cum lying there against my tanned skin.
Well, there was nothing else I could do to get rid of the evidence, so I ran my hand up my body, scooping up as much of the stuff as I could, then brought my hand up to my lips and licked it clean. I know some guys think it's gross to eat their cum, but I can't see anything wrong with it; it's not as if it tastes bad or anything, and it's perfectly natural. I don't, usually, as there are always some dirty clothes lying around in my room before they go into the wash, which can be used to clean myself, but if there aren’t, well, I can't see what's wrong with eating them.
I think I was lucky to be the first guy awake because as the afternoon wore on and they all started to rouse themselves from their naps, I got quite a laugh to see how they reacted to finding themselves with a big hard-on in front of the rest of us. None of them wanked himself, and there was an awful lot of embarrassed shuffling around as they tried to conceal themselves from the rest of us by facing the rear wall of the cells.
Look, it was just boring. We had nothing to do and nothing to say. It was only after a few hours that something different happened. The door opened, and the guards came in. They were accompanied by the camera guy as usual and this time, he was a very young guy, maybe sixteen. Judging by his slight build, he was not fully mature because his muscles hadn't hardened and toughened as young guys' do. He was heavily tanned all over, and I do mean all over. Like us, he was naked, but unlike us, there were no white patches anywhere on him where a shirt had covered his body, leaving white upper arms to contrast with dark forearms. No, he had a deep, even tan all over. I could tell from how his blond hair had been bleached almost white that this must have come from prolonged exposure to the sun. I could see that he had a small patch of blond hair above his cock, which was quite big in proportion to the rest of him.
This was the first time this ‘slave’ business really struck home for me. There's no way a 16-year-old is going to parade around totally naked, normally. I mean, you're kind of sensitive at that age, and you don't want other guys seeing you. I can remember how it was for me, even with my closest mates, when I did not like to strip off for the communal showers at school. You grow out of it, of course, once you realize that you've got a nice body, better than most other guys have. So here was this kid, parading around in front of us stark naked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
We soon found out why he was here. On the order of one of the guards, he went over to the corner of the room and got some stuff out of a box, and came back and pushed a bar of something into our hands. We all just stood there looking at what he'd given us. It was as big as a big bar of chocolate but dull gray in color and felt slightly greasy in my hands.
"Eat,” one of the guards snapped. "This is slave chow and what you men will mostly eat from now on."
One of the guys just vomited his “meal” out through the cell bars onto the concrete floor in front of us. The young lad seemed terrified, rushed over and picked it up, and tried to hand it back into the cell, but the ‘inmate’ refused it again and just stood there, his arms folded in defiance.
A guard went over to him and snapped, "Eat, slave. Slaves need to keep up their strength and to have healthy bodies. Eat the chow."
"Fuck you!" my companion snapped. That was the only thing he could escape as the guard pushed the cattle prod through the bars. The next moment, a naked body was writhing around on the cell's floor.
The guard stood there dispassionately, waiting for the guy to struggle to his feet. "Now, fucking slave, do as you're told! Slaves aren't allowed to refuse food; slaves do as they're told. You need to keep fit and healthy for the benefit of your owners, and if you're told to eat, you eat. Every scrap of it!"
He raised his voice and called out, "That goes for all of you! Eat your chow or be prepared to suffer the consequences."
The cameraman had been filming all of this, and the fact that they were prepared to use those prods on us as we stood there naked began to convince me that this was no simple movie-making: we would never be allowed to escape. Look, I'm not a coward, but there's no point in having a fight you can't win. I was naked, locked in this cell, and the guard could easily push a prod through to me, too. So I put the greasy gray bar in my mouth, bit a piece off, and chewed on it.
It wasn't all that bad, actually; slightly oily, generally bland. It was rather like solid cum would be, I suppose! Or, rather, like some tofu muck one of my girlfriends had tried to feed me one night, but much firmer. I had to chew on it to break it up and swallow it. We all stood there chomping away, and at a nod from the guard, the young lad went over to a tap on the far wall and filled a can. He came to each of our cells in turn, and we had to kneel down so that he could poke the spout of the can through the bars to give us a drink.
I hadn't realized how thirsty I was until now, yet I was suddenly grateful for the warm, brackish water slipping down my throat. Then, as I knelt there, I realized how far along the way to becoming a slave I'd gone. Here I was, locked in a cage without a shred of anything to cover my nakedness; I was being fed and watered like an animal, AND I was not even protesting! I felt myself starting to sweat, a sweat of apprehension, as I realized for the first time how much in their power I already was. They'd already almost made me into something different from a free man, and I was now even lower than a common prisoner. I mean, in jail, there are certain rules and rights for prisoners. They don't keep you naked and feed you as if you were an animal!
We all knelt there as the young lad made several trips up and down the row of cells, allowing us to drink as much as we wanted. Oh fuck, I thought again, if they decided not to feed us or even give us any water, there was not a fucking thing we could do about it. We were helpless in those cells, entirely in their power. Suppose they decided to let us starve to ‘amuse’ their audience? But even as I thought this, another more pressing and urgent thought came to me: I needed to piss!
I wasn't the only one, either. The guy at the end called out, "Hey, I have to piss!"
The guard marched up to stand before him and laid it out. "Boy, you may want to piss, but you do need to learn some manners! First, slaves don't 'want' anything. The only thing a slave does is obey his owner. Secondly, slaves always speak respectfully when they do speak, which isn't all that often. They call their owner 'Master' and all other free men 'Sir.' Now, try again, boy!"
"I want to piss, Sir!” came the reply in a rather disrespectful tone.
"Boy, you can maybe get away with it now, but if you were my slave and you ever adopted that tone with me, I'd have you taken down for a public whipping straight away. No owner wants an insolent slave. Defiance, disobedience, and insolence often have to be whipped out of him. But we aren't allowed to whip you here, not properly, that is, with the bullwhip. They want your bodies to look good up on the auction block. But I can use the slave control prod on you, remember? So, boy, I suggest you try again and show some respect."
"I want to piss, Sir,” was the response, this time in a low, even tone.
"You don't get it, do you? I told you slaves don't 'want'! They occasionally ask their betters if they can have something, but only when the need is urgent. A slave has to learn to speak only when he's spoken to. I'll give you one last chance, and then I'll see if my lesson will be learned a bit better with some encouragement from the prod here."
"Please, Sir, may I piss, Sir?"
This time the response seemed to please the guard. He stepped away from the cell bars and looked at all of us. "You heard how this slave has gotten the message about proper respect? Well, that's the last lesson we'll be giving. The next one of you slaves who don't treat a free man properly will be prodded, do you understand?"
I wanted to tell him to fuck off, but hearing myself constantly referred to as a ‘slave’ was very unsettling, and I didn't want to feel that prod on my naked skin. I knew I'd better play along, at least for now. As I thought this, the guard rapped out again, "You slaves need to learn another lesson, too! When a free man asks you a question, you respond! Now, I asked you if you understood what I'd been saying."
"Yes, Sir,” I chorused, along with the others.
"Right, then, do you all need to piss?"
"Yes, Sir." It seemed to be getting easier!
"So listen up. There are no facilities for slaves to piss in these cells. If you need to piss, then piss. The floors are concrete, and we wash the cells out twice a day. So, piss away!"
Part 4 of 6
The guard stood there watching us intently as we all looked at each other, wondering what to do. I had that very uncomfortable feeling in my bladder that told me I needed to let go, but there was no way I could do it standing there in a cell while being watched by the other guys, the guard, and the young lad!
Some conditioning or something stops one from pissing onto the floor inside a building. I mean, if there had been a urinal or something, there wouldn't have been a problem. But being completely bare and just standing there and pissing onto the floor? No way.
As I thought about this, it was almost as if my bladder was determined to make me change my mind. I felt the discomfort and the demand of my full bladder screaming, "You need to let go, and let go now!" Then I heard the unmistakable sound of piss splashing onto concrete.
The floor of the cell must have been slightly sloped because the pool of piss on the floor ran back toward my bare feet! I tried to stop it, but you all know how it is once it starts flowing. I felt a warm wetness around my feet; I could do nothing about it. I remained standing there, with my back to the bars, trying as best I could to shield myself from the others as I squeezed the last drops of piss out.
Now we were even more like animals, fouling our cages. The guard had been watching us and had a faint smile on his face. "Lucky for you, it's time for the evening clean up,” he remarked. "If I were you, I'd try to get into the habit of pissing, especially crapping, only just before a cleanup is due!" He turned to the young lad and barked, "You know what to do! Fetch the hose."
The lad at once rapped out, "Sir, yes, Sir!” He approached the water tap on the far wall and attached the hose. Then, starting at the far end, he proceeded to spray water all over the contents of each cell as well as all over us!
Look, I was glad to be able to clean the sweat and dried cum off of me, and it was good not to have the piss swilling around on the floor. But this wasn't how men should be treated, having to stand naked as they use a hose to wash us down. I'd seen an animal trainer in a circus once, washing down the cages with the horses in them, and this was just the same.
After he turned it on and started hosing us down, I could only stand there and watch the young lad blast the next two men beside me. He seemed to know what he was doing, as he had a systematic way of sweeping the hose from side to side so that every part of the cell's walls, bunk, and floor was washed before turning his attention to the occupant. And even then, he must have been used to it as he was careful not to spray the heavy jet directly onto our cocks, although when he made a gesture for us to turn around, our backs and asses got the full force of the water. He seemed to enjoy the job, at least, and I suppose there are some advantages to doing that job as totally naked as he was; it didn't matter if the water splashed on his lithe, nude body. He really did work hard, though, and I wondered how it felt, with his cock and balls swinging away as he moved around.
The cameraman was filming us all this time, always watching for our reactions as we were humiliated. Although there was no physical movement of the lens, I could just imagine how he was using the electronic zoom to focus in on my cock as the water splashed over it and how everyone would see me running my hand down my ass crack to clean myself.
It took a long time for my body and the cell to dry. It was really humid there, and so it took ages for the water to evaporate. The night fell swiftly, and the sky outside the thin, high slits in the wall turned black surprisingly quickly. As there was no lighting inside our room, there wasn't anything else to do but to go back to lying on the bunk and try to sleep.
Although they'd said it would be "five days until the auction,” we were only kept in those cells for two. Two days of absolutely nothing to do, uncomfortable sleeping, and the total monotony of it all only varied when the guard came in to feed us twice a day and to supervise the young lad as he hosed us down. And yes, I did have to crap, and that was even worse than pissing in public. It is humiliating to have to do things like that with other guys watching, but it's tough to do! I know natives squat down in the jungle and let go, but we're not used to indecent behavior. Without a toilet to sit on, you have to hunker down and drop the turds as you squat there. I knew all the others must be watching me and smelling my crap, but I suppose it was the same for them. We all needed to do it sooner or later! At least if you waited until just before the hosing out, the crap got washed away quickly.
The only other thing in our routine was that each morning, just after the hose-down, the guard would order us to stand close to the cage bars so that he could ‘touch up’ the ink marker numbers on our bodies that had been put their the first day. I hated this as it made me feel even less human, but I could do nothing about it. I realized there was more to this slavery business than the idea of being made to work for other men without wages. I imagined this would be similar to those stories about ‘slave labor’ in factories in foreign countries. But in our new reality, being a slave was much more; it was being totally out of control of our bodies and our lives, having to do exactly as we were told when we were told, and never being allowed to make any decisions for ourselves. It was being kept naked and caged, being hosed down like a dumb beast, without even a shred of cloth to cover our most private parts.
We were being made to piss and defecate in front of others, with no possibility of ‘civilized’ things like restrooms. We were fed when they chose, not when we were hungry and fed only that utterly bland ‘slave chow.’ And, possibly worst of all, we were just numbers, not people. I had been turned from a free man into a subhuman who was treated just as cattle or sheep … and only if they were owned by a cruel rancher.
On the third day, the guard came in and said, "Good news! The medical results are back earlier than expected, so you'll be auctioned this afternoon.”
On the third day, though, the guard stood there and said, "Good news, the medical results are back earlier than expected, and you all passed, and none of you have any sexual diseases. So, you'll be auctioned this afternoon.
We are all free of sexual diseases. I never considered I would have a sex role as a slave. It just hadn't occurred to me. I mean, it hadn’t really soaked in. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized it was inevitable. I mean, what's the ultimate degradation you can put a guy through? After you've stripped him, caged him, and made him work for you as a slave, what's left? It's obvious. You use him for sex against his will and against his nature! The thought of some man fucking me, taking my virginity, making me do all those kinds of unspeakable things that you read about in porn mags…it made me feel sick.
And then I thought about the kind of man who might buy me; what kind of person buys another man, buys him just as if he were a fancy new stereo or a new car? I had no real idea, but as I sat there thinking, it seemed to me that it would have to be someone rich. Slaves like me would need constant supervising and guarding to keep them from escaping. And perhaps it had to be someone so rich that he had nothing else left to spend his money on. What pleasure would there be in buying a Ferrari, a fancy watch, or anything at all if you had so much money that it made no difference to you? No, the only thing worth buying would be something that no other man, no normal man, could ever afford: another guy! It would be an outrageous act of defiance of normal conventions to ‘buy’ another human being. Such a man would be a supreme egotist, convinced that all that mattered was what he wanted. That was probably how he'd made his money in the first place. So what chance would there be for a slave owned by such a man to ever do anything he wanted for himself?
Even though this thought should have frightened me, it was also, in some ways, vaguely exciting. In fact, I felt my cock spring into life as I contemplated how such a powerful man would view me. What would he demand that I do for him? How would he treat me? The more I thought, the harder I got. Look, don't get me wrong: I'm not a submissive guy at all, yet the thought of someone having all that power, being able to control me so completely, was turning me on.
The five of us remaining were then let out. There were five guards, each with a prod, and we were taken to a communal shower like the one I had at the gym, with lots of hot water, shampoo, and soap. God, did it feel good to be clean again, properly clean! And had it not been for the camera's eye peering at us constantly, I could almost have thought of myself as being back at work. Not that that mood lasted long; we weren't given a towel or anything and instead had to plane the water off our bodies. Then I had to wait for the remainder to evaporate, which took a long time in the oppressive humidity of the place. In fact, I never really got ‘dry’; instead, the sheen of water left on my body after the shower was just replaced by a sheen of sweat. Shortly after, the door opened, and the guy in charge came in, looked us over, and said, "Right! Now we've just got a few simple cosmetic things to do to all of you. You all want to look your best for the auction, don't you?"
We all stood there staring at him, and then his mood changed abruptly. "I think you've forgotten the rules! That's VERY unwise of you, but I'll remind you one last time. When a free man speaks to you, you ALWAYS reply and reply politely and respectfully. Now, you do all want to look your best, don't you?"
There was a rather ragged chorus of "Yes, Sir,” as we could see that the guards had tensed, ready for action. He went on. "Good. Now, this is just the first stage of your preparation for your new life, as we can't do much of the other stuff until after you've been bought. But we want the prospective buyers to have a good look at you and for you all to look neat and tidy."
He came up to me and looked closely at my head. "The hair's short enough already, but razor his neck and sideburns so they're crisp and sharp. And I think he looks rather mean with that growth of beard, so shave him, but don't shave him smooth. Trim him down to about one day, so he looks like he's just gotten out of bed. I think that swarthy look would go well with his brown eyes, and it will be a real turn-on for some men to imagine that they could wake up next to that every morning!"
He was giving these orders to the young naked slave who'd fed us and hosed us down each day, and the lad was writing it onto a slip of paper as the man reeled off the instructions. But his tone changed as he said to me, "Arms above your head!”
I didn't realize at first that he was speaking to me, so I just stood there. "You've been warned!” he snapped at me, "Are you just fucking stupid, or are you some sort of pain pig who wants to be prodded?"
"Sorry, Sir,” I muttered, raising my arms above my head. His hand stroked my pit, and I squirmed as I was quite ticklish, and, anyway, I was not used to having myself felt up like that.
"Trim this lightly,” he said calmly, then, as I stood there, his hand ran over my pecs and down over my belly. "Leave the thatch on his chest and the treasure trail." He looked at me again and said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, "Your new owner might decide to have you shaved all over or even have all this hair depilated away permanently. But I think you look rugged and masculine with all that, and that's the 'look' these days. Buyers seem to want men who look like men, especially when their bodies are on the larger size, as yours is."
"Standard trim of the pubic hair,” he intoned. "And shave the balls." He almost smiled at me as he said, "We want the buyers to get a proper look at your tackle, don't we?"
I yelled, “Yes, Sir!”
Then he went behind me, and I felt his hands sliding over my shoulders, then running down my back to rest on my ass. I couldn't help it; no one had ever felt me like this before, and I wriggled in embarrassment. "Easy, boy!” he said quietly, "I think I know what you're feeling, but there will be worse than this during the preview!” And then he seemed to be finished with me as he said, "Leave his back and shoulders. There's almost no hair there, and what there is looks natural. Shave his ass crack as usual."
The young slave who had been writing all this down stood up and said, "Sir, yes, Sir.” Then he reached up and hung the slip of paper around my neck as if it were a label on a parcel! He and the Chief moved on and conducted the same inspection on my three companions. When he was done, we all stood there, labeled, wondering what was to happen next.
Funnily enough, I realized I'd stopped blushing. Could it be that I was getting used to being naked, acclimatized to seeing my body and feeling up?
They used the ticket hung around my neck as a kind of ‘routing slip’ to perform what the Chief Honcho had specified for me. They employed some professional barbers to do my hair, not that there was much to do, as he basically only shaved my neck into a sharp line. The work was more elaborate for one of the other guys, as his longish hair had to be styled down to an inch.
It was the young lad who attended to the trimming of my more intimate body hair. He held the scissors, then told me cheerfully to hold my arms up in the air while he snipped away the hair on my armpits. But I hated it when he bent down in front of me and started to cut away at my pubes; I've got quite a pronounced bush stretching right across my lower abdomen. But when he finished, I just had a tiny little bit above my cock.
After that, it was just awful! With the guards watching so I didn't dare disobey, and with the camera zooming in all the time to add to my shame and embarrassment, the kid told me to lie on the floor; I felt the cold concrete against my back. He looked down at me and said, "OK, this is how we do it. Pull your legs up and back and grab hold of your ankles, and it will all be over before you know it.”
At first, I didn't understand what the fuck he was doing until he knelt beside me, waving his scissors and a razor. Then, with my cock flopping forward onto my belly as I grasped my ankles, I realized my balls were exposed to him and the camera. He was really gentle, though. I suppose he did this regularly, and he did seem to know what he was doing. Likely he knew most guys are terrified of someone holding their balls. I didn't even like it when a girlfriend did it sometimes, and I've certainly never allowed a guy to do it before. I mean, something about one’s balls makes them a very, very special part of you. Even the slightest tap on them makes you automatically go into a kind of “protect’ mode. I've never been punched or kicked in the balls, but they say it’s absolute agony.
So, I lay there on my back with my legs doubled over my head as he gently moved them around from side to side, first snipping the long hairs off the sac. Then he moved on to gently shave them totally smooth, and this required him to move my balls around in the sac and stretch it so that it was flat, I guess to avoid getting razor nicks. He evidently saw my concern as he grinned and whispered, "Don't worry; I've never castrated a guy yet! Just keep hold of those ankles, and you'll be OK.” he smiled.
"Now, lie still,” he told me. "Most guys buck a bit when I do this, but believe me, you don't want to get nicked with this razor where I'm about to trim. And pull your legs back as far as you can to your chest so that your ass is up in the air a bit; it will be easier for both of us."
I wondered what would happen, but I did as he'd said, and then it was as if something electric went through me; the cold steel of the razor was scraping around the edges of my asshole. "What the fuck are you doing?” I whispered, but there was an urgent tone in my voice.
"Shhhhh, or the guards will punish you and me. I know many guys don't like this, but the slip says that your ass has got to be shaved. They always have that done unless the guy is a really fair blond, and then they sometimes let him keep a few wisps around there. Hey, shut the fuck up - the guard's looking! It will be over soon, and then you'll be nice and clean, ready for display."
"Ready for display?"
"Oh, come on! If you were buying a slave for sex, wouldn't you want to ensure his asshole was in good condition?" I shivered then, both inwardly and outwardly. This young lad seemed to accept that it was perfectly normal for a man to be bought for sex and, what's more, that he knew this would be my fate. But before I could ask him anything more, he got to his feet and said, "All done!” the guards motioned for me to get up so he could start on the next guy.
All five of us went through the same processes. When they finished with us, we were placed back in our cells. We knew the auction was tomorrow. Most of us, I included, were deep in thought. There was not much to say. We were wallowing in our own thought of how we would feel being a slave. We likely would never see each other again. I just lay down and fell to sleep.
The next morning, we were taken into a big room and neatly spaced about 12 feet apart in a line. The guards cuffed my hands behind my back, then put a collar around my neck. My handler referred to this as a punishment collar. The sound of that gave me chills. Next, he attached a very short chain, about one foot long to the back of my collar and let it hang down. My cuffed hands were painfully raised up so that they could be attached to the hanging chain. With my hands secured so high, my chest was pushed out, and my head was brought back a little to ease the strain on my arms. At first, it was painful, but as my muscles and joints relaxed, it felt manageable. Bound like this, my arms and shoulder get stabbing pains if I try to move about or pull back in resistance.
Next, leather ankle cuffs were strapped tightly around my ankles; they had a chain between them, like a hobbler. I didn’t notice before, but we stood over a heavy steel eyelet embedded in the concrete. The chain between my ankle cuffs was attached to the eyelet. Apparently, slaves have been secured here in this exact line many times before.
As I stood there, helpless, they attached the short chain between my feet to an eye bolt embedded in the concrete.
"Only one more thing,” my handler said, “Open your mouth.” When I hesitated, he slapped my naked ass with his open palm. I gave a little leap forward and shouted a surprise, “OUCH.” He just laughed and told me that I was lucky he hadn't got his cattle prod out and that I should fucking well do as I was told. I opened my mouth, and he pushed a large rubber gag in and strapped it around my head. I couldn't push it out or speak at all as it filled my mouth and pushed my tongue down.
Part 5 of 6
After that, he left me alone, and I just stood there. Soon buyers, all men, of course, started to wander in a line, examining each of us, taking as much time as each wanted. Most of them just casually looked at me like they were window shopping. To my horror, some wanted a closer look. They didn't hesitate to run their hands over my pecs, feel my ass muscles or even play with my cock.
At first, I tried to protest and pull back, but my “punishment collar" did its job, and I received painful jolts in my arms and shoulders. So, I stood still and tried to reason with them verbally, but, of course, I could only mumble with the rubber gag in my mouth. I began to think that they wouldn't have cared anyway, even if I could speak my protest.
I stood there and put up with their horrible chubby fingers and sweaty hands, probing and grouping. The anchored-down hobbler chain gave me only about six inches to move. You never realize how totally helpless you can be until you’re cuffed and chained like this. I could do nothing at all to prevent these sleazy rich men from doing as they pleased.
Strangely, even with all this humiliation, I felt excited and erotic. I've always liked having a good body and, in some ways, having it admired, even like this. Anyone appreciating my body was like getting rewarded for all the hard work I put in at the gym. As one guy after another slid my foreskin up and down and took a piercing look, my dick grew. An occasional moan escaped from me. I hoped they didn't think that I was gay just because I had a very massive erection and stood there with pre-cum dripping.
The cameraman recorded everything. Some potential buyers were encouraged to do particular examinations on me. This one attractive guy in a three-piece suit told me to stand on one foot. I lifted one foot an inch off the ground. “No, lift it as high as the chain will allow,” he ordered. It was a short hobbler chain, but I managed to raise my foot only six inches. “More, make the chain taut, use your muscles to stretch the chain, and stand like that.” I did as he said and lifted my foot and pulled the chain until the edges of the leather cuffs were squeezing sharply into my skin, all while keeping my balance. It wasn't easy to balance because my hands were cuffed high behind my back, and my feet were so close together. Most men could not do this for more than a few seconds.
“Yes, stay just like that,” he said more forcefully. THEN HE PUSHED HIS FINGER UP MY ASSHOLE! I don’t know what all this balancing was about, but in trying to hold my one foot up with force, pulling on the chain, my ass was more vulnerable. My focus was on my balance and tensing all my muscles, and he had a big fucking finger up my ass … no, two fingers now. I started to put my foot down. “NO!” He yells. Everyone is looking at us, even my companions on either side of me. “I SAID KEEP YOUR FOOT UP AND KEEP IT THERE!”
Honestly, I felt like I was in a gynecologist’s chair with my legs up and spread, and the doctor was fucking me. He wiggled his fingers around. My dick was getting bigger and firmer. I was on the verge of climaxing. He was laughing and enjoying my frantic state of erotic misery. Finally, he removed his fingers. I then noticed he had a latex glove on. Then he turned to his associate beside him, maybe a family member, and told him, “If we buy this one. Training him to do all our tricks will be a lot of fun.” They both chuckled and moved on.
These buyers were all provided latex gloves, so finger fucking slaves on display must have been common practice. Since we came to this place, we were told never to climax without permission. My dick was not going down. I glanced over and saw that the guys on either side of me also had big erections. So, then I did not feel so bad or embarrassed.
After what they referred to as the hands-on inspections, we were all unshackled. The guards "freshened" our black-marker-drawn numbers again and released our cuffs from our collars. All five of us stood there flexing our arms and waving them around, starting the blood flowing again. Then we were herded along a short tunnel by the guards using their prods and came out into what was like a small arena. It must have been 20 feet across. There was sand on the floor and a three-foot-high barrier surrounded by a few tiers of seats just inside the barrier. There was another rail, like an “O” inside an “O.” We were placed in the gap between the two circular rails. There was the noise of a motor and polite applause from the watching audience. One of the guards came in riding a trail bike. He came up behind us and told us to start running. We soon discovered we needed to keep a respectable distance from him, so he would not run us over or bump our asses.
We ran like in a dog race in circles between the two rails, with the trail bike rushing us along. It was OK initially, as he went relatively slow, and we could do a normal jog. But then, moments later, he began to speed up. The five of us were no longer jogging but racing. I started to piston my arms to get more speed, and I could feel my body running with sweat in the humidity.
After a few minutes of running like this, I was done and wanted to stop. But stopping wasn't allowed, and they even forced us to speed up. We were all just going as fast as we could drive our bodies to avoid the bike behind us. Then, of course, when he finally stopped, we were completely exhausted. All five of us stood there clutching at the rail barrier for support as we gasped for breath and our racing hearts could recover. With all those eyes looking at me, I no longer felt like a man but rather like some sort of beast that could be forced to work until he was totally and utterly exhausted.
As we were catching our breath, they bought a small stand for the auctioneer. He had one of those traditional high auctioneer's desks which he stood behind. I was brought up to stand in front and to the right of him. I was the first to be sold. The sale would have started with number one, except someone in the buyers’ group called out for me to be up first. Our handlers brought back the collars and wrist cuffs. And each of us had our hands, once again, raised high up our backs and chained to the back of our punishment collars. As before, this thrusts our chest out and makes us more vulnerable and, of course, helpless. So, now the customers came up, crowded in around me. The closest guys were only three or four feet away. This added to the frenzied atmosphere and the excitement and the bidding. After all, none of us slaves could grab anyone or defend ourselves from being grabbed.
Then it was just like a livestock sale. I heard myself described, "This is number three, a 24-year-old buck, fully tested in over 50 medical concerns, including in all sexual diseases categories, and passed 100%.” He went on to list my height, weight, and body measurements. “He is uncircumcised, and his manhood is six inches when not erect. Erect, he is eight and one half-inched.” I was so embarrassed, not because the buyers heard all this, but because my four compatriots heard it too and giggled.
Then the auctioneer ‘encouraged’ the bids by pointing out my best features, “consider this slave’s lean muscled body and his firm, long legs.” The worst thing was when he used a cane to poke at my cock and then placed the end of it under my dick and raised it. “His dick is so beautiful,” he bragged to build up my value. I wanted to backhand him in the face right then and there.
The auctioneer casually used his pointer as if pointing to numbers on a wall chart. He then rubbed his stick along my ass crack. He then tapped my nipples and then tickled my asshole with that stick. I WANTED TO YANK THAT FUCKING STICK AWAY FROM HIM! I didn’t mind people looking at me, but that annoying stick was poking me all over. With my hands cuffed high up on my back to my punishment collar, any resisting twists of my torso caused pain in my arms and shoulders. What he was saying had nothing to do with all the erotic areas of my body. He was stick-fondling. It was almost as if it was his nervous habit to keep the stick touching me. I thought, “I want to use that stick on him!”
So, I stayed still, most of me, that is. My dick was another story. It was responding to all the rubbing, poking, and tickling and getting erect. “See how large he is. He is perfectly proportioned.” Then the auctioneer used the stick to tap the insides of both my thighs. So, I spread my feet apart about two feet. Again, he tapped the inside of my highs but this time hard with stinging snaps. I move my feet three feet apart. That seemed to satisfy him.
Then the auctioneer stepped down from the podium and stood beside me. Again, he lifted my mostly hard dick to my belly. “As you can now see, number three has big balls that hang nice and low.” He used that stick to tap them as he said that, but he didn’t stop. He just kept tapping my balls as he spoke. “His balls are especially sensitive. They told me that he misbehaved a few times during processing. His handler told him to stand like this with the same punishment collar on. Then his handlers struck his balls very hard with the switch. To their surprise, instead of that being a punishment, number three, here, actually shot the largest load of cum the handlers ever saw.” The crowd of buyers all chucked and applauded.
WHAT THE FUCK IS HE DOING?! I wanted to scream. I am here naked and collared, displayed, examined and fondled in front of 60 or so wealthy, titillated men hungry to get their paws on me. And this auctioneer can’t keep his fucking stick away from me. I am being so publicly humiliated. AND MY FUCKING DICK IS NOT ONLY STICKING STRAIGHT UP LIKE A FUCKING FLAG POLE, IT’S STARTING TO TWITCH AND SPASM!
“As you know, we always seek out the most handsome, muscle-tone young men we can find. But we also pay attention to their virility and ease of sexual arousal.” The auctioneer claimed, “And if that is what you want, number three is the property you want to take home today.”
“Now, just standing here, number three is thinking about being a slave to one of you. He is so excited and aroused just by the thought of being owned and used. You see here,” the auctioneer was using his stick, sliding it up and down my dick shaft. “You see the precum string slowly oozing, lengthening down to the ground? Well, notice the volume he is producing. You see?” Then he took the stick, caught the long thick precum drip, and coated it with the slime.
“Now, if I hold my cum-coated pointer up to his mouth, watch what he does.” I knew he wanted me to lick the stick. I would do it in private but in front of all these people. These high-class, wealthy people?
I did not want him to keep jabbing me with his fucking stick, probably much harder, so I opened my mouth to let him stick the tip in my mouth. But he did not. He held the tip about two inches in front of my face. I had to lean forward – something difficult to do with this punishment collar on – and I did, and I stuck out my tongue and reached for it. He was making me into a sex whore, a slave slut. He pulled his stick out of reach, but again, I stuck my tongue out further. Finally, he let me lick off my precum. The audience went wild! They all cheered. It was a big fucking game to them! Why was my fucking dick still hard, like a metal pole?!
"You see how much he loves cum?” The auctioneer said loudly and proudly. “Now, a male’s virility can be measured in many ways, but the clearest way to observe it here is when I simply touch his slave. Watch as I place my auctioneer's pointer on his nipple.” He moved before me to poke the rough end of his stick into my right nipple. It was erotically teasing. He kept touching me hard at first, then much lighter. Then even lighter. I found my body leaning into his pointer. I moaned. “You see.” again, the audience applauded.
Then that stick went to my left nipple and repeatedly tapped it, first hard, then lightly. That fucking stick danced all over it. I could not help moaning. It had been bad enough having an erection when men would manipulate my dick in their private inspection of me earlier. Still, I was displayed with my dripping dick pointed upward at a forty-five-degree angle in front of everyone. It bubbled up more precum to gears and applause.
Then the bidding started. Oddly, they bid only in US dollars, and I had a starting bid of 10K. There was a loud clamor and yelling and calling out numbers. Many were pushing a shoving to get to the front, directly in front of me. Different guys quickly leaped forward and slapped my stiff dick, and fuck... the auctioneer did never stop them. It went on and on. My bid was up to 65K. The auctioneer was saying that was usually a great price for a slave.
“But wait!” the auctioneer yelled out, “Look at this!” He tapped me hard on the shoulder to signal, I guess, for me to bend over. I did. “Wait till you see his magnificent ass!” He was practically screaming to be heard over all the yelling and applauding. “Watch how number three loves to show off his asshole. He wants to turn around and point it at you.”
Guards with those cattle prods were standing around, ready to use them if I resisted. I reluctantly cooperated as my dick, and the bids rose higher and higher.
I turned my ass to the buyers, moving it in an arch so all could see, and then he kept poking my asshole with the tip of his stick. He didn’t push it in. He just tapped and prodded all around my hole. I was so close to climax. Luckily my dick was facing away from the bidders. But my luck ran out because he said, “And now, to show off his big beautiful cock, number three is so excited to turn around again and display his powerful fucker. Of course, he won’t be fucking anyone anytime soon!” Everyone laughed and cheered.
“Now he will lean back, way, way back so his dick will be straight up.” I did bend my head and chest backward. It relieved the stress on my cuffed-up arms. Leaning back must have made my dick seem bigger. It was pointing to the sky. “There it is. Our powerful slave leaning backward, he’s so anxious and delighted for us all to see his big steel pole.” Then the auctioneer started a quick, light tapping all over my dick. Because my body was forward to the buyers, and my dick was straight up, the tapping was on the underside of my dick. That’s the side facing the audience. It was a continuous rapid tapping lightly from the base to the tip and back again. I was withering in erotic sensation. My chest was heaving with quick breaths, my hips thrust, and my dick was a dancing dribbling tower. But he never stopped the continual rapid assault.
“Let’s see, we were at 165K. Do I hear 170, 170, 170? Thank you, sir. Do I hear 175, 175, 175, and on and on it went. I was in a daze, an erotic high I thought impossible. I had no power, no ability to stop or interfere in any way with whoever wanted to do whatever to me. I was a fucking puppet being played and exhibited for public enjoyment. I leaned back like a slut offering my hard dick to please be beaten. I heard that traditional "bang" of the gavel on the auctioneer's desk, and he pronounced me "sold for $195K to Mr. Lamere.”
I cried in a state of bliss. I was on an erotic high and held there so expertly on edge. At this moment, I was both the most important spectacle and the least important human being. I would have surrendered my life if they would just let me climax. I know I was dripping continuous precum, if not cum itself, but I never had that fully charged blasting climax. It was not allowed. We were told yesterday that climaxing was prohibited during any part of the auction proceedings or preparations. And that once a slave was put on sale, his first climax must be saved for his new owner. Of course, that new owner might never allow his slave to climax.
I’m not sure when I was led away, but at some point, I realized I was walking, being taken to somewhere. I was coming out of a daze when I felt the firm grip of my handler's hand on my bicep leading me. I did not notice that my cock bobbed up and down as I walked.
The guard then escorted me to another area, removed my punishment collar, and nudged me into a waiting cage, but not the type of cage we arrived in. This cage was more like one of those old-style telephone booths except instead of solid glass sides. There were steel bars on all four sides running from floor to ceiling. He pushed me in, standing, then locked the door. There was only just room enough for my body. I couldn’t turn around or flex my body. And there was no way that I could sit down or raise my arms. All I could do was stand there, feeling very stupid, as another prominently dressed man entered the room. I presumed he was my new owner.
It's quite distressing to be held in a close-confinement cage like that. You think you can move your body, but you can't, and standing still for any length of time wears you out. I could feel myself starting to get little twinges of cramps. I was only somewhat relieved when the guard ushered a man over to stand near me. I guess he was in his early forties and relatively fit-looking, dressed in the flare of rich elegance.
He stared at me momentarily, then softly said, "Excellent! You look even better close-up than you did up there on the auction block. Now, let me see that erection again, please."
I could hardly believe what he said, so I just stood there, dumbfounded. He nodded at the guard, who pushed his nightstick through the bars and jabbed me in the belly. I jerked my head downward or tried to, but my forehead slammed painfully into the bars. The guard snarled, "Boy, you heard your new Owner! He wants to see your cock erect. Now! So, get it up!"
"No, please," I begged. I couldn’t take any more.
"Listen, you fucking slave, when your Owner gives you an order, you obey it, and you obey it instantly. What's the problem anyway? You were flaunting that erect cock of yours in front of the whole audience a few minutes ago. You need to remember that it's not your cock anymore. It belongs to your Owner. If he wants to take a closer look at his possession. You'd fucking well better obey. Now, get hard before I use my nightstick on you again."
I did try. I did! But it's hard to get a real wood going when other men are watching you. Especially as they were standing so close. I could barely move my fingers in front of my body to touch my dick, but there wasn’t enough room to make a pumping stroke. I thought every sexy thought I could, but it was useless. My cock just hung down over my balls like a limp sausage.
"Get it up, boy,” the guard said again, even more menacingly.
"Please, I can't.”
"Yes, you can, boy! Don't just stand there like a useless piece of shit! Start stroking it like you mean it as if your life depends on getting erect!"
So, I did. I could see his nightstick just outside the bars, ready for action. Since I could not lower my hands within the cage, I had to place my hands between the bars to get them outside my cage. Then I pushed my hips forward to also get my dick outside the bars. It must have looked so obscene. Me trying to beat off by sticking my dick through the bars, but this was the only way to gain enough freedom of movement in my arms. I reached down and slid my foreskin backward and forwards over the head. Even though I thought I might die of embarrassment, I managed to get very hard. The richly dressed man, my Owner, said quietly, "Excellent! Very well-proportioned and has a good length. Now skin it back for me, please, as I want to see the head more clearly."
I teased the skin back so that the shaft and dick head were revealed to him. The experience on the auction block had caused me to leak some pre-cum. So the head was all shiny and moist. To my utter amazement, my Owner reached out and enclosed my shaft in his hand. He gave a gentle squeeze and then teased my cock head through his fingers. Massaging it gently as he did so. I tried to pull away from him, but the close confines of the cage meant there was no way to avoid him. My ass was pressed right back against the bars behind me.
"No,” I moaned.
"Easy, boy!” His tone was reassuring and calming. "Easy. I'm done for the time being. I like to feel the slaves I buy as soon after the auction as possible. I want to make sure that all is what it seems and that you are exceptional. Once we've had all that skin removed from you, you'll have a truly exceptional cock. Mankind deserves to see such a perfect specimen of a cock, with the head so nicely shaped in relation to the shaft. So many men either have a smaller head or one that's disproportionately large, but you're just right.
"Please, why does it matter?" I asked sheepishly.
He gave a small laugh. "Because when you're on display before my clients buy time with you, you must look inspiring. You've got a good body, but you must work to improve it even more. We know some conditioning exercises to help you build certain muscle groups. For example, I think you'd benefit from building more pronounced biceps. The rest of your body will also become very exceptional, and it would be a pity if it were all spoiled by the wrong size and shape of your cock. As it is, you'll attract premium prices. I can see renting you out to six or seven clients a night."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, your new role in life? Well, I bought you to add to my stock, to give my clients a wider choice of sex toys. They're a discerning lot, you know, and they need a constant supply of new excitement if they keep coming back. Most of them are past their prime, or else they wouldn't have to pay me, as they could then get it for free. But they need excitement - good, fresh, young hard-bodies to look at and to feel up."
"Sorry, I don’t get it,” I asked again.
"Didn't they tell you? No, I suppose not. Well, I run a brothel, a very exclusive brothel. I cater to mostly older clients, and they always like a piece of younger man flesh, one who is in peak condition, like you. As I said, we'll have to have you 'skinned,’ since within the sex industry, most people prefer the smoother, sleeker, more streamlined look."
Oddly, the thought of him wanting to circumcise me, to be used sexually, made my cock even harder! But I couldn't tell him that it was exciting, so I burst out with "NO! You can't make me do that! I'm not going to fuck a lot of old women!"
"You're right, boy. Of course, you're not going to fuck a lot of old women!”
I felt relieved to know I misunderstood him, but then he continued.
“All the money caters to older male clients because only mature men can appreciate a body like yours. As for you fucking people, I don't think you'll be doing much of that. I haven't examined your asshole yet, but if that delightful bubble butt of yours is any indication, you might be busy getting fucked. I think you'll be one of my biggest rental properties. That is, until the novelty wears off. Still, I can always sell you off years from now when you no longer meet my needs."
"No…This is crazy! I'm not some fag for other men to fuck. I've got a girlfriend!”
The guard and my Owner both laughed. "You mean you used to not be a fag, and you used to have a girlfriend,” my Owner corrected me. "But don't worry. We'll soon train you."
I started to shout, "No fucking way,” but was cut off as all the air went out of me when the guard stabbed his stick very hard into my belly. As I leaned against the cage's bars, the guard opened it and quickly cuffed my hands behind my back.
"Shall I lead him out to the transport, Sir?” I heard him ask and saw my Owner nod.
The camera hovered around us as the guard grabbed my still-rigid cock and used it as a handle to lead me off down the corridor. I was so humiliated, but at the same time, I was just feeling so fucking stupid that I could have been duped into applying for this job without first checking out the company in detail. You know what they say, "If it looks too good to be true, it is!” I'd been taken in. I swallowed their sales pitch, hook, line, and sinker.
Despite my anger, the guards' strong fingers, gripping my cock and pulling me out on the public street, got me even more excited. I mean, I was purchased for a lot of money because I was a real he-man, a splendid male model for all to admire. I was precious. Despite myself, I just couldn't help getting hard, so hard that I started to have that dull ache in my cock that one gets when it wants to shoot but is prevented from doing so. Walking behind him, cuffed as I was, was very awkward. So many men and women were checking me out. I kept stumbling into him as we made our way out to where a big, black SUV was waiting.
My Owner clicked the key fob, which made that stupid ‘Thock! Thock!’ noise as it unlocked. The guard, now wearing dark sunglasses, stood there holding my cock in the bright sunlight. The cameraman, who was there to film me as I started my new life, seemed to focus on my pre-cum leaking cock.
"Have you got a long journey, Sir?” the guard asked my owner.
"We're on the other side of the island, so only about three-quarters of an hour."
"As your trip is so long, may I suggest I relieve the slave for you, then? The way this boy is leaking, I doubt that you'll make it without him shooting, and it would be a pity to have him soil those beautiful leather seats."
My Owner had a wry smile on his lips as he replied, "It's very good of you to be concerned for the welfare of my car! By all means, proceed!"
Part 6 of 6
I'd never been wanked by another guy before, and I even hate wanking myself when I am standing up. But what could I do, cuffed like this? The guard moved around, and I felt his other hand on my ass to have a little extra degree of control.
I noticed I was on the sidewalk side of the large SUV, blocking the view from all the cars passing us in the street. But then he guided me down the sidewalk to stand about 20 feet away from the SUV, where I could see everyone clearly. I was so embarrassed and nervous, being so visible in public, but then he began. It was nothing like the jerk-off method I used myself, which maximized my pleasure sensations. I mean, every guy knows how he likes to wank himself. I wondered if this was how it would be from now on, having a selection of old men playing with my cock – without care or concern as to how I liked it - until I finally shot my load. The guard seemed to be enjoying sliding my foreskin up and down with enthusiasm. I closed my eyes and could feel his hot breath on my naked flesh as he encouraged me. "Come on, boy. Come on, cum for Daddy, boy. Let me see that lovely cum of yours. Come on, boy."
Despite feeling so odd, I couldn't help it. As his strokes got faster and he gripped my cock harder and harder, I began to feel the excitement mounting in me. There was that lovely feeling in my cock as it got ready to fire, but he must have sensed that change, so he slowed down. “Fuck,” I was just about to squirt. But he kept me there, on edge. I liked it, but I just wanted this over. I was wiggling my hips forward and backward to help get to my climax more quickly, but the guard moved his hand with me, voiding my thrusting motions.
“HONK!” HONK! HONK!” My eyes opened in a flash, and to my great humiliation, I saw that a dozen cars and trucks had stopped in the roadway, drivers were hooting, and horns were blasting. And worse, people who were walking along the sidewalk stopped to watch. Of course, whenever a few people stop, everyone else stops to see what the attraction is. I AM DEEPLY ASHAMED TO ADMIT THIS, but I was so blown away by this public humiliation that I shot load after hot load of cum. Right then, at that very moment, my body was shaking and trembling. Then, all at once, applause broke out, and men and women were cheering and laughing at me; even the teens were yelling and howling at the shocking spectacle I had created. AND IT WAS ALL CAPTURED BY THAT FUCKING CAMERAMAN!
“Oh, God!” I pleaded to the guard, “Please get me out of here. Please! Oh, please, get me into the SUV. Please hurry!” I was insane from having been degraded and publicly used as entertainment, but the guard held his hand up, palm up, and showed the people gathered around us. It was a palm full of creamy cum. The cum I had just shot while on public display.
The guard was smiling and very calm; he was in no hurry to shuffle me into the waiting SUV. “Now watch this!” he said to those gathered and intensely watching us. He held his hand up to my mouth! He wanted me to eat up my cum from his hand … IN FRONT OF ALL THESE SPECTATORS!
“WHAT THE FUCK! HAVE I BECOME, A FUCKING SIDESHOW? A FUCKING SIDEWALK SHOW? AND THAT FUCKING CAMERA IS GRINDING AWAY WITH CLOSEUP SHOTS?” I yelled in my mind.
“JESUS H. CHRIST! I AM TOTALLY NAKED, HANDS CUFFED BEHIND MY BACK, BEING PARADED IN PUBLIC LIKE A SEX SLAVE ENTERTAINER! I AM PROVIDING PUBLIC SEX ON DEMAND LIKE A FUCKING SLUT, DEGENERATE, PERVERT!”
“Watch,” the guard told the audience as he continued to hold his upward palm, full of cum, to my mouth. I knew what was expected. I knew that if I did not do this and do it quickly, he’d have me stand there all fucking day. He never told me to lick it up because that would be redundant. The placement of his hand in my mouth was all the order he needed to give me, so I stuck out my tongue and began to lick. I tried to lick it up quickly to get it over with and be put into the SUV, but the guard moved his hand away, then to one side and then to the other, as I tried to follow it and lick wherever he placed it. Then he lowered his hand to waist level, forcing me to kneel. I did, and he held his hand steady as I licked it up. “Fingers too.” And so, I sucked each of his fingers like a cum greedy whore.
“Do you see how hard he is even while being publicly humiliated? Even after he shot such a huge load? He is so turned on by all you people watching and all the guys in the cars who stopped and got out to see this human pile of garbage parade himself as the degenerate slut whore that he loves being.”
As I sucked each finger to please the guard, I realized it was all true; I was totally and painfully all boned up. This can’t be happening; it must be just mixed-up confusion. I just need to return to my old life - after all, I have a girlfriend! I had an apartment, I had a real job, I was a respected worker!
In front of everyone, he grabbed my hard dick and pulled me along to the SUV; I was in a daze. I didn’t even hear the applause. Once back at the sidewalk area where the SUV was parked, I heard my Owner say, "Impressive! And that's before you've been fully trained, boy.”
I saw the camera still recording as I was inelegantly nudged into climbing up into the high back seat of the SUV, my hands still cuffed behind me. My Owner climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine, but we didn’t immediately take off. He let the engine idle as he spoke very casually, "It'll soon cool down in here as the air conditioner gets going, but do tell me if it gets too cold for you. It can get chilly with all that flesh exposed, especially since you're sweating so much." He actually sounded concerned.
"Please, Sir, help me. I don't want to be here. I'm not a slave! I was cheated and tricked and brought here under false pretenses. I'm sure there'll be a reward or something if only you would let me get a message to the Authorities.” But my Owner didn’t respond, nor was I really expecting him to.
He took off and drove in silence, but he continued looking out the rear window as if expecting someone to follow us. I blurted out again, "Please, Sir! Look, I'm only a young guy. I don't want to spend my life being fucked by a lot of old men. Please, Sir, it was all a mistake. I can work out some way to repay you for the money you paid for me. I read this advert for a good job, and I was duped! Please help me, Sir." I pleaded with all my heart, with all the sincerity I could muster.
He continued to drive without addressing my pleas. Then, once we were a couple of miles away from the slave center, he turned off onto a small road, drove down a half mile or so, and then pulled over. He checked to see if we were being followed several times. He said nothing and just waited. When he was satisfied that we had no tagalongs, he softened his breathing and finally relaxed. He took out a cigarette, lit it, exhaled deeply, and sat back. He had calmed down into a whole new demeanor.
"Now then, we need to talk. I need to explain something to you.” my Owner told me. “But first, let me remove the handcuffs.”
"So, you're going to help me?” I asked as I twisted my backside to him and offered him my hands so as to unlock the cuffs. “You’re letting me go? You believe me? You are so kind, so terribly kind and good, Sir.”
He didn’t answer my questions, but instead, told me to get into the front passenger seat, next to him. I got out and then into the front, as I was told. The thought never occurred to me to make a run for it, but then again, where would I run to anyway? This was just a big deserted area, and we were on a dirt road.
He swiveled on his seat to more or less face me, looked me up and down, and smiled; I guess he was pleased by what he saw.
“You’re Bentley, aren’t you?” As soon as he asked, he placed his hand on my naked thigh, halfway between my knee and my dick. It wasn’t sexual; it was more like how a buddy might place his hand on your shoulder as he spoke to you. He didn’t mean anything by it. It was just his way of being friendly; I was not offended.
I hadn’t heard my own name for a while. "Yes, Sir, Bentley."
“My name is Lamere, and I am not your buyer. Well … I am your buyer but not your Owner.” He was smiling, so I considered this more friendly attitude good news. Still, I had no idea what he was talking about.
"Then what the fuck's going on, Sir?” I was so confused.
"OK, time to come clean with you, Bentley. Everything you saw at the slave camp was true. Everything they did to you and to your four companions was true. The program there kidnaps healthy, physically fit young men and trains them to sell to buyers. To be blunt, they’re sex slaves to be used by wealthy men. You have now been trained in the first steps of being a slave. And you and the others have been sold, just as you experienced.” Lamere told me sincerely.
I couldn’t speak; I was trying to figure it all out. He bought me, but he wasn’t my Owner? He’s taking me somewhere, but where?
“You saw the camera following every step of your enslavement and training, didn't you?" Lamere said to me.
"Yes," I said as if I were beginning to understand what was happening.
"Well, it's kind of a double dupe, if you like,” Lamere explained, lightly rubbing my thigh. “There's a famous short story by an author who writes about men captured, enslaved, and used sexually. He gets a lot of requests asking for a film to be made of the process. The problem is that the good actors who could pull it off are either too snobbish or expensive. Can you imagine one of those famous Hollywood actors like Brad Pit or Ryan Gosling being stripped completely naked and wanked in public like we just did to you? They wouldn’t want to ruin their careers by making a perverted underground movie like this for any price! In order to have the action be believable, as well as remain inexpensive, we need guys who would live the experience, all the while believing it was all true.”
"What?" I said as his hand continued to make small circles, soothing me; it had a mesmerizing effect.
"Yes. The rushes (daily filming clips) so realistic – well, because they ARE real - that they make all the editors and everyone else who sees them get hard instantly. It will be the gay porn sensation of the year… no, of the century! You'll be really well known, Bentley. An international star, of sorts."
"You mean all this isn't real?"
"No, not in the way you think. It's a story within a story. You were duped into believing that you'd been duped."
"I think not. Anyone who sees those shots of the guard wanking you and how you were enjoying it wouldn’t believe you weren't in on the act willingly. You do realize that your dick stayed hard even after you shot your load in the most glaring, degenerate scene of public sex. Why, in the States, you could get arrested for that alone! That guard you just experienced is really a nice guy, isn't he, Bentley? He wasn't nearly as rough as he could have been when you were in that cage. You were told he was a mercenary and used to beat the shit out of slaves and slave stock. But when he wanked you publicly, you really enjoyed it! Granted, your voice said “NO,” but your dick screamed “YES!” You could never have dreamed how much you would enjoy it until it happened to you, but then you ate it up. It was likely, by far, the most erotic experience you have had in your entire life. You'll never convince a court that you weren’t doing it willingly. Plus, we have the contract you signed in London, remember? You agreed to come and work out here and to be filmed. Our lawyers would argue that you knew something sexual involved, as no man could believe we were prepared to pay so much for someone without experience."
"No," I said, still in disbelief. Lamere had somehow pushed my knees apart, and his hand was now palm up and between my spread thighs. I hadn’t noticed his little finger dance, tickling my balls. I had been focusing on his words, yet something didn’t seem right about his explanation.
“Bentley, calm down. What I said about you being tricked and this all being a movie is true. I was, and am, a part of this whole scheme.” But … Lamere was choosing his words carefully.
I turned to him and said, "Lamere, do you have me on camera right now? Are you continuing to make your movie right now? Is this also a part of your script? Am I just a subject of this story, like all the other guys you’ve used in the same way? Are you just acting out a script, and am I the dumb subject this time? I get it. You have used all of us as … as … as puppets.” The more Lamere’s words sank in, the more upset I got.
"I think you're a sensible kind of guy, Bentley. You were gullible and duped in the first place to sign up, but then you believed it and thought it was real, so you were duped again. And you enjoyed it."
"No, I am not a faggot.” As I said, I knew I sounded less convincing than before. I hadn’t even noticed that my dick was hard and pointing up.
"Bentley, once you come to know how it feels to have another man interested in you, your natural instincts take over. I notice you're not enraged or trying to fight me off like some guys. Oh, Bentley, I think you're fooling yourself! You said you weren’t a 'faggot.' Well, let me tell you that whether you believed that the guard was wanking you for real or as part of the film, what you don’t know is that of the many other guys who have gone through that same dehumanizing public abuse, only maybe 20% got any erection. Those men we sent home. Bentley, you’re one of the 20% who got a big erection or a semi-erection when introduced to our man-to-man sex scenes. A man’s dick becomes like an applause meter, and your dick, time and time again, shows maximum enjoyment.
And then he went on, “Ok, so, you didn’t like all-male sex at first because you were so freaked out, but in the last few days, you’ve really found it exciting and erotically pleasant; a completely straight guy wouldn't react like that. I think you're like many men; you've spent all your life conforming to a straight lifestyle and never ever considered any sexual experimentation. But sometimes, when a ‘straight’ guy explores non-traditional sex, he realizes that maybe something he’s missing is delightful! Unfortunately, when reality hits that this isn’t normal, it scares some of these men, so they stop exploring."
"Bentley, think about it. I think you've been fooling yourself all these years.” Lamere said as he stared between my legs.
I followed Lamere’s stare slowly down to my now dripping dick and watched it bob and jerk. Lamere’s hand was not pumping my dick. It was not even touching my dick. His finger, one finger to be exact, was tickling my balls.
“Now you've got two choices. You can go back to being straight, Bentley, and go back to London and keep chasing girls. But if you do, you'll always wonder what really good sex would be like, sex with another man. Not to mention that your love of public humiliation would be stifled. Where in the hell would you experience that excitement in a vanilla boy-girl relationship?” I slowly began to think he was making sense.
“The other choice you have is for you to come and join us. There are many more of these stories to film, and I think you may have some talent for acting. Anyway, you look good enough on the screen that acting talent doesn't matter much. Come and join me and the other guys as part of the crew. We'll teach you 100 times the gay sex you have experienced so far. You’ll be in heaven.”
Lamere wiped up my precum drippings and puddles with his finger and brought that finger to my mouth. He never said, “Eat this” or “Open wide.” No, he said nothing, but my mouth opened up, and inside his finger went; I sucked it clean. I don’t know if it was the taste of my precum or just simply the task of being required to eat it, but I was moaning now.
I looked down at Lamere’s lap and saw that he had his dick out, and it was also very hard. I licked my lips, and Lamere laughed at my reaction. But it just happened! I just spontaneously reacted to what I saw!
Lamere continued, "See, I got this last scene perfectly right! Here’s where the script says that you refuse to return home and wish to be owned by me. Now isn’t that correct?”
“Ah … Sir … may I … er … may I suck your dick?” It came out as natural as breathing.
“Yes, my boy, yes, you may.” I leaned over and slowly engulfed his beautiful, big, warm, soothing dick; I was in heaven. No one was forcing my head down or ordering me what to do. I nursed it, made love to it with my lips and tongue, and I couldn’t stop myself from continually moaning with pleasure. I took my time to maximize my enjoyment, not wanting it to stop. Then I felt a tap on my head and sat back in my seat, still licking my lips.
Lamere stared out of the window of the SUV. “As you have requested, we are off to my place now. Any questions?”
“No, Sir.” But then I hesitatingly said, “But I need to beat off now, Sir’”
“Is that a statement or a question? Are you telling me or asking me? If you are telling me, you can get out right now.”
“Oh … sorry, Sir. I am asking you, of course.”
“Now that’s a good boy.” And so, he drove off. He never said I could beat off, which meant ‘no.’ That is the answer I wanted to hear, the answer I needed to hear. I was so happy, so fulfilled. And my dick was twitching and dripping even more of my slave juice, or should I say, “his slave’s juice.”
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