Date: Mon, 7 Jul 2003 22:25:41 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Harbour Master, Part 3

HARBOUR MASTER, Part 3

By Pete Brown     petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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


I woke up to hear the opening of our cells, and I
thought that they were going to take me off to be
nutted.  But instead they pulled a young guy out from
the cell next to me, and took him away and left me
sitting there, head in my hands.

I wasn't fed again that morning, which increased my
feeling of dread as I imagined they were getting ready
to give me a general anaesthetic when they castrated
me.  And when prospective buyers came through in a
fairly steady trickle, I didn't bother to rush up to
the bars and try to attract them - I just sat on my
sleeping pad, with my head buried in my hands.  I
can't tell you how bad I felt, and how worried I was.
Those bastards were going to turn me into a eunuch,
just so some business man who'd bought a mini-farm
could leave his wife alone there, and not worry bout
me fucking her!  I went through all the possibilities
in my mind - should I try and rush out when I was let
out of my cell, on the way to the doctor's office -
perhaps I could surprise the guards and avoid their
prods?  But then what next?  Even if I did succeed in
getting out of the building, where could I go, totally
naked?  And wouldn't they quickly track me down with
that locator chip they implanted in me?

Or should I plead with them again to leave me as a
whole man - they were men, too, all, and could perhaps
understand how I felt about the prospect of losing my
balls.  No - that almost certainly wouldn't work -
these men no longer thought of me as being someone
like themselves.  I was a "slave", an animal of some
kind, that could be castrated, have its nipples
removed, kept caged, inspected humiliatingly.... They
no longer thought of me as a man, so why should they
be concerned about the loss of my manhood?  I bet a
lot of them had pet dogs who'd been castrated to
quieten them down, and that's how they thought of me -
if my new owner wanted it done, they'd have it done.

I was in despair, and I just wanted to scream out for
justice  Surely someone, somewhere, was concerned for
the rights of men, even if they were slaves?   But I
remembered what they'd said about the courts always
looking favourably on applications for slave
castrations "where the circumstances justified it",
and I didn't think there was any chance there.  I
wanted to shout and rage, but I knew that if I made a
sound, all my fellow slaves would suffer.

I couldn't help thinking about sex, either.  I
remembered the feel of fucking and the way that
bitch's cunt serviced my dick.  I desperately wanted
to jerk myself off one more time, before it was too
late, to remember how it feels as the cum flooded down
my dick.  But of course I knew that that was forbidden
also, and it was the other slaves who'd suffer along
with me.  To make it worse, just thinking about these
things made me have an erection, and my dick was
straining at the front of the tiny satin shorts that
we were made to wear whilst we were here in the
viewing facility, as they thought it made us more
desirable to the buyers.  Constrained by the fabric,
my dick hurt as it tried to thrust upwards, and a bid
damp patch started to appear on the front of the
shorts where the pre-cum was leaking from me in an
almost endless stream.  I wanted to tear the stupid
shorts off, and in spite of hating to appear naked in
front of other guys, I wanted to show them that my big
dick could rear upwards and prove I was still a virile
member of the tribe of men.

But I did nothing, other than just to sit there in
despair, the very picture of misery.

"Hey, slave!"

I looked up and one of the guards was looking in at me
through the bars.

"Don't sit like that - none of the buyers will find
you interesting.  I'd have thought you'd have more
sense - didn't the boss tell you he was only going to
keep you for a couple more days before he sold you to
the organ banks?  If I were you, I'd be trying to make
myself attractive to the buyers, and not sit there
like some sulking teenager who's been told he can't
watch his favourite TV show...."

I thought that this was a "question", and so I could
risk a reply without getting all my fellows the
electric shock treatment.

"Sir... It doesn't matter.  I was sold yesterday, and
I'm waiting for the paperwork to be approved by the
Courts so that they can take my balls off."

"Oh, didn't they tell you?  It was the married couple
with the farm, wasn't it, that was interested in you.
On the way out they saw another slave that the woman
felt more comfortable with - shorter and less muscular
than you.  He's already gone down to the doctor's
office to be nutted.  If I were you, I'd buck up and
start to try to get myself sold.... Time is running
out, you know."

I began to feel better at once!  It was as if a huge
weight had been lifted from me.  I even started to
smile.  Then I thought of the other slave, who was
having his balls cut off now, instead of me - what
bastards, to treat us like this.  And they couldn't
even be bothered to tell me, either - I hadn't slept
all night and been in an agony of worry, and they
didn't care - they didn't think I'd got feelings,
worries, concerns.... I was just a slave to them, and
slaves don't count.  And another thought started to
worry me - all this talk of the organ banks....

"Please, sir....  What about the organ banks?"

"You heard the introductory talk, slave.  We only have
limited capacity here, and if we don't sell you we
need to make space for new arrivals - our buyers like
a constant turnover of new flesh. After all, if you
went to a clothes shop to buy a new shirt, you'd be
pretty upset wouldn't you if it was always the same
shirts on sale?  You like to see them change, so that
the next time you go in there's another lot to choose
from?  That's why stores have sales, to clear out old
stock and make way for the new."

"Well, we don't have sales - slaves are offered at the
list price, and that's fixed.  We don't want to damage
the 'used' slave market by dropping the price of 'new'
ones - just like automobile dealers.  They'll add
accessories and stuff if you want to buy a new car,
but they won't drop the sticker price.  We'll add
little extras - castrate you free, have you 'skinned
at no additional charge.... But if you don't sell at
the price you're offered at, we have to clear you out
to make way for new stock."

"The only buyers of slaves other than the public are
the organ banks - they always need fresh material.
But we don't like selling slaves to them as they don't
pay list price - it's always at a 20% discount!
They've got some sort of cartel, and even though the
Department Of Justice has looked at it, no one has
ever managed to catch them at price fixing.  So all us
dealers know we'll lose 20 % whichever organ bank we
sell you to - and that's a lot of money, when we've
had to pay the courts a for a prime piece of man flesh
like you - it's the cost of your fine, plus 10% you
know!"

"Please, sir, what goes on at the organ banks...."
The man was in a talkative mood now, so I pressed on.
It was good just to hear human speech again, even
though it was telling me scary things.

"Oh, don't you worry about that.  I'm sure someone
will buy you before then."

"No, please tell me...."

"Oh they're not bad at all.  Very well run.  They need
to keep you in prime condition, after all, until
there's a need for one of your organs and the client
has a good match with your DNA - transplant technology
isn't perfect yet, you know, and there's only a small
degree of tolerance between the recipient and the
organ he's going to receive.  So you'll be well looked
after, fed properly, exercised... And you could be
there for a year or so until you're needed.  So don't
worry about it - you've got some life left in you
yet."

"But what organs?"

"Everything you can transplant, of course!  Are you
stupid, or something?  Where do you think they get all
the corneas, kidneys, hearts and stuff that people
need these days - there aren't enough donors, and very
few people die in road accidents and such now that the
country's so much safer."

"Look", he went on, "Don't worry about it.  They're
humane, and the law requires them to give you
anaesthetics and so on.  And they are concerned about
the work involved in keeping you there, so they
rarely do anything that causes you great distress
initially.  For example, they may take one cornea, but
they won't take two as the effort in maintaining a
newly-blind slave is too great - they don't harvest
the second one until they take something major, later.
 Likewise for skin grafts - there's no point in
stripping more than about 15% of you as you'd then
take so long to recover, and you'd have to be looked
after in intensive care.  They usually only take one
kidney at first, too - no one needs two, and they can
wait for a buyer for your second one.  It's only when
they need your heart, or the second kidney, that it's
all over - obviously, you've only got one heart, and
it's too much bother to keep giving you dialysis when
they take the second kidney.  So you just don't wake
up from the operation, that's all - no pain, no
suffering.  This is all regulated, you know - the
American Society For The Prevention Of Cruelty To
Slaves went to the courts long ago to make sure the
organ banks operate with a humane code of conduct:
it's your organs they're interested in, not in
torture.  So skin is taken from you properly, in a
sterile operating theatre, with you anaesthetised so
you don't wriggle and squirm - you didn't think they'd
want to do it by slicing it off whilst you thrashed
around and screamed, did you?  That's what sadists do,
not properly regulated organ banks. As I said, don't
worry about it - it may never happen!  And, if it
does, you won't worry much anyway - they know it's  no
good to have slaves stressed, so most of the time they
keep you pumped full of antidepressants:   you'll have
a happy life there.   But, as I said, you'll find a
buyer, I'm sure, and, if you don't, well, it's not as
if it's all over immediately...."

He walked away at that point, so I couldn't ask him a
whole lot more.  But now I was even more worried -
losing my balls was bad enough, but now they were
talking about killing me - I'm only 24, for Christ
sake!

I sat there in despair again, but began to realise
that I needed to do something if I was to live.  So as
soon as the next buyers came through the big doors at
the end, I rushed to the bars of my cell, like all the
other slaves, and tried to get them to look at me.  I
had a begging expression on my face.  I held out my
arms through the bars in a gesture of supplication and
despair.  I tried looking happy, sad...  But none of
it seemed to work.  Unlike the other day when several
buyers had shown an interest in me and the couple had
almost bought me, no one seemed to show even the
slightest interest today, and  I wasn't even taken out
of my cell for a closer inspection.

At least I was fed that night, although I still didn't
sleep very much as I was so worried.

My anxiety increased even more the next morning, as
just before the first buyers were expected, a new
consignment of slaves arrived!  They all looked so
miserable and embarrassed, just as I had a week ago,
as they were herded into their cells.  And, of course,
being "new", they got all the attention - perhaps it's
that air of being frightened and ashamed that makes a
slave attractive to a buyer?  I don't know - suffice
it to say that all that day they got all the
attention, and us "old stock" hardly got a look in
with the buyers.

I was getting desperate!  The clock was ticking for
me!  It didn't seem to matter what I did, the buyers
just took a casual glance at me and passed on by my
cell.  Perhaps I was trying too hard? Perhaps I looked
too wild, too worried?  Anyway, when the place closed
for business that night, I was still in my cell, and
there was no way I could sleep - I spent the whole
night tossing and turning on my small sleeping pad.

The next morning the dealer was walking up and down
the cells, inspecting his stock.  One of the guards -
the one who had spoken to me - was following him, and
noting down comments on  a clipboard.  Occasionally, a
slave was taken out of his cell and told to drop his
shorts, and the dealer felt him, and possibly made
some comment to the guard.  I heard him say things
like "Get this one re-shaved - ladies don't like to
feel stubble around the dick!".

When he got to my cell, I was standing there, trying
to look eager and "saleable".  The dealer glanced at
me, and simply said to the guard "This is the one
that's sticking, isn't it?  Didn't I give it until
today to be sold - yes, I'm sure I did.  Problem is,
he's out of fashion - the market just doesn't want
these big, tough, fit types.  Look at how many
smaller, slightly-built stock has gone out of the
doors these last few days - I think it's time we cut
our losses on this one, as I don't think we'll find
any buyer who wants a stud like this.  So ship him to
the organ banks."

I was going to protest, what had I got to lose now?
And fuck the other slaves - it was my life!  But
before I could say anything, the guard spoke.

"Are you sure, sir?  We're looking at a very big loss
on this one - 20% is a lot, as this one had a very big
fine that wasn't paid.  Isn't it worth giving him a
few more days - you never know who might turn up?"

"No.  Our buyers rely on a regular turn of the stock,
and we need the space.  I'll take the loss - just ship
him out."

"Oh, come on, sir.  Look at him - a perfect piece of
man flesh.  Surely someone will want him.  And the
poor guy's only 24 - don't you remember when you were
that age, with everything to look forward to?  It
seems a pity to send him to the organ banks and
deprive the world generally of the sight of that body
of his!  I wish I could afford him - I don't care what
the fashion is, I'd like that piece of slave meat
working around my yard!"

"You're getting sentimental in your old age!
Remember, this is a slave we're talking about, not a
regular guy.  Can't you go down to one of the gay bars
and pick yourself up a piece of meat like this to play
with?  No - it has to be shipped out to the organ
banks.  It's bad for morale if we keep making
exceptions - we'd soon have the whole place full of
unsaleable merchandise if I listened to all you
guards: that's why I'm the boss - I take the
hard-headed business decisions, whilst you guys worry
too much about the stock.  Just remember, they're
slaves, and we're dealers, here to make a modest
profit on selling them."

"Look", the guard went on.  "Tomorrow's Saturday.  The
organ banks don't open for business again until
Monday.  Let's give him two more days."

"No.  Some of the buyers are coming back tomorrow to
look at the new stock, and I don't want them to see
this old, unsaleable, stuff cluttering up the place.
It will give us a bad reputation.  Call the
transporter, and they can hold it over the weekend in
their warehouse, so it  can go to the banks as soon as
they open on Monday."

"Boss, I don't like to argue - but we are on
profit-sharing here, aren't we?  So if we lose 20% on
this slave, it affects my bonus.  I tell you what -
I'm off duty this weekend, and the County Fair's on -
let me take him there and try to sell him at the
travelling slave show:  if I can't get a good price
for him, he'll be back Sunday night and we can ship
him out Monday morning anyway."

"Well, I think you are getting too attached to these
slaves!  It's not good, you know, to worry about them
so much.  But, if it makes you happy, why not?  Or do
you have some ulterior motive....  Do you want to get
this slave outside, so you can fuck it?"

"No, sir!  I'm a happily married man, and I only fuck
guys when my wife's away visiting her sister in
California.  And then I don't need to buy a slave to
fuck - there are always guys at the gym who are alone,
and who like uniforms - I can always find a fuck buddy
if I turn up in my uniform!   No, I'd like to take
this slave to the fair as  it will give me a real
purpose to the visit - otherwise you just wander
aimlessly around, and you've got no real interest.  If
I've got some stock for sale, you not only have a
purpose, to go and compare it with the other stuff on
offer, but they give you a special ticket that lets
you go into the owners' enclosure, and the beer in
there's a whole lot better - or, rather, you can get
to the bar as there isn't a whole crowd pushing and
shoving to get served as there is in the public
facilities.  You'll be doing me a real favour if you
let me take the slave and try to sell him."

"Oh all right - but I don't want to see it back here.
If you don't sell it this weekend, it's off to the
organ banks first thing Monday."

They moved on, and I sank back onto my sleeping pad.
At least I'd got a reprieve, and perhaps there would
be a different type of buyer at the County Fair, and
I'd have more chance.  I did actually sleep that night
for a change - well, I suppose I'm generally a bit of
an optimist, and providing there's some hope, it's
difficult for me to be "down" for a long time.

The next day the guard came and watched as the showers
ran, and even though it wasn't part of the usual
two-day cycle, he had a razor and made me shave
myself.  I hated being watched as I crouched down and
tried to get rid of the stubble from my ass crack, but
I consoled my self with thinking that at least the guy
was doing it so that he could give me a chance to go
on living!

When I was finished, he gave me a clean pair of
shorts, then unlocked the cell and let me out.

"OK, slave.  I'm not cuffing you or anything.  You
can't escape, as you know, so there's no point in
going to all that fuss.  You'll be chained later at
the Fair, of course, as they put on a bit of a show
for the visitors, but whilst we're driving you can
just sit there."

I followed him along the corridors and out of the
building, and around to the staff parking area.  He
opened the door of his SUV, and I waited.

"Get in, slave.  You can ride up front with me - I
like looking at a nice body like yours as I drive
along.  Wait a minute, though, whilst I get out of
this uniform...."

"Changing his uniform" only meant pulling off his polo
with the company logo on and changing it for a light
T-shirt.  As he pulled the shirt up over is head, I
saw he was nicely muscled for an older guy - he had
mentioned going to the gym, and I supposed that's
where he got it from.  I liked the way his belly
muscles flexed as he manoeuvred the shirt off - NO!
Stop this!  I don't like guys' bodies.  I don't look
at other men.  Oh, fuck me, had being caged up with
all those other nearly-naked slaves started doing
something to me?

We rolled along in silence, as he obviously didn't
want to talk to a slave.  But I wanted to say
something - there weren't any other slaves around to
get the electric shock, after all.

"Sir.... "

"Yes?"

"Sir, thank you...."

"For what?"

"For saving me from the organ banks...."

"I haven't.  You're off there Monday, when you don't
sell."

"Yes, but thank you for giving me the chance.  I'm
sure there'll be a buyer...."

"Don't count on it, slave.  These County Fairs get a
strange mixture of buyers - and a strange mixture of
slaves!  And not a lot of them want to pay the price
you have to fetch.  Even though we might be prepared
to take a bit of a loss - well, up to 20% off the list
price, I guess, as that would still be a better deal
than the organ banks as we wouldn't have to pay to
have you transported there, or for their inspections
again - there aren't a lot of people who go for a day
out at the Fair who have that kind of money to spend."

"Additional inspections?"

"Yes.  You don't think they take just anything into
the organ banks, do you?  Even though you've been
passed fit for sale at our dealership, there's a world
of difference between that and selling you for
spare-part surgery!  They do a really complete medical
work-over, look at your genes for defects, all that
type of crap.  And we have to pay for it - they won't
take you unless you're perfect, and we have to
demonstrate it.  It's a few thousand dollars,
usually."

We drove on in silence.  I started to worry again - my
hopes of being sold at the County Fair had gone down a
lot - I could understand what he meant about buyers
not being prepared to lash out a lot of dough on a day
out - I remembered going to such a fair with my wife
and kids, and it was just for fun:  the popcorn, the
side shows,  the midway, the animal exhibits...  It
wasn't really the sort of place where I'd have lashed
out a lot of money on a slave, even if I could have
afforded one (and on a labourer's wages, that was
never going to happen?).

The guard parked the SUV in a car park that said
"Strictly exhibitor parking only", and we went in
through a special gate into the Fair enclosure.  It
was already a hot, although it was still only nine in
the morning, and I could feel sweat starting to
glisten all over my body.

"Be careful, slave", the guard snapped.  "There's
always some broken glass around at these places and I
don't want you to get a cut foot - you haven't been a
slave long enough yet, have you, to be used to walking
around barefoot and so you haven't grown enough hard
skin on your soles to prevent accidental damage."

I supposed he was right - although I did a lot of yard
work at home in shorts and bare feet, I always wore
tough work boots on the site - it's the health and
safety regulations, isn't it, that say you have to
have steel-toes boots and so on.  I supposed they
didn't apply to slaves.

We passed through the stall holders setting up their
pitches, and approached a big enclosure marked out by
a fence made up of sacking stretched over steel frames
- even at over six feet, I couldn't see over it.  We
went through a kind of zigzag a the entrance, and I
noticed a big sign saying  "Warning - Slave Sale Area.
 Federal Law Prohibits The Entry Of Unaccompanied
Children Under The Age of 16.  Do Not Enter If You Are
Offended By Slaves Offered For Sale Naked."

A guy greeted us, and he and the guard engaged in a
lively conversation.  Then the guard came back and
spoke to me, quite kindly, I thought.

"OK, slave.  I'm leaving you now.  I hope I don't have
to take you back tonight!  There are a number of
classes here - labourers, personal servants, clerks,
and so on, but I think you've got the best chance if I
put you in the general category of 'slaves under 25
years old' - buyers looking for any of the other
categories tend to go there anyway, so you'll be seen
by more people. Of course unlike those detailed
categories, you'll be exhibited naked - or, rather ,
nearly naked:  just like at our dealership, Joe Public
likes the idea of being able to strip stock for
himself, for a good look-see.  And you will be chained
- it's unnecessary, as we know, but again, the public
expects it."

He left me then, and he dealer came and ordered me to
follow him.  We went through some more of the screens
into an area inside the slave enclosure, and it was
empty - I was the first. The grassy area was just
surrounded by the sacking screens, and there was
nothing else in there except a row of pegs hammered
into the grass along a row of the screens.

"OK, boy.  Time to collar and cuff you."

The dealer fitted me with a leather collar, rather
like the one I'd worn initially, but not in steel,
then he told me to do the by now familiar putting of
my hands behind my neck so that my wrists could be
secured to the collar.

"Not too tight?", he queried. "You're going to be here
all day, and I don't want to damage you."

I shook my head, and he reached up towards my face
holding something.

"Open wide - I need to put your gag in."

I went to shake my head, but he went on "Don't be so
fucking stupid!  It may not be what you're used to,
but at our sales all the slaves are gagged.  It's a
perfectly simple ball gag - just pop it behind your
teeth - there's a hole in it so you can carry on
breathing, and we can water you during the day:  we
don't want you crying and shouting at the public,
that's all - some slaves have no manners, and it can
turn buyers right off if there's a lot of noise from
the stock."

I opened my mouth and he pushed the all of hard black
rubber into my mouth.  Small strings were fastened
behind my head, and as I worked my mouth, I found
there was no way I could spit it out, although I
could, as he said, breathe through my mouth if I
wanted.

"Now, let's choose a good place for you.... You're
quite tanned, so it doesn't matter if you're in the
sun all day so I don't need to put you in the
afternoon shade....  Yes, this is a good spot...
You're so big, you'll make a nice focal point as
people come in - they can't help noticing you, if we
put you opposite the entrance... .here."

He'd led me to the centre of one of the enclosure
walls, and up to one of the pegs.  I saw that attached
to it was a short length of chain, and a cuff.

"Right...."

As he spoke, he reached down and unbuttoned the one
button holding my satin shorts closed, and pushed them
down over my hips so they slipped to the floor.

Fucking hell!  Could this get worse?  Before, when I'd
had to get naked, I had at least been allowed to take
my own shorts or boxers off.  But this guy had just
casually pushed my shorts down as if it was the most
natural thing to do in the world.  It was just as if I
was some sort of object, not a man!  Could it get
worse?  Could I be treated even more humiliatingly?

Well, of course, yes, I could.  He reached down and
kind of flipped at my dick, and cupped my balls to
free them from  here the sweat had made them cling to
my thighs.

"Hmm.. Nice dick!  Big, and thick.  Mind you, having
it uncut is a mistake - a lot of buyers are put off by
a foreskin, even though it's relatively simple to get
rid of. They just don't seem to appreciate that
underneath it there's a perfectly normal dick waiting!
 You really should have got rid of that 'skin if you
wanted to sell quickly, you know."

He was talking to me as if I had any say in the
matter!  And what a load of crap - as if any guy ever
thinks he's going to be sold, and, even if he did, as
if he'd get himself circumcised to make it easier.

"OK, guy, there's one little test I have to do now.
We pride ourselves on only selling regular stock here,
but some owners try to slip 'enhanced' stock in to get
a higher price - I have to make sure they haven't
given you bigger, artificial balls: yours are so
large, that I have my suspicions..."

As he said this his fingers curled around my sac and I
could feel him separating my balls out with his thumb.
 Then, as he stared into my eyes, my world gave a
sickening lurch.  I wanted to cry out, I wanted to
puke... But  I could do neither with the gag in place.
 He'd savagely pushed his thumb, very hard, into one
of my balls.

"Good.  That seems genuine enough.  Now..."

The world lurched again, and I was in agony for a few
moments. You know how it is, when ever there's any
attack on your balls... It's the worst kind of pain
you can have,   I think.

I just stood there, naked, my chest heaving as I
fought to control myself.  The sweat that had been all
over me from the heat was now running down me as my
body fought off the pain.

"Sorry about that, but we have to be sure.  Now, let's
get you dressed properly....."

He pulled a length of light chain out of the pocket of
his jeans, and fastened it around my waist, adjusting
the length so that it settled on my ass at the back,
hung low on my hips and fell almost to the top of my
pubic hair at the front.

"One good thing about studs like you", he said to me,
although I guess it was just one of those pointless
comments people make when they just want to talk, "Is
that with a nice high rounded ass there's no way that
the display chain is going to slip off.  You've got
absolutely no fat on your hips, and a good flat belly,
but  I can rely on your ass to hold the chain on.
It's a real problem 'dressing' those little twinks -
no ass, no hips, so the chain slips down, and you have
to have it really up high, around the waist, and make
it really tight.  And if the chain is up there,  it
obscures the navel... But you'll be fine, that navel
of yours, and your belly, will be properly displayed.
Incidentally, that 'treasure trail' of yours is a
really good idea - a lot of guys are turned on by that
run of hair disappearing down into your pubes..."

As if I had any control over it, I thought to myself.
I'd always had that trail, I didn't get it to make
myself more desirable for sale!

He'd got a roll of fabric - more like very wide
ribbon, out from his back pocket now, and some
scissors.  He fussed around behind me, and the chain
slid up and down my belly, and I heard something being
cut.  He came around to face me again, and went on

"There's your crack hidden.  We loop a length of the
fabric tape around that little chain - primitive, but
effective. We've tried everything ,you know - totally
bare-assed, very thin satin, so you an see the ass
through the fabric, even Speedos.  But somehow the
sight of a thin strip of fabric, just covering the
crack but leaving most of the ass exposed, seems to
turn the public on more.  Now, let's see what we can
do up front."

He was measuring the fabric off the roll, and muttered
 "Good - I see that dealer tidied up your pubes.  You
know, some slaves are brought here with a big, unruly
bush that covers them from thigh to thigh.  No wonder
they're difficult to sell.  The public wants to see a
slave's pubic hair when they get near to making a
purchase, but they don't want it to obscure the view
of everything else, do they?  With you, its good - in
spite of that huge dick of yours, we can use quite a
thin covering as there's not a whole lot of your bush
left."

"There" he went on as the scissors snipped. "Just
enough to cover you down to the tip of your dick -
don't get erect, will you, though?.  Now.... Just step
over here..."  He guided me towards one of the pegs,
knelt down, and picked up a cuff and snapped it around
my left ankle.

"There - all ready for the public to come in and see
you.  You know, they like seeing male slaves in these
loin cloths - I guess they were all brought up on the
Tarzan films, although Hollywood in the old days would
never have dared to have one of their stars with
anything as skimpy as this!  But it is practical for
us slave dealers - those that want to pretend that
they're not interested in your dick don't have to look
at it, but they can still see your thighs perfectly
and the musculature of your ass.  And those that do
want to see you - well, they can just pull it aside!
So much more practical than shorts, really, when
they'd have much more of a difficulty to pull them
down.  We used to find that some buyers were really
inhibited about taking a slave's shorts down, and I
think we lost sales.... This is so much better."

With that, he went off, and I was left there standing
in the hot sun.  Actually, I felt completely
embarrassed by my "costume".  Somehow, having the thin
strip of fabric covering my ass crack, and the bit up
front, made me somehow "nude" rather than just "naked"
- they'd turned me from a naked slave, into some sort
of "exhibition".  As I looked down, I could see the
top of my pubic hair forcing its curly way out above
the thin chain, and the fabric stuff hanging from the
chain was only just wide enough to conceal my dick and
balls - anyone looking could of course see all of my
thighs exposed, and I was even worried that a breeze
would start to blow and keep exposing me.  I hated it
- I suppose I'd started to get used to the idea that a
slave might be exhibited naked for the benefit of
buyers, and with my body and tackle, I could be kind
of proud of what I'd got to display.  But this
humiliating, skimpy loin cloth didn't do that -  I
wasn't on "display", proud in my manhood, I was just
"concealed", something that buyers could come and
sneak a peek at if they wanted the thrill of looking
at my genitals.

I didn't have to wait long for something else to
happen - the dealer was soon back and chained,
'"dressed" and gagged a couple of other guys alongside
me.  One was an absolute giant of a black man - not
one of those huge fat ones you see around, but a real
muscle stud: in fact, I think his dick, as I saw it
before the dealer "dressed" him, was even bigger than
mine.  His dark black skin gleamed in the sunlight, as
except for his pubic area he a totally devoid of hair
and the sweat on him glistened all over.  The other
looked to be about the same age as me but was only
about 5'8" tall, with a trim body.  He was a blond,
with a fair thatch of curly hair on his chest.  We
were joined by a fourth guy, an older man, absolutely
covered in hair - all over his front, and back, and
completely covering his ass.  The dealer grunted
disapprovingly at this as he tried to "dress" the guy,
muttering that it was well known that you needed to
shave the backs of hairy men if you ever wanted to
sell them!

There was a bit of scuffling when the next slave was
brought in, as he seemed reluctant to be put on
display - and then, to my horror, I saw that it wasn't
a guy - it was a woman, probably in her late twenties!
 She shouted as the dealer gagged her, and wriggled
and tried to break away from him as he stripped her of
the shorts she was wearing.  I couldn't help starting
to sprout an erection as I looked at her being
"dressed" by the dealer - she was still wearing a
tattered T so her breasts weren't exposed, but the
dealer clearly enjoyed the "dressing" as I saw his
fingers stray into her slit as he worked away.  I
couldn't help it - I hadn't seen a woman for so long,
I completely lost it, and my dick reached for the sky,
leaving the little strip of cloth fluttering by the
side of it.  I noticed that the big black and the
blond were all the same way (Although not the hairy
guy), and in that instant the woman saw us, too, and
saw our line of erect dicks.  That started her
struggling even more - she looked really pissed off.
Now, OK, I know it's not really great to be exhibited
as a slave, but, after all, us guys were only showing
how much we admired her body, weren't we?  And we
couldn't help it, after all - if you're standing there
almost naked yourself, seeing another guy fingering
the slit of a good looking woman not five paces away
from you is going to turn you on, isn't it?   Of
course when he stripped away her T shirt, cutting it
off with his scissors so she just had the two little
pieces of white loin cloth like the rest of us, I
couldn't help myself - I was drooling pre-cum from my
dick!

The dealer saw us guys all like that, and came over
and snapped "That's quite enough!  This is a family
show, you know!  We don't want you erect unless a
buyer is inspecting you closely - it puts off the
ladies, and frightens the kids!  Unless you all want
forcibly masturbating, you'd better lose those
erections.  Male slaves are not supposed to be
attracted to female slaves - unless your master wants
to breed from you, you're not even supposed to think
about sticking those dicks of yours up a cunt."

As he was speaking, I began to feel so ashamed.  I
guess that it's because the sort of crimes I'd
committed were only done by young guys in general, and
then I'd been taken to a dealership specialising in
male slaves, that it had just never entered my mind
that there might be female slaves, too.  And now I was
chained here, looking at the breasts (and very nice
breasts they were, too, kind of "pert" and not at all
droopy as they jutted out proudly from her),  and body
of a very attractive woman, I couldn't help thinking
about what might happen.  I know the dealer had said
that am master might want to breed from me - surely he
couldn't mean that I might have to fuck another slave
like the one in front of me?  Not that that wouldn't
be fun, from the look of her, but the idea of being
made to do it as part of my life as a slave, rather
than choosing to do it after all the thrill of the
chatting up and the seduction, filled me with
revulsion.

More of the staff were bringing other slaves now,
though, and I watched as about another ten males, and
five females, were chained up with us.  All of us were
pretty decent looking - I wouldn't have minded
sticking it in to any of the women - and I suppose
that was because we were all in the "under 25" class.
After a time, my sexual excitement went away - once
you've looked at a few almost naked women for long
enough, you cease to think of them as sexy, I suppose.
 Or perhaps it was just the environment after all -  I
used to get erections several times an hour in "real"
life, after all, and standing here almost naked, with
all that female flesh on display, I ought to have been
rock solid all the time.

The dealer was going around now making a final
inspection of us, checking to make all our ankle
chains were secure, and generally fussing around us.
I noticed he pinched the tits of all the women, and
liked to get his fingers in  their slits.   He saw me
watching him, and I guess I might have looked kind of
contemptuous - what sort of man wants to finger a
woman when she can't resist, after all - because he
came over to me.

"This is what you're going to miss, slave.  Remember
this?", he asked, as he ran his index finger along my
upper lip, immediately under my nose, so I could
breathe in the heady, musky scent of the slave's cunt
that he'd just been fingering.

 The very whiff of it took me straight back to the
last time I'd had sex with my bitch of a wife - she'd
told me about the divorce, and I'd fucked her one last
time, even though she hollered and shouted and tried
to pretend she didn't want me up inside her again!
Silly cow - afterwards, she carried on screaming about
how she'd stopped taking her pills, and was worried
that I'd got her in the club again.  It would have
served her right if I had knocked her up - she was
still my wife, as she'd only just taken out the
divorce papers, and I had a right to her, didn't I?

That smell though, that heady essence of sex, made me
realise just how long it had been since I'd had it.
I'd been fucking the five-fingered widow for too long,
even before the forced abstinence in the dealers.  A
man's dick needs something hot and moist and muscular
around it, and although a wank is all right, it's a
poor substitute for a fuck.  Even if I escaped the
organ banks and did find a master, would he want me
nutted?  And even if I was left whole, would he ever
let me fuck again, I wondered.

End Of Part 3