Date: Thu, 30 Jun 2005 20:48:55 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Duped!  Part 1

DUPED!   by Pete Brown.  petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories in
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

Part 1

Like a lot of young guys, I was bored.  Things hadn't
worked out with my long-term girlfriend, and although
I'd got a job at the local sports centre after I'd
finished at Uni (well, I did do sports management as a
major), it just wasn't very exciting.  I could see
myself working there for the next forty years just
getting older and going grey, and never achieving
anything.   There had to be more to life than this.  I
just couldn't see how I was going to get on, to see
the world, to afford to buy a house on my salary....
Mind you, there were some benefits, I suppose:  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 help them, and
once you've got her crying on your shoulder, it's but
a very short distance into bed.  Compared to being
unemployed, or starving, or whatever, I wasn't badly
off for a twenty six year old, but it just wasn't
enough for me.

It wasn't even as if I could look forward to getting a
big chunk of money from my parents - they'd never been
well off anyway, and when they were killed in a car
crash when I was eighteen, that was it:  dad's
business went down the tubes, and they took the house
to help pay the debts (not that there was all that
much value in it, as he had a big mortgage).  As I sat
there in my small rented apartment on one of my days
off, I really did wonder what I was going to do to
break out of this stifling straight jacket of a
relatively low paid job with few prospects.  I'd been
having this conversation with Derek the night before
in the bar - he's one of the guys I play squash with
at the Centre (I don't just work there - I do enjoy
sport and using my body as well!) And we'd gone
through a list of things, none of which seemed
practicable even when we'd had a few beers:  rob a
bank, get a job as a merchant banker, go into the
army, marry a rich widow... Only this last one seemed
even vaguely possible, but, as I pointed out to him,
most of the widows at our club were scrawny and old as
the young women didn't marry anyway!  "Yes, Steve",
he'd said, almost choking on the beer at 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 do sometimes wonder about Derek - I mean, 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 to me and I don't think he's queer.
But he's never really had a steady girlfriend, and he
does like to keep making remarks like that about a
bloke's tackle.

All in all, I suppose I was pretty depressed.  No,
that's the wrong word - you ought to keep that for the
blokes who're really badly off, with a proper clinical
depression.  That's no laughing matter.  No, it was
more that life seemed to hold no promise, there was no
fun in store, there was no excitement.  I'm surprised
really that I even bothered to tear open my
subscription copy of "Fitness Professional" when I got
home that night - I really just wanted to go to bed
and wank, but  I was somehow restless, and there was
nothing good on TV, I'd seen all my DVDs, and I
couldn't be bothered to trawl the Internet for sexy
pictures.  So I opened the post, and leafed through
the magazine, and it was as if fate had finally
intervened on my behalf:  there, staring me in the
eyes, was the advert for the perfect job.

"Young, unattached, a trained fitness coach?"  It
asked in big staring headlines.  Well, yes, I was, so
I couldn't help reading on.  "We're looking for men
with  a background of working in the fitness
professions for a different career opportunity.  Based
in a tax-free zone with a fantastic climate, you could
be spending your days doing something entirely new,
but utilising your existing knowledge of fitness and
health.  Build up your tan, and your bank balance!
We're looking for a number of young professionals,
with the right background and attitude, to join us on
medium-term contracts.  This could be the career boost
you need - after working tax free, you could be in the
position to have saved enough to start your own
business.  We offer free accommodation, pay all your
travel expenses, provide generous staff benefits, and
offer a  lifestyle based on a healthy mainly outdoor
existence, working with some of the richest men in the
world."

I could hardly believe it, as I read on "Because of
the nature of the accommodation, we are unable to
offer opportunities for men with family commitments,
but for single men who still need to build a career
and who wish to utilise their existing standard of
physical fitness,  and who would enjoy the challenge
of working in a foreign environment, this could be the
opportunity of a lifetime.  If you are interested,
telephone this number to arrange for an interview."

Well,  this looked like me!  Young, unattached, fit...
abroad, something totally different - this could be
just the thing I was looking for.  And it seemed to
mesh with my training and experience, too.  It must
have been fate, I thought, that made me come home and
look at this tonight.  I was so eager to get an
interview that I dialled the number on the off-chance
that there'd be an answering machine or something, and
to my surprise got trough to a proper living person
almost immediately.  The girl at the other end of the
line sounded like a fun person to me, 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 - but 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 on for a bit,
then she fixed me with an appointment for an interview
in two days time, and just before we finished, told me
to attend it 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 in half a mind to go to the interview that
Thursday.  For one thing I had to get a day off work
as this interview was in a big hotel in the centre of
London.  And for another I'd picked up a girl at the
club and we'd almost hit it off - she wanted to meet
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 was saying that my whole future was more
important than a casual fuck - and only a chance of it
at that, I had to admit - 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 smart, in all
new kit, to show them you're taking he interview
seriously?  Or should you go along in the work-warn
stuff you use at the club every day, so they can see
that you're a real worker and not just a poser?  After
I'd showered and shaved, I took a long time pulling
together something that was a kind of compromise:
faded cotton shorts in pale blue, my  regular dark
grey trainers and short white socks, and a new-ish
tank top that was actually quite loose but which I
thought showed off my shoulders quite well.  I didn't
think about underwear, and just threw into my sports
bag a pair of the white briefs I always wore when
working - well, I do need support, as I am well hung.
 The more I thought about it the more I considered I'd
made the right choices, as the shorts were quite tight
and showed off my hard bum and thighs, and the pale
colours complemented my dark-ish skin (I do sit in the
sun!) and dark black hair. What to wear for the
interview itself was a problem, though.  I've got a
suit - bought it for a mate's wedding - but I always
feel uncomfortable wearing it;  and I think you can
always tell blokes who're wearing their "one suit"
anyway, so that was out.  A sweat shirt would be too
casual, a jacket and tie too formal.... I realised
time was running out if I was going to catch the
train, and in the end went with the stuff I'm happiest
in:  my tight Jeans that showed off my body well, a
snowy white T that matched my boxer shorts, and a
casual shirt loose over that:  it was a warm day
anyway, so it didn't matter if I'd got a jacket or
not.

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 actually on time for the interview at a big modern
hotel up the Edgware Road.  At reception they directed
me to one of the conference suites, and inside there
was a nice looking girl who smiled, checked my name
off on a list, and asked me to wait - offering me
coffee as she did so.  In the next room there 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 you do at these things - we were all in
competition, after all, for what might only be one
job, exchanged a few remarks about this and that, and
sat her waiting patiently as, on after the other, we
were called through into the next room.

My turn came eventually, and I went in to find 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 that I'd given
over the phone.  They seemed pretty interested in my
domestic arrangements, and I assured them that I had
no attachments, and explained about my family, and
they nodded sympathetically.

"So, Steve, what do you think this job is all about?"

I looked a the e 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... And well-trained staff with the proper
background are hard to find, so you're recruiting in
London for a job abroad..."

"Partly right, partly wrong.  Yes, we are recruiting
here as we're after native English speakers, and in
the USA and Australia too.  But we're not setting up a
health club - we're making a movie and we're 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 "Oh, don't worry about
that - what we're looking for is men who come over
well on the screen.  The camera's funny, you know:
someone who's stunning across the table here can look
dreadful on film, and conversely the ordinary guy in
real life can light up the screen when they get 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 doing films, and 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 ability to act isn't important as we want it to be
'natural'."

"Well I could ask.  Of there again, I could just walk
out - if I'm going to be into the movies, I don't
suppose I'll ever want the job back!"

"That's the spirit we like to hear, Steve!  Look,
we're not promising you a major role, but I think
you've got what it takes - we're all impressed here,
anyway. It will be hard work, mind, and long working
hours - movies are not easy, especially not the way
we're going to make this one"  The other two men
nodded in agreement, and he went on "So if you've got
no more questions...."

"Well  I did actually, sir... Stuff like the
salary...."

"We'll pay you whatever you're getting now."

He saw me looking surprised, but went on "Well it's
hard, until you're established.  So we're just
offering everyone the same as they're currently
getting:  we'll want to see a current salary advice,
obviously to confirm that.  But think about it for a
moment - we're paying your travel, all your
accommodation expenses, all your food, all your
clothes.... And it's tax free, so effectively
everything you earn goes straight into the bank, and
stays there:  that's pretty spectacular saving..."

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 pretences, get there, and 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,
really.  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
difference experience for the viewers.  And there's
another advantage, too, 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 who are making a
new life for themselves that's radically different to
the one they currently have.  See, it's going to be
easy..."

I nodded.  He must know what he was about, I suppose -
it did sound odd, but they were spending a lot of
money, as even this interview, hiring these rooms in
the hotel, couldn't be cheap.

"No more questions then, Steve? "  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, and I was here now. "Right - go through and
change into your exercise kit- you did bring some?
Good.  Well, change into it, then we'd like to see you
working 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 just need to see what you
look like in motion, really - and we need to make sure
you've got the stamina to get through a hard day's
work - being in  movie isn't as easy as it looks, you
know.

There were just some of those standard hotel
conference chairs in the next room, a few of them with
piles of clothes on them, so I took one and changed,
leaving my stuff there.  Then I found that the biggest
room they'd hired had been turned into a kind of gym -
about ten machines of various types  scattered around,
half of which were  already occupied with guys working
out.  There was an open crate with lots of bottles of
water lying there, and the only difference really
between this and a normal gym was the presence of two
guys with a movie camera - one of those professional
ones, carried on the shoulders of one man, with the
second guy carrying a battery pack and cable, and a
microphone.

I walked around inspecting the stuff and smiling
faintly at the other guys, but wondered what I ought
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, and if it went on too long I'd
look stupid.  But of course they might be interested
in seeing how hard I could work..  they had mentioned
long days... It all seemed to be too complicated, so I
just used the settings I was comfortable with from 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 actually reasonably warm in the
hotel, and my singlet  soon had that bar of wetness
down the front and back that I always think is 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
just adds to it, making me look really masculine.  I
noticed though that some of the guys were cheating -
I'd take a machine over and find it set to almost
nothing, and they 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,
though - he took what he wanted, and I think I was
reasonably well represented.

Afterwards, we all sat around and had a buffet lunch -
we hadn't changed, and some of the 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 a
coffee, we were called back into the interview room.

"Stand if  you like, Steve", the chief interviewer
said not unkindly.  "You're still sweating.  Sorry
there aren't any showers, as we're here in this hotel.
 But at least it shows you  really did work out - we
liked that, didn't we?".  The other two nodded, and he
 pointed at a big TV screen where just shots of me
were playing:   the way my face screwed up when I
pulled the torsion bar down, the heaving of my chest
as I stood there gasping in-between exercises, my
backside, as I ran (I don't jog!) on the running
machine, that kind of thing.  They seemed to have
concentrated on body shots, though - 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 the
screen, too.  All other things being equal, we'd like
to offer you a job - but first, we do just need to
confirm that you have no blemishes."

"Blemishes, sir?"

"Yes.  You know, unsightly birth marks 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, Steve.  But we're investing a
lot in our little enterprise, you know, and we just
have to make sure.  There are bound to be some scenes
when you're at a swimming pool, or even in the
showers.... And we do need to make certain.  So just
slip off those exercise 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, lightly, "OK,
gentlemen?"

"Thanks,  Steve.  But we do need to see all of you -
can you take the shoes and socks off, and drop the
briefs, please, only for a moment?"

"But why...?"

"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 - customers don't like
that.  And although you seem to be well hung ,we need
to make sure there's no problems there - the costumes,
you know..."

Look, it's no big deal, is it, really?  We were all
men together, and I'm not particularly body shy.  But
it nevertheless did feel a bit odd, in front of those
three men in their smart business suits, sitting
behind a table watching me in this hotel conference
room!  I hopped around from one leg to another as you
do when you're taking stuff off your feet without
sitting down, and I remember still the odd sensation
of the carpet on my bare feet:  well, it's usually
tiles in a changing room, isn't it.  And hotels seem
to have different kinds of carpet to those at home -
thicker, more luxurious:  I wanted to almost wriggle
my toes.    I slipped my briefs down then, feeling
them excite the hairs on my legs as they fell, and
stepped out of them.  It was pure reflex at that point
- I did it without thinking as I'm so used to it:  I
reached down and gave my cock that little "flip" to
free it from where it was stuck to my balls, as the
briefs were reasonably tight to support me, and I was
very, very sweaty down there from the workout.

I noticed the men nodding almost appreciatively, then,
before I could stop it, the camera guy was zooming in
and out on my naked body as I stood there - on the TV
monitor I saw flashes of the whole me, then a burst
showing a nip, standing out proud and dark from my
pec, a couple of seconds of my hairy butt, then a
close-up of my dick, showing it lying there over my
low-hanging balls.   I went to call out ,but it seemed
stupid - after all, it  was only seeing what they were
looking at, so I kind of 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 t o each other, but made no sign of
telling me to dress.  I stood there in front of them,
bollock naked, and the chief interviewer said "Thank
you, Steve.  You have a nice body, a handsome face, an
a pleasing smile:  you seem to come over well on the
screen.  We'll make a final decision by the end of the
week, but then, 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.  An on the
way out, there's an envelope with cash for you, that I
think you'll find adequately compensates you for a
day's work...."

He smiled, and it was that sort of smile of dismissal
that brooks no further discussion.  I bent down to
pick up my discarded clothes, now rather aware of how
my nude body must look, walked out across the room
with all sorts of strange feelings inside me.  And not
only that, but the physical sensation of walking
across the carpeted expanse in my bare feet, with my
cock bobbing up and down.

I hate having to wipe my body free of sweat with just
a towel without a shower, but  I dressed and went out,
and was very pleasantly surprised  to see how much
they apparently valued one day of my time at -
especially as it was all in cash, so the Inland
Revenue wouldn't get their cut!  And, to tell you the
truth, for the rest of the week I was on tenterhooks
about the job - it seemed intriguing, and, after all,
if I was a success, who knows where it might lead?
Modelling, TV shows.... 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.  Even Derek was
surprised at my change in attitude when we  went for a
drink after work - he commented on how much happier I
seemed to be, but I think he overdid the cries of
shock and horror when  I actually paid for both rounds
- it's not as if I'm not generous, but I usually just
can't afford it (but with a all that cash in my
pocket, it made me feel more of a man).

It wasn't a letter or anything, but a call to my
mobile from the same girl who'd been at the interview.
 She told me I'd got one of the jobs, and that I
should turn up at the same hotel at 10:00 exactly two
weeks from that day.  I muttered something about it
being very short notice, but she said in a very cheery
voice "Oh come on, Steve!  Most single men could throw
a few things in a bag, pack the rest up and store
them, and just walk out:  it's not as if you own a
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...?"

"Oh come on - a whole new life out there, you might
never want to return."

"You're right!", I told her, and checked the details
again, and she told me to be in for the postman the
following morning as there's be another envelope for
me with "more expenses, to help you with packing an
clearing up".  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 found for you,
remember?"

Well it all seemed simple enough, but my employers
were pissed off, told me they'd never give me a job
again - as if  I cared - and insisted I stay on
working the full two weeks.  I ought just to have
walked out, but I'm pretty responsible and stuck it
out, but it made all the business of packing my few
possessions into crates and sending them off to a
store that much more rushed.   I was so busy  that I
hardly had time to see any of my mates to say goodbye,
and only got to have a farewell drink with Derek on my
very last evening, when I was completely shagged out
so we didn't talk all that much, and  I really
couldn't give him too many details of where I was
going or what I was doing. - well, I didn't have all
that many anyway, I suppose.

There were five of us at the hotel the next morning,
and after we'd all been given coffee and had brief
introductions, we went down to a minibus to go off to
the airport.  The other four were not unlike me:
early to late twenties, fit-looking, and all with the
sort of toned body that says "this man takes care of
himself, but hasn't turned himself into some muscle
hunk with steroids and too many hours at the gym.".
Neat, trim, attractive, I think you'd characterise us
by, and we were kind of uniform too:  none too short,
none too tall.

We all sat there in the minibus speculating about
where we were going, but none of us knew, and neither
did the driver, who had just been hired from a hire
company to pick up at the hotel, and drop off
somewhere near Heathrow.  We were all a bit surprised
therefore when the bus dropped us off outside one of
those warehouse type buildings that always abound near
airports, rather than taking us directly to one of the
terminals.  We asked the driver if he was certain this
was right and he said yes, and all then stood there
wondering what to do, when the girl I'd first seen a
the hotel poked her head out of the door in the
featureless walls of the place and called to us to
come inside.

"The flight's later today", she told us, and it's
nicer to be here than in those awful terminals.  Now,
you've got a long flight in front of you - would any
of you like to work off some of your excess energy, as
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, and
would rather have not.  But when you're in a group,
you need to do what the group wants, don't you?  So I
mumbled a "yes", too, and we went through.

It was a good gym, too - no expense had been spared in
fitting it up.  And there was a bench with hooks over
it, so we all stripped off and pulled our kit 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 workout:  once the blood starts
to flow and the endorphins to flood your brain, you
really do 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 was reaching for a
towel when the door at the end of the room with the
showers burst open with a great crash.  There were
four men in some kind of half-uniform:  tight jeans,
black boots, a crisp polo shirt in white.  At their
head was the chief interviewer, and after our initial
surprise, when we saw 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 us fell onto the wet floor
of the shower.  He was lying there, unable to speak,
his whole body spasming and contorting, and he looked
as if he was in a lot of pain.  Working at a fitness
centre you have basic first aid training, of course,
so I at once knelt down and tried to get him in the
"safe" position so he can't choke on his vomit.  As I
knelt there, naked, beside his naked form, I shouted
"Call an ambulance..."

"Silence!", the interviewer shouted above the uproar.
"And there's no need of an ambulance. Your colleague
has just been the unfortunate first one of you to
experience the prod!"

We all went quiet, and I was conscious of the random
dripping sounds from the shower heads in the
background.   "The prod is modified from the devices
they use in slaughter houses and the like to control
cattle and sheep.  Modified so that it's more
powerful, although what you see here is it operating
at only half power.  Every time you men disobey a
direct order, one or other of you will fell the prod,
and, believe me, you will not want that as it is
extremely painful, as you can see."

Actually the guy on the floor by me did seem not to be
recovering, and as he tried to move his arms and legs,
he was groaning.

"If necessary", he went on, "We will use it on full
power, whereupon you will be rendered unconscious -
not painlessly unconscious, but with agonies in your
body 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, rather than men.  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
envisaged.  Now, help that man to his feet, and come
through into the shipping department so we can get
started.  That's what happens to animals, you know -
they get shipped!"

One of the guys started to protest again, but a guard
advanced on him holding a short rod with a metal tip
out in front of him.  "Shut up!", the guard snapped.
"Do you want a dose of the prod, too?"

We saw  that all the guards were now holding these
things, and I for one, and I'm sure the others too,
all felt extremely vulnerable as we were totally
naked, and wet.   With bad grace, and some muttering,
we allowed ourselves to be almost herded through into
the next room.

End Of Part 1