Date: Mon, 22 Feb 2016 12:43:43 +0000 (UTC)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: PASSING - PART NINETEEN

PASSING

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PASSING

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

Part Nineteen

Business Progress.  Relationship with Dave.  I acquire a new slave.

Over the next two months I was very, very pleased indeed with the progress
that was being made on all fronts.  The builders and interior fitters had
the new Dave's Slaves in a good enough condition so that we cold start
trading from there, and so I had the opportunity of travelling with Dave to
a lot of the specialised slave auctions which, although they are open to
the public, are generally frequented by "the trade" as you really do need
to understand the system, how to get approved for bidding, how to pay,
where to collect your purchases, and so on.  I saw several ordinary men
looking angry and frustrated as very good slaves were knocked down at quite
bargain prices to traders like Dave as they had not yet learned how to bid.

Greg's training of the "squaddies" had gone well too, so much so that with
the influx of stock we needed more, so we had another very agreeable day at
Colchester buying some more miscreants from the army, and with their
colleagues already trained and able to give them "encouragement" (I let it
be known that conjugal visits would be cut off if the new men were not
integrated properly and quickly) they were soon a well-functioning part of
the team.  I also got to see the first of the conjugal visits in action - I
let the men choose which two were to go first, and then it was kind of
funny to see both of them marching out to greet their women and kids, their
taut bodies and tight bums looking so good together, and they couldn't help
being rampantly erect as they went towards them.

Actually they looked especially good because of the "uniform" I had decided
on for them - "DAVE'S SLAVES - GUARD" was tattooed huge letters from
shoulder to shoulder, which emphasised their trim waists and muscular bums,
and the individual guard's name was tattooed on the front of his cock.
This had caused a lot of trouble initially, especially as they all had
`skins which I had got Dave to remove, and they didn't like all this
attention being drawn to their cocks - it's hard not to look, after all,
when the cock has big black letters along it.  Greg had suggested that we
ought to let them have at least a pair of shorts, but I forbad it saying
that the squaddies worked and lived naked and so there was no reason to
change this as it was perfectly normal for them.  And of course presumably
their women were used to seeing their erect cocks (although perhaps not
that of their mate!)

Greg had wanted to be like "his men" and have these same tattoos, but I
didn't like the idea of him having "Guard" permanently on his back, so did
not allow that.  Although I did rather like the way his name really added
emphasis to his nice thick cock.  I wanted him back serving me, though, and
after some discussion we agreed that one of the squaddies - he'd been a
corporal or something - should be "promoted" to be the chief guard, and to
distinguish him from the rest easily I ordered his nipples to be pierced
and big, heavy steel rings fitted in to them - not the tiny kind you see
homosexuals wearing in some of the old porn, but proper heavy ones so that
as he walked, ran or marched they bounced up and down and would remind him
of his status.  It had occurred to me that the guards should all have large
heavy PA rings in their cock heads, but Greg reminded me that in part we
controlled these men by the prospect of conjugal visits and that did not
fit well with the kind of very large rings I had in mind.  What really
swayed me though was his view that it might also lead to potential damage
if an unruly new slave were to grab at them and get a finger into the ring
to try to control the guard - a guard with a torn cock would be useless for
some time, a real waste.

The various "facilities" were finished too, and Dave now had really nice,
sterile, easy to clean places where he could carry out `skinning and
vasectomies if required. But as he was getting busier and busier with the
actual trading we advertised for a veterinarian for much of the routine
work and decided it was another service we could offer even if we had not
sold the slave - an owner could bring the slave in to be `skinned, or
ringed, or even castrated (as a matter of principle we did not routinely
castrate the slaves we sold and did everything we could to discourage it,
offering to do it in three months time if a buyer was still wanting it,
which almost never happened).

Our punishment chambers were soon in operation, too.  I've already told you
about Sam in the punishment pits, but now we had a full range of
flogging/fucking horses (some in private rooms so that owners who wanted to
take the cherry of their new slave could do so without having to do it in
front of other men), frames, hooks, chains, winches in the ceiling and all
the other things you'd expect to enable an owner to select how a slave was
to be held for punishment.  We offered these facilities, for a fee, to the
public too, as so many people did not have space for this variety of
equipment in their homes. And so we also needed to employ a couple of
"whipmasters".  I wanted to use slaves for the meting out of punishment to
the others but Dave said it was never all that successful as a slave tended
to "hold back" and not use a whip, cane or tawse with maximum power of a
fellow slave.  And although there were many "volunteers" from the general
public - usually retired men seeking amusement - I wanted the thing done
professionally by big, strong, virile-looking men in their thirties and
early forties who could dress appropriately in tight shorts and boots.  I
then discovered that although an owner was entitled to whip a slave
himself, if the whipping was to be provided as part of a service it needed
to use "licensed operators" and that the Guild Of Whipmasters pretty much
had these licences sewn up.  The two men were therefore quite a drain on
the salary bill, but it was interesting to see that when we then charged
"premium prices" the public still brought their slaves to us.  And over
time we had a public viewing gallery added so that for a small fee the
public could watch the day's punishments proceeding - keeping the price
just below that of a cinema ticket meant that we always had a good
audience, and it was very profitable.

This diversification in to veterinarian services and punishments helped to
bring more people through the doors and sales continued to increase, as
well as being useful additional revenue streams to help protect us from
changes in the market for slaves.

Dave finally moved all his "stuff" to the new apartment in the complex,
too, and we put the lease of the old Dave's Slaves in the hands of an
agent.  I had wondered if we might move in together into the new apartment,
but finally decided against it.  It was a lot of fun to sleep with Dave
three or four nights a week but there was no way I could actually live with
him as he was chronically untidy - in spite of having Tim to keep
everything neat, Dave only had to be in a room for a few minutes, it
seemed, before every horizontal surface was covered with his keys, small
change, odd receipts he'd collected, his comb, letters he was thinking
about, and so on and so on.  And of course his clothes were strewn around
the bedroom - yes, when you're going to have sex you do just toss stuff
down and don't stop to fold it, I know. But Dave would take out a shirt or
a pair of underpants, decide he didn't "feel like these today" and simply
drop them on the floor before selecting another, and it was the same with
the towels in the bathroom, and of course the cap was never replaced on the
toothpaste....  So when we were not having sex I commuted back to my flat
in Westminster, although I had a flat similar to Dave's build next to his
in the complex in case I wanted to use it - and perhaps, I though, we could
"knock through" the two places to make one much bigger one if I ever
managed to train Dave to the point that I would be able to live with him.

Our business was actually booming, too - not only did we have a really
prime stock of slaves as Dave certainly had an "eye" for seeing how even a
slave that I had dismissed as being too puny or too fat or too ugly or
something could, with only a few weeks of training, be turned into a real
stunner.  And our sales force was doing well to keep the stock moving and
the pipeline flowing - the all-commission deal was, even Stuart admitted,
really good for the men.  But I put their success down to them having to be
as naked as the slave they were selling when a customer got into one of the
private viewing rooms to finalise his selection.  Somehow having a free man
as naked as the slave (except for cap, belt and boots) handling and showing
the slave was almost irresistibly erotic. And this was borne out when I had
a few statistics from the new systems I had installed that showed a number
of buyers came back over and over again.  Dave pointed out that these were
the buyers from construction companies looking for labourers, restaurants
looking for waiters, and so on. Previously they might have ordered a slave
online from us or a competitor, but now they really wanted to come in to us
and "explore" their purchase.  My scheme to have the "Dave's Slaves Buyers'
Club" offering them little extras was a further success and our "corporate"
trade went up by 20%.

All of this activity kept me pretty busy, especially as I still wanted to
"keep my hand in" at my own speciality by organising some financial
deals. Nothing too big - not more than 20 million or so - but even with
Jason doing all the research and a lot of the stuff, there were still
meetings to go to, things to arrange, difficulties to be smoothed over.
But it was all fun, and I enjoyed it.  No more tedious committees, no more
big meetings, no more demands for "compliance" officers - just good old
fashioned negotiations, getting each side to see all the advantages there
were to making a mutually beneficial arrangement for the future.

The wedding date therefore came up almost as a surprise, and it was a real
scramble to get Dave a morning suit made in time as I wanted him to be
really confident on the "top table" and not have some terrible hired thing
as so many of the guests would.  I had to pay my tailor a very, very
special bonus to get it to happen.  He did look handsome standing there in
the exclusive shop in Jermyn Street, but he was moaning about the cost when
he glimpsed the bill as I paid it.  "Fucking hell - just for something you
wear once!" he told me.  "I reckon I could buy a slave for that."

"Well not once...  You can wear it at our... Your wedding."

His look froze when he realised what I'd said, in spite of trying to cover
it up.  Then he grinned and punched me lightly on the arm.  "No chance of
that, I reckon!  I never get time to go out after a woman these days.  You
keep me too busy."

I didn't know whether to feel sad that he'd not seemed to consider us
getting together properly, or relieved that something that had seemed to
shock him had at least not caused a problem.

We walked to Green Park together and I think Dave, in spite of always
saying he didn't like what "toffs" did and wasting money, seemed rather
proud to be carrying the exclusive suit carrier - the tailor would of
course have sent a slave with it but Dave had refused.  Just as we were
getting there the rain started, and it was one of those hard, blowing
"April showers" that can be really heavy and soak you in minutes.  We just
got into the station in time and only two or three minutes later I was
getting out at Westminster and Dave was continuing on to change at
Stratford.

It was still pouring down as I went to leave Westminster Station but
fortunately I had my really good wet-weather coat on and it wasn't much of
a problem.  I thought about waiting for the rain to pass but the station
was busy with the usual crop of tourists also trying to keep out of the
wet, so I decided to walk at once.  But as I did so someone tugged at my
arm and I looked and saw a kid - well that's what he looked like - kind of
crouched down in a corner.  He was absolutely drenched - the rain was
soaking his jeans jacket, soaking his hair, and streaming down his face.
"Please sir... Something, anything... I'm hungry...."

At that moment there was a shout and two big Slave Police officers pounced
on him and dragged him to his feet.  "Right!", one shouted at him.  "I've
seen you here before.  A vagrant.  We warned you then, and you're still
bothering the tourists.  So it's off to the Court for you - no job, no
money, begging... It's an offence.  An enslavable offence."

The kid - well I could see now that he was not a kid but a late teenager -
looked terrified as the two SP officers grabbed his arms.  "Please, sir.
Please, no.  Not the Court...."

I stood there watching with interest as I'd read in the papers about the
new crackdown on unemployed youth.  The Government really had no interest
in bothering about the young unemployed except that by enslaving them they
had a valuable new income stream and could keep taxes down.  I guessed this
young man would be heading for one of the state sales soon, and I thought I
should tell Dave to keep an eye open for him to come up at auction as he
looked the kind of generally good looking man that we could make a fair
profit on once we'd exercised him and cleaned him up a bit.  But then
another thought struck me.

"Officer, I think there must be some mistake", I said loudly and in my best
"commanding" tone.  "This is my nephew, who I have arranged to meet here."

Both of the SP officers looked at me.  They knew I was telling a lie as I'm
certain they had in fact seen the man there before.  But knowing that, and
calling out a very respectable looking evidently wealthy citizen was
another thing.  So I struck home my advantage "Yes, I was a bit late, but
now we're going to walk over to Riverside Mansions and my apartment, for a
spot of lunch.  So if you will please let my nephew go...."

They looked not totally convinced, but had been impressed by my address.
"Sir, could we see some ID, please?"

"No.  You may not. Unless that is you have reasonable grounds for believing
that I am committing, or about to commit, some offence.  We are not in a
state of terror alert, and so the only grounds for requesting ID from a
citizen going about his lawful business is the suspicion of an offence.  If
you have that, please state the offence.  I have switched on my phone so it
is making a true recording of this, and no doubt you will be able to back
up your demand when the SP is sued for harassment."

That shook them!  The SP have such a fearsome reputation that almost no one
argues with them.  They had no idea what to do.

"For the record, can you please state your service number", I then added to
add to their sense of unease.  "As I am sure you are aware, a police
officer - even an SP officer - is required to identify himself to a citizen
if requested to."

"I'm sorry, sir...", the other one then blustered.  "I think we must have
made some mistake.  Your `nephew' does seem to look very similar to a known
vagrant who has been here for a couple of days..."

"I am glad to hear that you have made a mistake, now, we will be on our
way.". And with that I put my arm "protectively" around the boy's shoulder
- somewhat awkwardly as he was a bit taller than me, and we went off across
the road along the Embankment.

"Thanks...", the boy began.  "I'll be one my way then once those bastards
are no longer watching..."

"You're soaked.  You're cold - I can feel you shivering.  Where are you
going - I'll pay for a cab".

It was a bluff, of course, and he tried to stammer something about going
back to Westminster Station and getting the tube.  I flicked my phone on
and ran it down the front of his jacket - it's a really sophisticated
phone, as you know.  "There's no money on your travelcard, it says here".
I showed him the screen.  "And you were begging for money.  So no tube,
then?  Now, where are you going?  And when did you last eat?"

He stopped trying to bluff.  He probably reckoned I was the best
alternative he was going to find.  "Last night..."

We were almost at the door of my block now and the slave who stands outside
rushed over to cover me with his umbrella.  "Shall I kick this piece of
shit away, sir?"  he asked me.  We do have trouble with rowdy tourists some
evenings, and the slave is very big and formidable looking.  I felt the boy
cringe as I still had my arm slung over him.

"No, he's coming in", I told the slave, who now looked worried in case I
should complain to the building management.  "But it's an understandable
mistake as he looks pretty rough. But thank you for being so concerned for
the welfare of the residents."

The slave looked relieved, and as you know I do try to reasonable.

In the lift as it whisked us up to the penthouse I asked casually "So
what's your name then?"

"Darren.  And what's yours?"

"You call me `Sir'."

When we went in we were alone, as Jason was out in the City doing some
stuff for me on my next deal, and Greg was still over at Dave's on some
errand or other - I think he liked to spend time with the "squaddies" if he
could, as it made him feel important, or he wanted to be on familiar
territory, or something.  So I led Darren down the corridor to one of the
guest bathrooms and said quietly "Have a good hot bath to warm you up and
get you clean, and then we'll have food."

He went to say something, but I didn't let him and pushed him gently
through the door, and closed it.  I heard him click the lock, which
presumably made him feel more comfortable.

I left him for about five minutes then went back.  As you all probably
know, one of the benefits of being a member state of the EU is that we
implement their sensible regulations about safety, and one of those is that
you have to be able to open a bathroom door in an emergency.  So like all
the bathrooms in my apartment the door lock had a slot designed to take a
coin so you don't even need a screwdriver, so I put one in and turned then
opened the door.  Darren was lying there in the bath, and his hands flew at
once to cover his cock, although I couldn't see it anyway through the water
and the luxuriant Badedas foam all over it.

"I'll just take your clothes and put them in the washer and then we can dry
them", I told him cheerfully.  "When you're finished, just come out in a
towel - it's only men here."  As I said this I scooped up all his clothes
so he couldn't argue, and managed to take the two huge fluffy bath sheets,
too, so he was left with only the smaller towels.

Although I do not usually cook I did find some casserole or other in the
freezer, and managed to figure out how to use the microwave - sometimes I
think that having slaves around can make us too dependent.  When I turned
around he was standing there, and he really did look good - neat and
fit-looking, rather like Tim, and a bit of a younger version of Jason.
Except he didn't have Jason's blond colour but instead had a mass of dark
body hair to match the thick luxuriant crop on his head.  He had quite a
lot on his pecs for such a young man, and a thick treasure trail ran
intriguingly down across his flat belly to disappear under the towel.  His
arms and legs were covered in it, too, and as I looked I could see he had
that "five o'clock shadow" on his face.  Altogether very desirable, and I
found myself valuing him as I would a slave - it's got to be a habit after
spending so much time at the sales with Dave!  As I've said, he was a
little taller than me, and his height seemed well proportioned as he had a
"proper" sized torso but longer legs, which I like in a man.

I poured some of the casserole into a dish and motioned for him to sit at
the kitchen table, and he began to swallow it down as if he hadn't eaten
for a day or so - which, I was to discover, he hadn't.

"So, Darren, what's the story?"

"Oh. Nothing."  He looked down, avoiding my gaze.

"You haven`t eaten.  Cold, wet.  About to be enslaved.  So... Nothing?"

"It was OK until last year when mom re-married.  And he didn't like me.
Said I spent all the money that should be for his daughters.  So we were
always arguing, and mom sided with me of course, and that made him angry at
her.  And one day he hit me, and that was stupid as I'm really fit so I
smashed him one back.  He didn't try it again but I discovered he was
taking it out on mom instead, so I left."

I nodded encouragingly and he went on "It was OK at first.  I got a lift
down to London, and I had some money.  But everything's so expensive here,
especially places to stay. And there's no work for a young guy like me -
all the jobs that don't need qualifications are done by slaves.  So my
money ran out, and I had nowhere to live, and I sold most of my stuff to
buy food...."

"And then you ended up at Westminster Station, begging."

He nodded, but seemed embarrassed.  "Yes, kind of..."

I stared at him and now looking down at the table and mumbling a bit he
went on "Some of the lads I'd got to know said it was easy.  There's a lot
of politicians and people like that get off there, and they're on the look
out for nice young `fresh meat' as it's called.  So you stand around and
try to look interested in them as they come up the escalator..."

"....and sell yourself for sex?"

"Yes.... No.... Well not really...."

"Don't be afraid, Darren.  What the fuck do you mean?"

"Well I wouldn't let them fuck me.  And I wouldn't suck their cocks or
anything.  But I did let one or two of them wank me - there's a little cafe
just around the corner that still has old-fashioned booths, and they'd slip
their hands in to my jeans and get my cock out and wank me..."

"Sounds pretty innocent, giving older gentlemen a bit of fun.  So what went
wrong?"

"I stopped being `new meat'.  And there's always new lads arriving, like
me.  And the blokes always want the latest arrivals....  So I stopped
getting asked.  So I was back where I started, with no money.  And then of
course one of them offered me a lot to let him fuck me as he wanted to be
the first at that.  But I wouldn't."

"It seems to me you have a problem, Darren.  Only three choices, really.
One, you can get up and when your clothes have dried you can get out of
here and go back to Westminster Station, and the SP will see you, and
you'll end up a slave.  Or two, I will give you enough money for a ticket
and you can go home and make peace with your stepdad, and stop arguing with
him - just bite your tongue however bad it seems - until you can get some
qualifications."

"No way am I going back...."

I shrugged.  "So it's back to the Station, then.  Or why not go directly to
the SP, and save a lot of trouble?"

At that moment the flat door opened and Jason came in - or bounded in might
be more accurate, as he's always got a lot of energy and enthusiasm.  He
stopped when he saw me sitting there with Darren opposite wearing only a
towel.

"This is Jason, one of my slaves", I told Darren.  And looking at Jason
added "This is Darren, a free man."

Jason at once said quietly and properly "Hullo, sir" to Darren, who seemed
very surprised as Jason looked every inch the rich city businessman.

"Go and get changed, Jason", I snapped.  "You know I don't tolerate you
wearing your city clothes about the house".  Then I turned back to Darren
and went on "So what's it to be?  Back to stepdad, or slave?  As you can
see, you might get lucky like Jason and end up with an owner like me who's
pretty good to his slaves."

"You said there were three choices, sir...."

"Smart lad.  Yes, I suppose there is something else, but I don't suppose it
would interest you as you seemed to be so much against sex."

"I'm not, sir.  I had a lot of girlfriends.  That's what my stepdad didn't
like.  He was jealous, I reckon..."

"A lot of girlfriends, who you fucked I suppose, a handsome young man like
you?"  He nodded, and I went on "But you wouldn't let nice respectable men
do anything other than wank you?"

"No, of course not!"

"Well then, that's why the third option won't be interesting to you."

"Please, sir, at least tell me what it is...."

"First, a bit of history.  You've just seen Jason - one of my slaves.  Does
he look like a slave to you?"  Darren shook his head and I went on "No, he
doesn't, does he.  And when I first saw him he was living as a free man.
He had a great job, an apartment, fancy clothes, expensive watch, all that
sort of stuff.  But he was a slave, and he was as they say `passing' as a
free man.  Living a free man's life."

At that moment Jason came back in now wearing his normal brief slave shorts
and tight top. I pointed at the SIN on his arm and went on "But I spotted
Jason's little deception, and now he's back to being a slave, a proper
slave.  Don't be fooled by seeing him in that city suit when he came in as
I only let him wear that so he can do a better job for me when he's caring
out research and so on in the City.  But here, and most other places, he's
a slave. And he acts like a slave, and does everything a slave does.  And
when I want to fuck him, as I do occasionally, he knows he cannot disagree
or argue - he has to lie there and take it. No more `passing' - a slave is
a slave."

Darren was staring at Jason as I was talking, then said quietly "But I'm
not a slave."

"You will be, as we discussed, if you do not want to go back to your
stepdad."

"Never!"

"Well then, Darren, here's the deal.  I enjoyed tracking down Jason who was
`passing' and I still find it quite amusing that he manages to foil so many
people in the City on his forays there for me.  So I think I'd like to try
it in reverse - have a free man `pass' as a slave, and see how far we get.
Not as a `play' slave, mind, the kind that some men enjoy in role play, but
a real, proper slave who obeys his `owner' completely and totally.  The
only difference between a free man `passing' as a slave and a real slave is
that the free man will get paid - not when he is `passing', obviously.  But
there will be a nice little nest egg built up for when he is released."

"What would I have to do if I was to `pass'?"

"Everything, of course.  Everything a slave would do."

"Including sex?"

"Including sex, obviously.  Why else do you think men buy nice young slaves
like you?"

"Well fuck off then!"

"If you were a slave, Darren, using language like that to your owner would
get you a beating, or at the very least a sharp slap across that handsome
face of yours.  But before you turn down my offer of letting you `pass' and
earn some money, even though you are totally without qualifications as you
admit and there's no other work, let's just look at your situation, shall
we?"

Before he could object I went on "You're a free man now, and you can carry
on being a free man, but very shortly, without money or work, you will get
enslaved and then you will be a slave.  A real slave. "  I stopped and
waited, and he nodded as he evidently saw that this was true.

"On the other hand, you could agree to `pass' as a slave.  You remain a
free man, but act like a slave.  And you will be earning money so that one
day you can afford to be a free man properly again."  I stopped and waited
for him to show signs of agreement.

"So which is it to be, Darren?  Free now but a slave for the rest of your
life?  Or `pass' as a slave for some time but remain `free'?"

He looked confused, but I said no more.  I know from long experience that
when you have asked a difficult, situation-changing question in a business
negotiation you need to remain absolutely silent whilst the other party
evaluates the choices.  Even though the human brain works very, very fast,
the bigger the decision, the longer it needs to make a decision.  Not more
than 20 seconds, usually, but you need to stay silent during that time.
Finally, Darren looked at me and muttered "I guess I'd better try
`passing'."

"Rule number one.  A slave always addresses its owner as `sir'.  And rule
number two, you need to ask, ask properly, if you want your owner to do
something."

He blushed, and started to mutter and I snapped "And it is inappropriate
for a slave when he has not been given permission to sit in his owner's
presence.  Look at Jason there - he's been standing there at `slave
rest'. Now, get to your feet!"

Darren stood up, slowly, clutching the towel around his belly, and I was
excited to see how it gaped open to expose his long thigh at one side.
"Sir.... Please, sir... Can I `pass' as your slave, sir?"

I smiled at him.  "Good.  Yes, of course you can.  Now, let me get a proper
look at my new property.  Drop that towel."

Darren looked confused, and I didn't want to scare him off immediately so I
turned to Jason and said quietly "Get naked."

Jason at once dropped his shorts, and completely unembarrassed grabbed the
hem of his T and pulled it up over his head, showing us the muscles
stretching in his belly as he did and his cock jerking up slightly as it
does when you do that.

"Now, Darren, look at Jason.  My slave.  He's not ashamed of showing us his
body, is he?  After all, I own it.  Jason's my property.  And if you're
going to `pass' as my slave, you need to do the same.  So get naked, like
Jason.  And if you can't, or won't, then get dressed and get out.  And
perhaps in a few weeks I'll buy you at the next slave auction of the
newly-enslaved."

Slowly Jason's hand that had been gripping the towel let go and it dropped
to the floor.  And I was rewarded with the first sight of my new `slave',
and what a delightful sight it was!  Like a lot of tall men Darren's cock
was long, too, and he had nice low-hanging balls behind it with the left
one slightly larger than the right as is so often the case.  His foreskin
was good, too - I quite like to see the "flange" outlined through the `skin
and Darren's seemed very pronounced. And yet the `skin did not hang over
the end of the cock and instead stopped so that there was a glimpse of his
piss slit even though he was not erect.

I gestured to him to come closer then reached around him with one hand and
pressed it on his bum whilst taking his cock with the other one.  He went
to move back but as I know from looking at a lot of slaves with Dave now
that hand on his bum stopped him - physically of course it's not a
preventative, but psychologically the slave feels restrained.  I looked up
at him, staring into his eyes and locking them there as I used my thumb to
gently stroke the top of his cock as it lay in my palm, and began to feel
it going firmer to my touch.  Then I stroked his `skin back to reveal his
cock head - I was desperate to get my first sight of it, but knew it was
important to hold his gaze and I let a small smile cross my face to
encourage him.

"Sir, please..." he muttered.

"Slaves speak only with permission, Darren.  But let me answer you.  No, I
will not stop teasing your cock.  It's my cock, remember, Darren, as you
are my slave now.  And if I want to play with any part of your body, I
will."  I let the smile on my face die then and added "And think of the
alternative - as a real slave you would have men playing with your body for
ever.  Think of all those men wanking you, Darren.  You want that?  And as
an owned slave they wouldn't only be wanking you!"

With that I knew I could risk looking away so turned my gaze on his cock,
which was fully erect in my hand, with the `skin retracted right back and a
very nice dark pink cock head revealed in all its glory, glistening with
pre-cum.  But softly, softly, catchee monkey, as the old saying goes, and I
did not want to scare him off at this point - he could, after all, change
his mind.  So I decided not to wank him or even do a proper slave
inspection of all his body yet.

"Right, Darren.  Jason will show you around the place.  And we'll bundle
all your clothes up and put them into storage as you will be wearing my
slave 'uniform' from now on.  And he'll show you the slave room where you
will live and sleep with him and my other slave, Greg."

I then waved them away, and got that special thrill that I suppose all
owners get when their new property obeys them for the first time, and when
they are rewarded by the sight of a delightful naked body of a young male
walking.  Jason and Darren were very alike from the rear, and I always
thrill to see wide shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist and flaring
buttocks.

End Of Part Nineteen