Date: Sat, 20 Oct 2012 23:42:57 -0700 From: Randall Austin Subject: Christopher Enslaved - Part 4 Christopher Enslaved Part Four By Randall Austin This story is erotic fiction meant for mature readers and should only be read by adults over the age of eighteen years old. Please do not use my stories without my permission and please forward all comments to randallaustin2011@hotmail.com Randall Austin's Archive Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Randall_Austin_Stories Authors Comments: Please help us support Nifty and keep it a free site for all to enjoy. Please make a donation today. http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html Thank you... Please Check Out My Nifty Prolific Author Story List: http://www.nifty.org/nifty/prolific.html#randallaustin The Trussing Room On entering the trussing room I noticed about 6 attendants, 2 females, and 4 males. And I remember very little about being in the room except that it seemed all the attendants moved like lightening, and that I was in the room probably no longer than 3 minutes total. As soon as the door slammed shut, the woman attendant who took the folder from me was gone, and in her place was a male of about 28 years, with a name tag that simply said, `Chip'. He came up to Christopher with a strange cutting instrument, unceremoniously grabbed Christopher's penis, attached it to the penis clamp, squeezed the handles, and the tight band fell away from Christopher's cock. Christopher immediately started rubbing his shaft with his hand. As Christopher was rubbing his foreskin, Chip dragged him by his shoulders onto a raised platform in front of a white curtain and another one of the male attendants immediately appeared and started photographing Christopher from all angles. As he snapped he asked, "Licker, can you get a nice big erection for us?" Licker gave no answer and Chip asked one of the other attendants for the `ejaculator'. Another attendant handed him a strange prod-like device. Chip applied lubricant to the tip, grabbed Christopher by the shoulder, turned him around, put the prod to his butt hole, and shoved it in. He then pulled a trigger, and Christopher erected to the hilt in an instant. "Nice one!", the photographer called out. "Give us your best smile now, Licker, because these pics are going on the city web site." Chip then pulled him off the stand and led him to a portion of the room filled with hoses and scrubbing instruments. He had him get on a portion of the floor that had steel grating for flooring and told him to pee. Christopher didn't know where to go, and Chip indicated that he was to piss in the grating. Christopher obviously had to go, since he turned his back to us and let out a long stream. When he was done he told him to grab onto a bar that ran lengthwise along the wall and bend over. When he did so Chip took a hose, put the slender nozzle up his asshole, and filled him with warm water. He took it out, told him to squat and dump, and Christopher did so, red in the face. Chip then had him stand up and with another hose he hosed him off, then did a very quick toweling of him. Chip then quickly guided him to a 5 foot square platform that was raised two feet off the ground, and told him to get up on it and kneel down. Immediately all of the processors surrounded Christopher and from that point on I couldn't see what was happening, until about one minute later when two of the attendants hopped up on the platform, picked up Christopher trussed in a kneeling position with his knees wide apart and his hands and feet bound behind his back. They hoisted him up and attached him by the ring on his back harness to a meat hook-like thing on a trolley overhead. He was balanced in such a way that his penis was his lowest hanging body part. Amazingly in that short amount of time they had pierced his frenum, applied a ring, and to that ring had attached a 6 inch laminated card that contained coded instructions for the processors explaining which procedures Christopher was to receive. When they placed him on the hook the bound Christopher was swinging, turning, and swaying wildly. Christopher looked terrified as he spun around, but the processors didn't seem to care. As soon as one of them punched a button, and the automated trolley started moving Christopher down the railing, the spinning immediately stopped. The trolley headed towards some plastic slatted mats, but before I could see what happened one of the processors pointed to a door for me to exit from the room, and told me to follow the signs leading up to the visitor viewing room. The Processing Room As I entered the processing room viewing area I was surprised to see that it was empty except for Dexter and Beamer, who were leaning against the large Plexiglas window which extended the entire length of the room and looked out and down onto the processing room. When they saw me they shouted out to me as though we were the best of friends, and walked over to greet me. I nodded to them, hoping they would stay put, but they made their way towards me as I took in the overwhelming sights which greeted me in the viewing room. It was a long narrow room, and one wall was entirely Plexiglas through which the slave processing operation could be viewed. The opposite wall was covered in posters and advertising copy relating to the San Diego Slave Bureau and General Facility and the slave trade in general. I noticed immediately that the only other significant element of the room were two vending machines which offered snacks and soft drinks. I thought how disgusting it was to sell snacks in this environment, and wondered for a moment what type of person would be able to relax enough to eat snacks in the processing viewing area, until I noticed that both Dexter and Beamer were eating potato chips as they peered through the Plexiglas. My eyes caught one of the posters, "Does your slave or team need reprocessing? A smartly turned slave means added value and productivity. Meet with our slave accessories consultant to customize one slave or a hundred. Let us help you meet your or your company's optimal needs. Make an appointment with a customizing specialist on your way out." I approached the Plexiglas and peered out, and I had to stop and catch my breath at what I saw; a sea of hundreds of trussed naked male slaves hanging from meat hooks. Such a sight as earlier I would not have believed took place within the boundaries of the city I grew up in. Over two hundred bound, naked, and trussed males hanging from meat hooks in one large room. Moving along a conveyer track to some 80 stations along the track route, each station manned by anywhere from one to four processors, capable of performing requisite body modifications, often in a matter of seconds. From the casual `ear piercings' to the profound `castrations'. The rail track zigzagged in an `S' pattern. Walking amongst the various stations were processor apprentices carrying long poles with leather padded loops 7 inches in diameter on the ends. With these poles they could speedily loop a hanging slave at the base of his cock and balls from either the front or the backside of the slave. With this leverage at the base of the slave's crotch they could halt a lead slave on the trolley while some delay was rectified, or else pull the slave off to a switch track to lead him to some other station. A sign in the viewer room addressed the grapplers. "Did you know that the processors who man the grappler rods are highly trained through an apprenticeship program that takes 2 years to complete? It may look rushed or haphazard, but their skill in handling the rods insures that drudges are processed efficiently and safely." I momentarily stood transfixed reading the signs, which were as strange to me as the sights in the processing room. Another sign right next to the first one I read said, "All procedures are safe and humane, and are performed solely for the long term benefit of the drudges." Another sign, with a drawing of a processor pushing a trussed slave with a grappling hook, read. "Did you know that slave processors are highly paid professionals? Processors in all departments are needed. Please check out the employment opportunities with San Diego SBGF personnel department on your way out, Thank you. The California Bureau of Slaves." Finally I heard Beamer say, "Hey Dex, there's your loser brother making his grand entrance!" "Wow, look at the expression on his face. The family slave doesn't look too happy!", shouted Dexter, as both boys laughed and high fived. "This is sooo fuckin cool! You should have your dad enslave Justin, then you could have a family slave too, and make some extra money." "Fuck man, look at that, they're lowering him into a vat of water or something!", shouted Beamer. Dexter and Beamer had wide happy smiles as they viewed the proceedings, as excited as if they were at a major sporting event, as they scarfed down their potato chips. I looked out across the sea of suspended slaves. Two hundred naked bucks suspended, slowly twirling on their chains. Two hundred men dangling like slaughtered animals. Two hundred men being grappled at the base of their cocks by young apprentices moving them this way and that. Two hundred trussed slaves with every part of their body accessible, being trollied through the processing stations, being stopped and modified at some stations, being passed over at others. Screams of slaves being punished by having anesthetic withheld during the processing could be heard continually, though faintly, through the plexiglass. The only other sound in the viewing area was the nonstop chatter of Dexter and Beamer. "Serves those slave assholes right, they're just getting what they deserve!", opined Beamer. "Holy fuck, look at that goof getting his eyebrows removed!", laughed Dexter. Having to listen to Beamer and Dexter's continual obscenities made my time spent in the viewing all the more difficult. As it was, the sights in the processing room alone were almost unbearable to me. Human beings getting processed. Getting lowered on their chain, getting raised. Getting dipped, clipped, shaved, pierced, ringed, branded, cinched, collared, tattooed, stapled, punched, belled, dyed, circumcised, infibulated, castrated, tagged, looped, hooked, soldered, cauterized, stained, scarred. Some anesthetized, some not. Some used to the processing room. Some terrified to death of it. A voice over the intercom broke my concentration. "The following drudges report to Room 34-A for performance evaluation: Hoser, Squeege, Bingo, Strapper, and Elf." Dexter, excited, alerted Beamer, "Yo bro, check it out! Chris just got a boner from his cock shaving!" They both laughed out loud, as Dexter exulted, "No more strokin that thing, dude! Fuck, look at him! What a fuckin loser he is." Slaves are `losers' in the eyes of the unenlightened, and before me were row upon row of naked losers, with their knees spread wide, their arms chained to their bent legs behind their backs. Hanging, dangling, spinning, swaying, losers. Two hundred loser cocks hanging lower to the floor than any other part of their bodies, erecting and deflating. Two hundred dangling sweaty loser scrotums filled with four hundred loser balls. Four hundred arm pits sweating at maximum capacity, emitting the stench of the lost. Two hundred helpless slabs of meat-hooked loser flesh at the processing plant. Getting pulled around by their groins by young apprentices, who were not losers, manning grappling hooks. From two hundred penises dangled laminated cards coded with processing instructions. Instructions for processing two hundred totally exposed and vulnerable animals who once thought they were men. Who once thought they were worthy of respect. "Hey", Beamer shouted, "they're stopping Chris at the nose ring station! He's getting his septum punched." "Cool, he needs one of those!", replied Dexter. "Fuck, look at the size of that nose ring they're putting on him!" The room became a blur after a while, one naked slave looking like another. Most of the time I couldn't spot Christopher in the sea of flesh. After almost an hour in the viewing room I started to get queasy, and I needed something to eat. So finally I had no choice but to use the vending machines. I got some pretzels. As I went back to watch, Dexter pointed out that Christopher was just about to pass the track nearest to and almost directly below the viewing area. When Christopher was stopped directly below us and the processors were checking his laminated penis card, Dexter and Beamer started pounding on the plexiglass to get Christopher's attention. After a few seconds Christopher heard the noise and looked up and saw the three of us, holding snack bags and eating our chips and pretzels. I felt awful, but before I could gesture to explain the situation to Christopher his attention was suddenly diverted, as an apprentice grappled his groin and rapidly pulled him forward to the next station. The sight of my friend Christopher left me dazed and sad. His processing was only half completed, and already he looked like a slave. I stood there pondering the friend I had lost, and gradually I grew numb to the unbelievable scenes before me. My mind wandered, and for a long time I recalled happy times Christopher and I had shared together, and how we never would have imagined that it all would come to this. It was a relief when what seemed like a very long time later I was finally stirred from my numb reverie by Dexter and Beamer telling me that Christopher was just about finished being processed, and that they would meet up again with me and Christopher when the transport bus arrived. As soon as Christopher was off the hook and untrussed, they pushed him against a section of the wall painted white and brightly lit, and started taking pictures from all angles of the naked freshly processed, hairless, collared, ringed, cinched, tattooed, branded and belled Licker. He was given brown slave fatigues, sandals, and a 10 inch tall cone shaped gray cardboard hat that was held in place by a little elastic cord that went under his chin. It seemed like he was being told to dress in a hurry. When he put his cone hat on I saw that it said in bold lettering, "CAUTION: Freshly Drudged - For Delivery to Baldwin/Fletcher." The Post-Processing Room Once Christopher was dressed he was shoved through a door into another room, and it was then that I heard my name called over the intercom to report to post-processing. I left the viewing area, went down the steps, and followed the signs that led me to post- processing. In the stairway leading to post-processing, an advertisement read. `Slave training special: Is your slave or team getting lax? Perhaps it's time you took advantage of one of our slave training/retraining and motivational courses. 5 days, $500. You will see the results in your bankbook with a renewed and dedicated slave force'. When I entered the post-processing area, there was Christopher, and on seeing him up close I was doubtless in as much shock as he was. For a moment all I could do was stare at his totally shaved bald head, his big nose ring, his shiny ear rings, his ugly brown uniform, his sturdy sandals, his goofy cone hat, his dazed and frightened look. He frightened me. I wanted to back away, and run off. As I stared at him, dazed, the intercom sounded, "Balboa, Jumper, Scamp, Doodles, Wiener, Spitz, and Chowder, report to room 21 for your penis dyeing." The post processing area was a very large room full of slaves, some of whom were with their owners and overseers, who were leaving the SBGF. No matter what business they had at the facility, all slaves must exit from this room. A long line was slowly making its way out towards the wide open bay of loading dock doors at the far end. Along the way were various stations which inquired of various slaves and their overseers various things as they passed. Police, station guards, and processor apprentices were everywhere. Most of the processor apprentices appeared to be kids a few years out of high school, who probably weren't planning on going to college. A kid about 20 years old, wearing the processor's apprentice uniform of black slacks, black boots, pressed cream shirt, black tie, black vest, a heavily tooled service belt, and an ID tag with the name Tim Sardis, came up to Christopher and attached a leash to his collar. He then looked at me, and said, "You're Todd, right?" "Yes, I am", I responded. "The newly enslaved, fresh off the hook, are often a danger to themselves. Because they don't know slave protocol, they often react with some very unslavelike behavior, such as talking, or not walking in a service gait, all behavior that would get any slave tawsed or paddled on the spot here at SBGF. That's why we 'cone head' all fresh product. The guards go easier on them. Hell, some newly enslaved guys fresh off the hook are super uppity. It's funny, really. They still think they are free men. They're all incensed, and think they have some kind of right to talk, or to piss when they want to, or even get on the phone and call their girlfriends." When Sardis mentioned the word `girlfriend', I suddenly thought of Katherine, Christopher's long time girlfriend. They were all set to room together at graduate school this coming fall. And without thinking, I blurted out, "Gosh, Christopher. What about Katherine? What should I do?" Christopher's face flashed a deeply pained look, and he seemed to be too overwhelmed to respond. He seemed like he was about to break down and cry. Sardis answered for us. "Dude, slaves do NOT have girlfriends! And at Baldwin/Fletcher they do not get to use the telephone, ever. If you want to be a real friend, Todd, you'd best get on the phone when you get home and call this Katherine with the story. Tell her that Licker here is out of the picture. He isn't going to be hitting the clubs anymore." He lowered his voice and leaned toward me. "Todd, if you ever had any interest in this Katherine person, now would be the time to make the moves on her. She's alone and vulnerable. You may find yourself having to do caretaking duty for a brand new pussy." He winked, but I ignored the vulgar remark. Sardis continued, "Another neat service provided to friends and family members of slaves by SBGF is the Online Slave Database. A password is given to friends and family members of slaves so they can have access to the latest information available. All they have to do is call SBGF to get registered. On a regular basis, SBGF updates the slave's status reports, info on where he's serving, evaluation reports, discipline reports, and so on. Also full body shots are updated almost monthly so friends and family can gauge the health and development of the products. In the case of hard labor slaves, a lot of gals find the regularly updated pics of the naked slave's burgeoning muscles to be real hot frigging material. "I know, also, that the Baldwin's have a web site with a lot of their team in colorful costumes. Licker will probably be showing up on that real soon." "His pics will also be on the city web site, which is a real handy service for shoppers and family members alike. Slaves pictures are posted and updated on a regular basis to help prevent runaways; to let the slave's family know pretty well what condition he's in, since there's a rule that the slave must have a complete set of photos taken every time there's a significant body modification so that they're spared the trouble of visiting or inquiring; to let the slave know that he's significant, that people are interested in him; and finally and most importantly, to facilitate pre-auction shopping. "But if the former girlfriend wants to check out the drudge in person, tell her she can always drive by the Baldwin/Fletcher farms, since he'll be on display working out in the fields pretty much seven days a week from sunrise to sunset." "But anyway Licker, you need to get girls and girlfriends out of your head, or you are not going to be producing the way top line material is expected to produce." Sardis then yanked Christopher sideways to pull him into an open area and said, "Ok, we need to hurry and give you some preliminaries so we can ship you off. We want to get you out of here as quickly as possible. Product sitting around here in the warehouse isn't generating income for its owners, is it?" "Licker, you're a brand new, squeaky clean, slave. You're pretty raw though. With the right care and training you should be bringing in a lot of cash for Baldwin/Fletcher, at least for the next twenty years or so. By the time they bring you back here for reprocessing, in about 4 months, you should be looking a good bit more like the other heavily muscled draft members of their field teams." "But my job here is to do anything I can do in the way of offering tips or suggestions, while paper work is being finalized and we're waiting for your transport to arrive, to help turn you into that top producer for Baldwin/Fletcher that I know you will want to be. The Baldwin's have their own way of training slaves, of course, as you'll soon find out. But one thing all slaves need to know is the 'service gait.' 'Service gait' is the way a slave walks formally when not at labor. It just means you walk one step at a time, you don't move your next foot until the previous foot has fully landed on the ground, you never raise a foot more than a half inch off the ground while taking a step, and as you walk you keep your arms akimbo. Let's try it!" With the leash in his left hand, he took the tawse from his belt and slapped Christopher on the buttocks to make him move. He commanded Christopher to do the service gait, in a circle around him as he occasionally prodded him on the butt to move him along. After one particularly hard swat Christopher jumped and lifted a foot off the ground. Sardis was waiting for that, and said, "You seem to need a little reminder that you will take small steps quickly, but you cannot move your next foot until the previous foot has stopped. Take down your pants and get em around your ankles. That'll lock your feet into place." Christopher did so, too frightened and shamed to protest. The apprentice then swatted Christopher's ass a fierce one to get him moving. The motion of the legs rapidly sliding on the floor caused his cock to swing and his bell to start ringing. "That's the way boy, let's tinkle your bell." The sight of my friend so utterly debased by a kid in a uniform sent chills through me, yet at the same time I felt there was no more I could do. A sense of defeat came over me, and along with it, resignation. I needed to stop being upset and just accept that things were different now. Hearing the bell, a couple of the processor apprentices who didn't have too much to do looked at us and came over and joined in where the action was. "Who's the cone head you got on the leash, Tim?", asked a dark haired kid with the ID name of Andrew Morelli. "His name is Licker. The name makes me think that the Baldwin's have some real interesting chores planned for him." All three apprentices let out loud laughs. Then Tim gave a hard swat of the tawse across Christopher's shoulders. Christopher yelped in pain and pistoned his legs to move even faster. The three laughed and erected at Christopher shuffling along, trying to avoid another swat of the tawse. Tim's boner was very intently poking straight forward in his trousers. And strangest of all to me, I found myself starting to stir at the sight of my totally humiliated, defeated, enslaved for life friend. What had come over me? "So, a brand new slave, huh?", asked Andrew, as he and Phil looked Licker over with a look of `you sorry loser'. "Are they using him in the fields?", asked Andrew. "That's what he's on order for." Then addressing Christopher, Tim continued, "So Licker, dude, it looks like you're going to have a chance to work on your tan!" The apprentices all laughed at Tim's witty remark as he continued guiding Christopher in circles by the leash. As he did so, he took his tawse to the underside of Christopher's scrotum and lifted it, gently teasing his balls up and down. "These things feel pretty heavy, boy! They're just going to get in your way dangling between your legs out in the fields. Just an extra piece of useless work load. Just more to carry around. You'd be better off if they'd sliced these sweetmeats off while you were on the hook, since the Baldwin boys aren't going to let you use them anyway. I bet you used to tug on this bag while you were jerking, didn't you boy, huh?" All three laughed, as Andrew and Phil both readjusted their crotches. Phil then said, "Well, at least they didn't have his teeth removed. It looks like the Baldwin's aren't planning on turning him into one of their 'turkey boys', their full time sucking dick- gobblers." "At least not yet!", responded Tim as all three let out loud hoots. To be continued... For more of Randall Austin Stories, Please visit the Randall Austin Archive Group. While it does not yet contain all of Randall's stories [it will eventually], it gathers the stories in one convenient location. http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Randall_Austin_Stories