Date: Wed, 10 Feb 2016 15:49:54 +0000 (UTC)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: PASSING - PART EIGHTEEN

PASSING

A story by Pete Brown  (petebrownuk@yahoo.com)

Part Eighteen Training the squaddies continues. New conditions for the
workers.  A wedding invitation.  Sam gets punished.


Against my better judgement, after dinner I was persuaded to stay.  I
didn't have a good night, as I had expected.  And Dave did not seem want to
do any of the stuff we usually did - I couldn't see that it would hurt him
to wank me, even though the wounds on his cock meant that I couldn't
reciprocate.  It wasn't even fun cuddling against him as he had to lie
there on his belly and moaned and complained about the weight of the sheets
on his bum.

In the morning therefore I wasn't in a good mood to start with, and when I
went down to the stock area to look in the cages Greg did not seem to have
made any progress, as when I ordered them to wank, they now jeered!  Mind
you, perhaps he was exerting some influence as one or two of the squaddies
seemed to be a bit battered and bruised, and Greg's knuckles looked a bit
red and raw.  I remembered that he had told me that sergeants often had to
"show them what it was all about" when a recruit was particularly stroppy.

I was still angry - in a controlled way - about how Greg has implied
criticism of my actions at Colchester. And he needed to be taught a lesson.
Mind you, I could see that what I was proposing was likely to set back his
attempts to impose authority, but it seemed worth it.

"Greg!  Kneel down and demonstrate how a slave wanks for its owner", I
commanded.

He looked at me as if he was about to protest, he was breathing heavily,
his chest all puffed up, and his eyes blazing.  I needed to exert control.
"Get to it, Greg.  Or shall I have you do some of the other things a slave
does, too?  Or, rather have done to you some of the things that happen to
slaves?  I think it should be possible, through the bars..."

He was seething now - but seething impotently, I could tell.  There was no
way he was going to let all those blokes see him get fucked!  If he'd
thought about it of course he'd have realised that there's no way I would
fuck him in front of others so it was a bit of an empty threat.  But that's
why some men are owners, and some slaves - we think!

Hanging his head as if in some way this would hide him from the eight men
crowded in the cage with him he sank to his knees, put his heels together
and spread his knees wide, then sank back so that his bum was resting on
his heels.  He straightened his back, still head down, and we could all see
his cock there hanging down, totally exposed.  It was totally limp, and I
wondered how Greg was feeling - he probably hated obeying me like this, but
on the other hand he had nothing to be ashamed of as he was, after all,
obeying his owner.  And anyway it also showed his big, low-hanging balls
which were nearly touching the ground, and any male, even a slave, can be
proud of that.

He looked half up at me, pleadingly.  But I simply stood there in the eerie
silence that had broken out, saying nothing and simply staring back at him.
As usual it was he who turned his gaze away and broke eye contact.  Then he
reached for his cock, and began to stroke it.  I suppose it's the same for
all of us - however much it's embarrassing and awful, if you stroke your
cock long enough sooner or later it starts to go hard!  And Greg's efforts
were soon rewarded with his cock sticking out rock solidly.  He looked at
me again as if to plead with me to let him stop, but I ignored his looks
and so he simply had to continue.  It didn't take long after that until he
started to shoot - not much of course, as he's an older guy, but a quite
respectable little puddle in the palm of his hand.

I ordered him to show it to the other men who were looking horrified,
interested and even amused by all of this.  I said quietly "Now then you
know how to dispose of that, don't you?"  Greg at first shook his head but
then when he saw I was serious he brought his hand up and licked the cum
from his palm.

Some of them laughed, but then they all started to call out to me that it
was disgusting, and the foul language started all over again.  I can't
understand why - nothing had really changed, they were still there as they
had been before, and would remain so until the obeyed.  And all men have,
after all, at lest tried their own cum at some time or another so there's
nothing unusual really in slurping it down.

I looked at Greg again and said "You know what you`ve got to do. I want all
these slaves doing as you just did.  And until then we will cut the rations
in half."  I walked away then, but I thought it was a good sign that some
of the young blokes had got closer to Greg and were commiserating with him
about his foul treatment.

Before I went back to my flat I decided to go into the old S&D to see how
the changes were progressing - building work had started in some parts.  So
I walked down there and went in and was surprised to see a lot of the sales
guys sitting around - and I do mean a lot, as the reception area seemed
full of them.  I called the sales manager over and asked what the fuck all
these people were doing.

"Oh you're not paying all of them", he told me breezily.  "We get a lot of
retired men around here who are happy to come in and work for nothing -
they just like the opportunity to handle the slaves."

"That's as may be.  But it's hardly the image we want, is it?  Fat old
retired codgers with their bellies hanging over their belts?  This is
supposed to be a place where you come for fit slaves, and they simply
haven't got the right image.  Get rid of them."

"But..."

"We're not paying them. So they don't have employment contract.  So go out
there and get rid of them.  And then I want all the people we do pay, the
regular salesmen, at a meeting in 30 minutes."

"But..."

"Do I need a new Sales Manager too?"

He nodded and went out, and I could see angry gesturing and so on as he
spoke to the men, but that's business, isn't it.  I met with him again
before the meeting I had told him to call and asked him about the paid
salesmen, and it did not, on the surface, seem very promising.  "You see,
sir", he told me, "S&D do not pay very well, and the commission rate's
rubbish.  So we've got no hope of attracting the best people.  Most of
these men can't get a job anywhere else - they're mostly local lads, never
did well at school, so didn't go to college, and these days, without a
degree, well you know how it is..."

"No I don't.  So tell me."

"Look, sir, without a degree there's only labouring or shelf filling at
Tesco. And most of these lads have girlfriends who are the same, and the
girls are desperate to get pregnant so put themselves around a bit, so they
soon have kids and then the trouble really begins..."

"Whoa!  Go over that again..."

"No degree, no good job.  Everyone knows that sooner or later any unskilled
jobs will get done by slaves.  So then you're out of work.  And after the
one year of unemployment pay, that's it.  So you starve, or get into debt,
or both.  And anyway you can't pay your tax. So you're enslaved.  And the
girls have it all sussed out as you can't be enslaved when you're bringing
up kids, so they get pregnant as soon as they can, and stay that way -
well, for as long as they can, one kid after another.  But for the men it's
different - they get suckered in to knocking the girls up, can't resist it!
Then they have to pay upkeep for the kid - and if low wages weren't bad
enough already, now it's really tough..."

"So these men are really glad of a job selling slaves?"

"Well it's not selling really - more displaying the slaves, showing them
off, then taking the customer to the pay point."

There were about 20 of them in the room where I was to meet them, and on my
way I I stopped to pick up a pair of the small slave shorts that S&D used
to show off slaves to ladies to avoid causing embarrassment.  Most of the
men were in their twenties I would guess - perhaps that's as long as they
could last before getting enslaved - and they had that kind of typical
underdog look, showing not much enthusiasm or interest.

"You are all on standard contracts", I told them.  "Which means we can get
rid of you in two months.  So this is formal notice that you are all fired,
and are now working out those two months."  I saw the look of shock and
disbelief in all of them, and one stood up and pointed his finger
threateningly at me.

"I'm the union rep.  You can't do that."

"What's your name?"

"Stuart."

"Well, Stuart, I can.  I have bought the S&D Outlet operation, as I have
bought many, many other companies.  And I know the labour laws relating to
the transfer of undertakings far, far better than you.  So I can give you
all notice, as I just have, and invite you to reapply for your jobs in my
new enterprise, which I am now formally doing.  Any man who wishes to
continue in employment with the new Dave's Slaves can apply.  And I am sure
most of you will want to - I am told you mostly have wives or girlfriends,
and kids?"  There was a lot of murmuring and nodding around the place and I
went on "Good.  And things are going to be better for you - the new
philosophy here is to offer only the best quality slaves, at high, but
still bargain, prices.  So they should be easy to sell."

They seemed less interested in this but I went on "This is good news for
you as in future you will be paid only on commission.  No regular salary.
Just 5% of the purchase price of every slave.  Most of you ought to end up
with about three times what you now make."

There was a lot of interest now, and the men were all talking to each
other, and seemed very cheerful.

"That will have to be negotiated", the union rep, Stuart, shouted. "We
demand a regular wage.  What happens if there's a slump in the sales of
slaves...."

"I do not negotiate with unions.  Each man here is free to choose whether
to work here or not, and if he does, it's the straight 5%.  And if there's
a slump in sales, he will need to work harder to make his money."

"What a bout all the other stuff?  Sick pay, pension, uniforms..." Stuart
shouted.

"We will pay the average weekly earnings over the past six months to any
man who is sick, for a maximum of three weeks.  Pension provisions are each
man's responsibility.  And I'm glad you asked about uniforms, as there will
be changes."  There was some muttering from the men now, but I went on
calmly "When buyers come here to buy a slave in future they will be coming
to buy a male, as we are no longer stocking females.  And men buying a male
slave want to experience the thrill of selecting their slave, examining it,
maybe even trying it out, in a proper male atmosphere.  Think how exciting
the atmosphere is in a typical locker room, with naked and half-naked men
around.  I believe that sales will be increased - to the benefit of all of
you on commission - if we do everything possible to heighten the feeling of
men together, men with good bodies showing them off, men acting like
men...."  I paused and went on, holding up the slave shorts, "So this is
the new uniform for the salesmen - these and your `duty belts' with your
goads, cuffs, alarm, etc."

There was a lot of noise and dissension now but I raised my voice and
continued "Imagine a man with a really boring job who comes here to buy a
slave.  And he sees not only the naked slaves - yes, all slaves will be
offered for sale naked - but the guards wearing really exciting,
stimulating uniforms.  Your belts will be thick leather, slung very low,
and your shorts will be a little smaller than these so that there's an
exciting flash of flesh between them and the belt...."

"No way!", Stuart called out.  "There's no way my members will dress like
that.  Putting ourselves on show, as if we were slaves..."

"As I have said, the slaves will be naked.  You will be respectable in a
belt and shorts.  So you will not be like slaves.  But it's entirely up to
you - no one is forced to work here if they do not want to.  Go and get a
job somewhere else, if you can.  Especially a job that will pay as well as
we will be doing.  And, who knows, if you can't get a job anywhere else you
may well end up as slaves anyway as good jobs are hard to find.  And you
may well then end up here again, but this time you will not have
shorts.... As I said, all slaves will be offered for sale naked."

There was a lot of discussion now, and I felt I was winning.  So after a
few moments I went on "So, Stuart, why don't you show your members that
this is a good deal for them - three times the pay, remember....  Come up
here and show them you are not ashamed of the deal you could all have, show
them the new uniform...."

There was a lot of laughter from the men now, and then they began to shout
"Stuart, Stuart, Stuart..."

"I guess the union never got them such a good deal", I said to him quietly
so the others could not really hear.  "You know it's best for them, don't
you?  It will keep them out of slavery for several years - I bet most of
your members don't normally last that long what with the cost of kids,
taxes, and so on?  I reckon you owe it to them, to give them this chance,
after your union really failed to get a good deal for so long...."  I
paused to give him a little time then added "I reckon you owe it to them.
Or have you got something to be ashamed of?  Worried that those shorts will
show you're not real man?"

He glared at me, then held up his hands to quieten the men.  "Lads, the
union needs to get all this down in writing, and to see what else we can
get for you.  But I reckon the money is good, very good, at least...."
There were cheers from the men and he went on "As for the uniform and
stuff, we will negotiate..."

I cut in. "No negotiation.  Take it or leave it.  Why don't you show them,
or are you afraid?"

Glaring at me he took the shorts from my hand and went to go off to put
them on.  "No, Stuart, stay with us", I shouted. "We're all men together
here - just slip them on to show us."

He hesitated for quite a long time, them bent down to undo his boots and
pulled them off, then undid his belt and lowered his uniform trousers.  He
then realised he couldn't put the shorts on over his boxers, so slipped
them down - amusingly, he turned away from the audience as he did this so
only I got to see his cock - quite a respectable one - but some of the men
shouted rude remarks about his bum which was turned towards them.

I gave him his equipment belt to put on, then told him to take off his
shirt so we could all see the total effect.  He did, then stood there.  And
I seized the advantage by standing next to him and putting an arm around
his shoulders as a kind of psychological "hold".  I ran my hands lightly
down his chest and belly and told the men "See, Stuart here looks really
good, doesn't he?  Good enough to sell!"  There was a lot of laughter and I
waited until it had quietened before going on "But Stuart here is quite
fit, and I see some of you are not.  So before you come for your interview
I suggest you use the equipment here to get a good flat belly and nice
pecs."  The men were quiet again and I added "We don't want to have to turn
you down, but as you can see having Stuart like this is really exciting,
especially if he was standing next to a naked slave, and that's the
atmosphere we are looking to achieve."

I struck home then as I added "A word of warning, though - the new uniform
shorts will be smaller than these.  And Stuart here - and I suspect almost
all of you - will have to get rid of those free man pubic bushes!  You'll
need to trim and style yourselves properly."


And with that I turned and left.  It had been thrilling to get a free man
to strip and show himself off in that way, and I wondered how much further
I might have taken it. A few minutes later as I was still inspecting
progress on the building works Stuart came up to me.

"Look, I kind of agree with you.  The new wages are very good.  And I'll
try to get the union to agree."

"It is irrelevant, as I said.  Each man can take the job or not, as he
wishes."

"...but this uniform. Those tiny shorts...."

"It's not all they'll be wearing!  You will also have boots, and peaked
caps, I think.  And your equipment belt.  It all adds to the stimulating
atmosphere.  And the more exciting it is, the more sales, the better it us
for us, the better it is for the men."  He seemed to be thinking and I
added "Of course this is the uniform for the public spaces at the showroom.
If a customer wants to carry out a detailed inspection of a slave and
requests a private room, the salesman will of course lose the shorts in
there so that the customer is seeing two naked men, one with boots, cap,
belt... Very erotic, don't you think?  It will make it hard to not buy.
And some of the salesmen might even get offers for a little sex on the
side, who knows?"

"You can't ask these men to do that.  Not to shave their pubes, go around
naked... They've got wives, and girlfriends..."

"I'm not asking.  It's their choice.  And which do you think they'd rather
do?  Explain to their women why they've trimmed - not shaved - their pubes?
Or explain to them that it's basically over, that in a very short time
they'll be slaves themselves?"  I paused and went on "If you really care
about your members you need to spend time now persuading them to get into
the gym and get fit!  We won't employ the fat - we're after an erotic mood
in the place, remember.  The buyers can be fat, old, fat and old, whatever.
But the staff are going to be fit and lean!"

I was so pleased with myself that I had handled the salesmen situation so
well that I decided to go back to Dave's rather than go home as I ought to
have.  When I got there he was really looking happy, and opened an envelope
and pulled out an invitation card.  I could see at once it was a very, very
expensive invitation - stiff card, not paper.  Gold edges.  And as I ran my
fingers over it I could feel the type standing out so it was engraved, not
laser printed.  I began to read "The Earl & Countess Of Cheadle request the
pleasure of the company of", and here, in beautiful copperplate
handwriting, was inserted "Mr David Challenor" before continuing "On the
occasion of the marriage of their daughter Victoria Helen Elisabeth to Mr
Samuel....."  It went on with a lot of stuff about time and date, and I saw
it was to be at Cheadle Castle, and then there was the normal "RSVP".  Dave
was so happy that I didn't want to shed even the tiniest seed of doubt in
his mind and joined in with him talking about the wedding and so on.  But
then I made my excuses, and left for home.

I had had an invitation, too, I found.  But mine was to the church, and the
lunch, and then the evening festivities.  Whereas Dave's had, I had
noticed, been only for the evening.  There was a message waiting for me
from Cyrus's PA, too, saying that My and Mrs Williams had been invited to
the wedding - I called him, and found that Cyrus's was to the whole affair,
too.  So I picked up the phone and called Sam.

He was rising through the ranks at my old company, evidently, as there was
a receptionist who rather rudely enquired "From which company", then a
secretary who demanded "In what connection?" And finally his PA who told me
he was busy, wand was likely to be so for some time.  Restraining my temper
I said quite calmly "Please interrupt his meeting.  Inform him it is me,
and that he is to be on the line within the next three minutes as it is in
connection with an important deal - refer to `The New York One', please."

That seemed to do the trick and Sam was soon speaking to me.  "Sir, New
York?"

"Yes, Sam.  The East End boy makes good deal.  The East End boy uses his
boss's money to buy expensive engagement ring deal.  And now the East End
boy marries Lady Victoria deal - possibly.  Do your future parents in law
know anything about you really, Sam?"

"They know I make a lot of money.  Have excellent prospects."

"..and does not pay back his debts.  And drops his friends when they no
longer suit him."

"I've invited you to the wedding, sir.  And Cyrus."

"And what about Dave, Sam?  What about Dave, who saved you from what would
almost certainly have ended up as slavery?  Who cherished you when you were
a teenager? Who was then your... Shall we say `fuck buddy'? "

"He's invited too, sir..."

"But only to the evening celebration. Not the rest."

"Oh that's Vicky, and Lady Cheadle.  The don't think Dave is quite
suitable, and they do the invitations.  You and Cyrus are different..."

"...not different, Sam, just richer!  Now, Sam, listen as I will only say
this once.  I want a proper invitation for Dave.  And I want it couriered
to him by special courier to arrive tomorrow at the latest.  Together with
a hand-written note from `Lady Victoria' or the Countess of Cheadle or
whoever, apologising for the mistake."

"I'll see what I can do, sir."

"Sam, you heard me. And you know I do not repeat myself.  And you know that
I will have what I want.  And I do not tolerate failure. So simply make
sure it happens." And with that I put the phone down.

I was at Dave's the following afternoon and was extremely pleased as when I
went down to inspect the "squaddies" Greg snapped "Attention" as I went in,
and then "Easy!", so that the men were all aligned along the edge of the
cage with their hands respectfully behind their backs.  I had Dave open the
cage and motioned for Greg to come out, and keeping my voice low said
"Well, some progress."

"Yes, sir."

"How?"

"Oh, the usual stuff, sir.  Esprit de corps.  And talking sense.  And
beating up one of the stupider ones. And we're hungry."  He grinned as he
said the last bit.

"I'm very pleased, Greg.  So are they going to wank for me?  You know what
I demanded."

"It's tough, sir.  They're almost there, they probably will..."

I nodded, and had the cage opened so Greg could join his men.  I looked up
and down the line, feeling my cock go stiff at seeing so many fit young men
so helpless in front of me.  I wanted to move on, and a little something
will often unlock a difficult situation I know, so I addressed them.  "Greg
is really proud of your progress.  And I am pleased.  As you know, you are
all slaves, and that is a fact - nothing can change it, as once a slave,
always a slave, there is no remission, no pardon.  You men are fortunate,
though, as you are going to have a good life - or as good a life as a slave
can reasonably have.  You will be properly housed - here - and properly
fed.  And you will be allowed to exercise to keep fit and happy."  I paused
and walked up and down again, then continued "And I know men like you like
fucking - Greg tells me you all had wives or girlfriends.  And I want all
of you to keep those cocks of yours in good working order.  So although you
are slaves and therefore no longer married, I have decided to allow each of
you one conjugal visit every two weeks."

"Sir", Greg respectfully interrupted.  "Some off the lads... Conjugal?"

"Thank you, Greg.  Yes.  Conjugal.  You will be allowed to meet your
ex-partners, and your kids, once every two weeks, in private.  Here, of
course.  The builders are building two rooms - rather like high quality
hotel rooms - where you will be able to spend time with your ex-partners.
Three hours, every two weeks.  A rota will be worked out."

"Please, sir...", one of the men called out "My girlfriend works..."

"Input that to the rota so you get an evening.  And as I know many of the
women have kids and will have no money, so we will pay reasonable travel
expenses for them."

The men were all looking really happy now, and Greg was beaming.  The time
was right, so I said to him, so that they could all hear, "Greg, order the
men to wank, using the proper slave wank.  There's no point in all this
conjugal visiting if any man is incapable of getting an erection or of
producing semen."

Look, I guess some of you are not fortunate enough to own a fit, young male
slave, so you will not fully understand just how sexually exciting it is to
see a guy kneeling in front of you and wanking.  And almost none of you
will ever have had the opportunity to see eight - nine, if you count Greg -
doing it simultaneously!  My cock was actually aching it was so very, very
hard as it strained futilely to get out of my underwear and trousers.

Afterwards I called Greg out again and told him I wanted him to stay in
charge of the squaddies until he was sure they were properly trained, and
he was now to use his discretion about feeding them, exercising them, and
training them to handle slaves.  He looked kind of sad, but I reassured him
this was only to get them "broken in", and that he would become my personal
slave again once the men were all performing properly and once we had
bought another sergeant or something to replace him, as we would need to go
to Colchester to buy more guards at some point.

I then discussed business with Dave for an hour or so and we made plans to
go to the annual major Slave Sale at the NEC as Dave could now afford to
buy in more stock, of good quality.  And then I had to dodge a few
questions from him about the wedding, and I surmised that no new invitation
had arrived.

Out of Dave's hearing I punched my phone for Sam and this time got through
immediately as I assumed he had been at his people not to annoy the rich
and powerful like me.  And after a couple of exchanges of meaningless
small-talk I said there was no invitation.

"Yes, sir, I'm sorry about that.  I spoke to Vicki and Lady Cheadle and
they both said they'd like to do something but all the lunch tables were
full."

"You know that's rubbish, Sam.  Someone always fails to turn up.  It's like
airline bookings - there are always no-shows."

He sounded embarrassed.  And finally said "Please, sir.  I can't get them
to change it without saying who Dave really is."

"You know me, Sam.  No excuses."  And I put the phone down.

In spite of possibly setting back the proper training of the squaddies I
then had to have Greg brought up from the cages, had him dress in slave
shorts and a T, and fastened a travel token to his collar so he could come
back with me to the flat.  I also put in a request on the special site that
Ted had given me, and found out that Sam's diary suggested he was going to
a leaving celebration that evening for one of the firm's staff, and I knew
from experience that managers tended to leave those at around 20:30 so that
the others could have a more uninhibited celebration.

That gave me plenty of time, and I took Greg shopping up to Oxford Street
where there's a branch of a big national chain of camping specialists, and
bought some stuff.  Then we were waiting around the corner outside the pub,
in my car, at about 20:15.  I had explained to Greg what we were going to
do, and that I trusted him completely in this, and he grinned.  "It's Jason
all over again, isn't it, sir?"

Sam clearly hadn't quite got the hang of the "management thing" as it was
closer to 21:00 when he came out, and he'd almost certainly had more drinks
that I would have done at such an event.  So once the street was reasonably
clear Greg has no problem is sneaking up behind him, cupping his hand over
Sam's mouth to stop him screaming, then together we roped him tight using
the mountaineering rope I'd bought earlier.  Greg easily carried him over
his shoulder back to my car, where he threw him into the boot.

We drove to the new Dave's Slaves where the builders had just finished one
of my innovations - new punishment cells.  I had been concerned about marks
left on the flesh by canes, tawses, whips and so on as they tended to make
a negative impact on potential customers who would see the slave as a
troublemaker.  Or we might have to hold on to it until the marks faded, so
increasing our holding costs.  The new punishment cells were designed to
overcome this, being small cubic "spaces" sunk into the ground and built
entirely of concrete.  The cells were accessed by holes in the walkway
above them, and the slave could be dropped in and a heavy iron manhole
cover, making a very satisfactory "final" clanking noise, pushed over it.
They were icy cold inside as they were specially air-conditioned (but
undetectably so as I wanted the slave to feel trapped in a seemingly
airless place), completely comfortless as there was nothing in them and
only the bare concrete walls and floor, and pitch dark when the cover was
put in place as there were no lights.  There was not even a drainage hole,
as to increase the slave's misery it would have to piss and crap on the
bare floor.

I had Greg blindfold Sam as he hauled him out of the boot of my car, and
then carry him into the building and down the stairs to the basement where
these punishment cells were. I knew Sam would have no idea where he was.  I
had Greg take off the blindfold, and untie the ropes.  Sam stood there
rubbing his wrists and looking around worriedly - even the area on top of
the cells was designed to look intimidating.

"What...", he began but I cut him of, snapping "Strip".

He hesitated, I nodded at Greg, who slapped him, hard, on his face. I
repeated "Strip. Unclothe. Get naked."

Seeing Greg poised to hit him again, Sam started doing so and began to
plead with me saying "Sir, please... What have I done?...."

I glared at him. "It's what you have not done, Sam.  I gave you
instructions about Dave's invitation.  It has not arrived.  So you are to
be punished."

"I couldn't.  Lady Chorley would not agree...." he stammered, and seeing me
looking impassive tried to brazen it out.  "In any case, you can't do this
to me.  I'm not a slave...."

"You know I do not tolerate excuses, Sam.  And yes, I can do this to you.
No one knows where you are.  These cells are completely secure, and I can
keep you here for as long as I wish.  Years, if necessary.  And as you
rightly say, you are not a slave, although I do not see how this helps with
your current predicament.  But perhaps you should say you are not yet a
slave, as when you get out - or should that be if you get out - we can
always have you tattooed with a SIN, branded, and `skinned.  And you know
what they say, if it looks like a duck...".

"No...", he howled in terror now.  And as he had stopped undressing, I
nodded to Greg to slap him again.

Finally he stood naked in front of me, stupidly trying to cover his cock
and balls with his hands.  I let him watch as Greg stuffed all his clothes
into a sack and commented that we were going to take them away and dump
them as he no longer had any need of them.  Then I reached forward and
pinched his belly slightly, telling him that he had put weight on, and that
he would at least lose that now: it was good to see how he flinched at the
touch of my fingers on his skin.  And finally I made him drink a full 2
litre bottle of water, as I wanted him to have to piss down there in the
cell.  He looked really pathetic standing there naked, the bottle to his
lips, head back, and pausing every now and then to beg to be allowed to
stop, then having to go on as Greg looked so menacing.

I told him to sit on the edge of the hole leading to one of the cells, and
then to lever himself forward and allow himself to drop, supported by his
hands initially.  He carried on begging, and I told him calmly "Either drop
down carefully under your own control, or I'll get Greg to push you in and
the hard floor will hit you painfully.  Seeing he had no choice, he did as
he was told and Greg and I peered down at him standing below us, three feet
below the hatch.  Then Greg pushed the manhole cover in place, and his
cries were totally cut off.

In designing these cells I was aware that we might be punishing potentially
valuable stock and so as well as the concealed air conditioning there was
also hidden IR lighting and cameras, so we could watch Sam from the control
room.  In what for his was inky blackness and total silence he "explored"
the place, running his hands over every inch of the walls as if in the hope
of finding some way out.  He tried calling, then screaming, although he
soon gave up as he realised from the "dead" nature of the room that nothing
was getting out.  And finally he had to piss, and was then helpless to see
where it was on the floor so he sat in it.  He leaned back against the
hard, cold wall, pulled his knees up to his chin, wrapped his arms around
his legs, and sat there sobbing gently.

Although it was about 23:00 when Sam went in to the cell I did not want to
leave him there all night.  I knew his time sense would be completely
disoriented though, so at about two in the morning I had Greg pull back the
cover and peered down at Sam and shouted "Good morning!  Now, first thing,
I'm going to give you a telephone, you're going to call Lady Chorley and
tell her about the new invitation and..."

"She won't listen...!" Sam cut across me, rather rudely I thought.  So I
motioned to Sam and he pushed the lid back closed.

Three hours later we opened it again and as I said "Lunch..." to further
disorientate his time sense, and Sam began to plead and cry and beg to be
let out.

"It's simple, Sammy", I reminded him, using the diminutive to lower his
status.  "You make the call.  You get a nice new invitation here to Dave,
and you get out.  Now, how hard is that to understand?"

"I can't... She won't....."  He was saying as the lid closed on him again.

Three more hours went by and I do admit I was beginning to get worried.  I
didn't want Sam to break down or anything like that.  This time I dangled a
phone down to him, telling him to press the button to dial as the number
was programmed in.  He snatched at it and I could tell I'd won.

He began quite calmly, asking for an invitation.  Then started to demand.
And finally he raged that he was the bridegroom, and that if she wanted the
marriage to her daughter to go ahead she's fucking well better do as he
said.  I wondered if that was the first time the Countess had been spoken
to in that way before.  As a reward for this little performance I left the
lid off, and Greg dropped a slave chow bar and another bottle of water down
to him, telling him he was in there until the invitation actually arrived -
although at 11:00, when he had been down there about 12 hours, I relented
and Greg lowered a rope down and then winched Sam up.  He stood there on
the edge of the hole, clasping his arms around him to try to get warm and
shivering with the cold.

"You're lucky, Sammy", I told him.  "I've decided on a bit of a different
plan.  We're going to wait until the courier arrives, then you are
personally going to take the invitation to Dave, apologise for the mistake,
and ask him if he would be your best man.  I think he'd like that."

"Sir, please... Yes, I'll take it.  Yes, I'll apologise.  But Vicki's
brother is gong to be my best man, he works with me, it will be very
difficult...."

I looked meaningfully at the hole, and he stammered "Please, sir, you must
see that..."

Well I suppose he was right, and there was no way, after all, that Dave
could stand up and tell stories about Sam's life and how they'd met.  So I
nodded, and added "Well then, I know what.  He can sit at the top table,
next to you.  He's been a bit like a father to you, so that's the right
place for him."

Seeing Greg move towards him Sam nodded vigorously.  So I told Greg to take
him off and clean him up, and give him back his clothes.

I was with Dave discussing how things were going when Sam arrived, and it
was very touching to see how Dave threw his arms around Sam when the offer
was made, and how then Sam hugged Dave too.  Very affecting.  I wondered
why sometimes it's so fucking hard to get people to do the right thing.

We all went to the pub to celebrate, and I allowed Greg to come too - in
that area the pubs are pretty relaxed and they don't mind slaves and free
men mingling, provided the slaves are properly respectful of course.  And I
thought Greg deserved a pint after all the stuff he'd done for me with the
squaddies, and Sam - not that slaves should be specially rewarded for doing
their jobs, but it can help.

Over a pie and a pint or two I was able to tell Dave about some of then new
facilities and how effective they were as punishment without causing damage
to the skin of the property.  It was quite amusing to watch Sam almost
squirm as I did so.

End Of Part Eighteen