Christopher Enslaved

Part Four

By Randall Austin

This story is erotic fiction meant for mature readers and should only be read by adults over the age of eighteen years old. Please do not use my stories without my permission and please forward all comments to randallaustin2011@hotmail.com

Randall Austin’s Archive Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Randall_Austin_Stories

The Trussing Room

On entering the trussing room I noticed about 6 attendants, 2

females, and 4 males.  And I remember very little about being in the

room except that it seemed all the attendants moved like lightening,

and that I was in the room probably no longer than 3 minutes total. 

As soon as the door slammed shut, the woman attendant who took the

folder from me was gone, and in her place was a male of about 28

years, with a name tag that simply said, ‘Chip’.  He came up to

Christopher with a strange cutting instrument, unceremoniously

grabbed Christopher's penis, attached it to the penis clamp,

squeezed the handles, and the tight band fell away from Christopher's

cock.  Christopher immediately started rubbing his shaft with his

hand.

As Christopher was rubbing his foreskin, Chip dragged him by

his shoulders onto a raised platform in front of a white curtain and

another one of the male attendants immediately appeared and started

photographing Christopher from all angles.  As he snapped he

asked, "Licker, can you get a nice big erection for us?"  Licker gave

no answer and Chip asked one of the other attendants for

the ‘ejaculator’.  Another attendant handed him a strange prod-like

device.  Chip applied lubricant to the tip, grabbed Christopher by

the shoulder, turned him around, put the prod to his butt hole, and

shoved it in.  He then pulled a trigger, and Christopher erected to

the hilt in an instant.

"Nice one!", the photographer called out.  "Give us your best

smile now, Licker, because these pics are going on the city web site."

Chip then pulled him off the stand and led him to a portion

of the room filled with hoses and scrubbing instruments.  He had him

get on a portion of the floor that had steel grating for flooring and

told him to pee.  Christopher didn't know where to go, and Chip

indicated that he was to piss in the grating.  Christopher obviously

had to go, since he turned his back to us and let out a long stream. 

When he was done he told him to grab onto a bar that ran lengthwise

along the wall and bend over.  When he did so Chip took a hose, put

the slender nozzle up his asshole, and filled him with warm water. 

He took it out, told him to squat and dump, and Christopher did so,

red in the face.  Chip then had him stand up and with another hose he

hosed him off, then did a very quick toweling of him.

Chip then quickly guided him to a 5 foot square platform that

was raised two feet off the ground, and told him to get up on it and

kneel down.  Immediately all of the processors surrounded Christopher

and from that point on I couldn't see what was happening, until about

one minute later when two of the attendants hopped up on the

platform, picked up Christopher trussed in a kneeling position with

his knees wide apart and his hands and feet bound behind his back. 

They hoisted him up and attached him by the ring on his back harness

to a meat hook-like thing on a trolley overhead.  He was balanced in

such a way that his penis was his lowest hanging body part. 

Amazingly in that short amount of time they had pierced his frenum,

applied a ring, and to that ring had attached a 6 inch laminated

card that contained coded instructions for the processors explaining

which procedures Christopher was to receive.

When they placed him on the hook the bound Christopher was

swinging, turning, and swaying wildly.  Christopher looked terrified

as he spun around, but the processors didn't seem to care.  As soon

as one of them punched a button, and the automated trolley started

moving Christopher down the railing, the spinning immediately

stopped.  The trolley headed towards some plastic slatted mats, but

before I could see what happened one of the processors pointed to a

door for me to exit from the room, and told me to follow the signs

leading up to the visitor viewing room.

The Processing Room

As I entered the processing room viewing area I was surprised

to see that it was empty except for Dexter and Beamer, who were

leaning against the large Plexiglas window which extended the entire

length of the room and looked out and down onto the processing room. 

When they saw me they shouted out to me as though we were the best of

friends, and walked over to greet me.  I nodded to them, hoping they

would stay put, but they made their way towards me as I took in the

overwhelming sights which greeted me in the viewing room.

It was a long narrow room, and one wall was entirely

Plexiglas through which the slave processing operation could be

viewed.  The opposite wall was covered in posters and advertising

copy relating to the San Diego Slave Bureau and General Facility and

the slave trade in general.

I noticed immediately that the only other significant element

of the room were two vending machines which offered snacks and soft

drinks.  I thought how disgusting it was to sell snacks in this

environment, and wondered for a moment what type of person would be

able to relax enough to eat snacks in the processing viewing area,

until I noticed that both Dexter and Beamer were eating potato chips

as they peered through the Plexiglas.

My eyes caught one of the posters, "Does your slave or team

need reprocessing?  A smartly turned slave means added value and

productivity.  Meet with our slave accessories consultant to

customize one slave or a hundred.  Let us help you meet your or your

company's optimal needs.  Make an appointment with a customizing

specialist on your way out."

I approached the Plexiglas and peered out, and I had to stop

and catch my breath at what I saw; a sea of hundreds of trussed naked

male slaves hanging from meat hooks.  Such a sight as earlier I would

not have believed took place within the boundaries of the city I grew

up in.  Over two hundred bound, naked, and trussed males hanging from

meat hooks in one large room.   Moving along a conveyer track to some

80 stations along the track route, each station manned by anywhere

from one to four processors, capable of performing requisite body

modifications, often in a matter of seconds.  From the casual ‘ear

piercings’ to the profound ‘castrations’.

The rail track zigzagged in an ‘S’ pattern.  Walking amongst

the various stations were processor apprentices carrying long poles

with leather padded loops 7 inches in diameter on the ends.  With

these poles they could speedily loop a hanging slave at the base of

his cock and balls from either the front or the backside of the

slave.  With this leverage at the base of the slave's crotch they

could halt a lead slave on the trolley while some delay was

rectified, or else pull the slave off to a switch track to lead him

to some other station.

A sign in the viewer room addressed the grapplers. "Did you

know that the processors who man the grappler rods are highly trained

through an apprenticeship program that takes 2 years to complete?  It

may look rushed or haphazard, but their skill in handling the rods

insures that drudges are processed efficiently and safely."

I momentarily stood transfixed reading the signs, which were

as strange to me as the sights in the processing room.

Another sign right next to the first one I read said, "All

procedures are safe and humane, and are performed solely for the long

term benefit of the drudges."

Another sign, with a drawing of a processor pushing a trussed

slave with a grappling hook, read. "Did you know that slave

processors are highly paid professionals?  Processors in all

departments are needed.  Please check out the employment

opportunities with San Diego SBGF personnel department on your way

out,  Thank you.  The California Bureau of Slaves."

Finally I heard Beamer say, "Hey Dex, there's your loser

brother making his grand entrance!"

"Wow, look at the expression on his face.  The family slave

doesn't look too happy!", shouted Dexter, as both boys laughed and

high fived.  "This is sooo fuckin cool!  You should have your dad

enslave Justin, then you could have a family slave too, and make some

extra money."

"Fuck man, look at that, they're lowering him into a vat of

water or something!", shouted Beamer.

Dexter and Beamer had wide happy smiles as they viewed the

proceedings, as excited as if they were at a major sporting event, as

they scarfed down their potato chips.

I looked out across the sea of suspended slaves.  Two hundred

naked bucks suspended, slowly twirling on their chains.  Two hundred

men dangling like slaughtered animals.  Two hundred men being

grappled at the base of their cocks by young apprentices moving them

this way and that.  Two hundred trussed slaves with every part of

their body accessible, being trollied through the processing

stations, being stopped and modified at some stations, being passed

over at others.

 Screams of slaves being punished by having anesthetic

withheld during the processing could be heard continually, though

faintly, through the plexiglass.

The only other sound in the viewing area was the nonstop

chatter of Dexter and Beamer.  "Serves those slave assholes right,

they're just getting what they deserve!", opined Beamer.

"Holy fuck, look at that goof getting his eyebrows removed!",

laughed Dexter.

Having to listen to Beamer and Dexter's continual obscenities

made my time spent in the viewing all the more difficult.  As it was,

the sights in the processing room alone were almost unbearable to

me.  Human beings getting processed.  Getting lowered on their chain,

getting raised.  Getting dipped, clipped, shaved, pierced, ringed,

branded, cinched, collared, tattooed, stapled, punched, belled, dyed,

circumcised, infibulated, castrated, tagged, looped, hooked,

soldered, cauterized, stained, scarred.  Some anesthetized, some

not.  Some used to the processing room.  Some terrified to death of

it.

A voice over the intercom broke my concentration. "The

following drudges report to Room 34-A for performance evaluation:

Hoser, Squeege, Bingo, Strapper, and Elf."

Dexter, excited, alerted Beamer, "Yo bro, check it out! 

Chris just got a boner from his cock shaving!"  They both laughed out

loud, as Dexter exulted, "No more strokin that thing, dude!  Fuck,

look at him!  What a fuckin loser he is."

Slaves are ‘losers’ in the eyes of the unenlightened, and

before me were row upon row of naked losers, with their knees spread

wide, their arms chained to their bent legs behind their backs. 

Hanging, dangling, spinning, swaying, losers.  Two hundred loser

cocks hanging lower to the floor than any other part of their bodies,

erecting and deflating.  Two hundred dangling sweaty loser scrotums

filled with four hundred loser balls.  Four hundred arm pits

sweating at maximum capacity, emitting the stench of the lost.

Two hundred helpless slabs of meat-hooked loser flesh at the

processing plant.  Getting pulled around by their groins by young

apprentices, who were not losers, manning grappling hooks.  From two

hundred penises dangled laminated cards coded with processing

instructions.  Instructions for processing two hundred totally

exposed and vulnerable animals who once thought they were men.  Who

once thought they were worthy of respect.

"Hey”, Beamer shouted, "they're stopping Chris at the nose

ring station!  He's getting his septum punched."

"Cool, he needs one of those!", replied Dexter.  "Fuck, look

at the size of that nose ring they're putting on him!"

The room became a blur after a while, one naked slave looking

like another.  Most of the time I couldn't spot Christopher in the

sea of flesh.  After almost an hour in the viewing room I started to

get queasy, and I needed something to eat.  So finally I had no

choice but to use the vending machines.  I got some pretzels.  As I

went back to watch, Dexter pointed out that Christopher was just

about to pass the track nearest to and almost directly below the

viewing area.  When Christopher was stopped directly below us and the

processors were checking his laminated penis card, Dexter and Beamer

started pounding on the plexiglass to get Christopher's attention. 

After a few seconds Christopher heard the noise and looked up and saw

the three of us, holding snack bags and eating our chips and

pretzels.  I felt awful, but before I could gesture to explain the

situation to Christopher his attention was suddenly diverted, as an

apprentice grappled his groin and rapidly pulled him forward to the

next station.

The sight of my friend Christopher left me dazed and sad. 

His processing was only half completed, and already he looked like a

slave.  I stood there pondering the friend I had lost, and gradually

I grew numb to the unbelievable scenes before me.  My mind wandered,

and for a long time I recalled happy times Christopher and I had

shared together, and how we never would have imagined that it all

would come to this.

It was a relief when what seemed like a very long time later

I was finally stirred from my numb reverie by Dexter and Beamer

telling me that Christopher was just about finished being processed,

and that they would meet up again with me and Christopher when the

transport bus arrived.

As soon as Christopher was off the hook and untrussed, they

pushed him against a section of the wall painted white and brightly

lit, and started taking pictures from all angles of the naked freshly

processed, hairless, collared, ringed, cinched, tattooed, branded and

belled Licker.  He was given brown slave fatigues, sandals, and a 10

inch tall cone shaped gray cardboard hat that was held in place by a

little elastic cord that went under his chin.  It seemed like he was

being told to dress in a hurry.  When he put his cone hat on I saw

that it said in bold lettering, "CAUTION: Freshly Drudged - For

Delivery to Baldwin/Fletcher."

The Post-Processing Room

Once Christopher was dressed he was shoved through a door

into another room, and it was then that I heard my name called over

the intercom to report to post-processing.  I left the viewing area,

went down the steps, and followed the signs that led me to post-

processing.

In the stairway leading to post-processing, an advertisement

read. ‘Slave training special:  Is your slave or team getting lax? 

Perhaps it's time you took advantage of one of our slave

training/retraining and motivational courses.  5 days, $500.  You

will see the results in your bankbook with a renewed and dedicated

slave force’.

When I entered the post-processing area, there was

Christopher, and on seeing him up close I was doubtless in as much

shock as he was.  For a moment all I could do was stare at his

totally shaved bald head, his big nose ring, his shiny ear rings, his

ugly brown uniform, his sturdy sandals, his goofy cone hat, his dazed

and frightened look.  He frightened me.  I wanted to back away, and

run off.

As I stared at him, dazed, the intercom sounded, "Balboa,

Jumper, Scamp, Doodles, Wiener, Spitz, and Chowder, report to room 21

for your penis dyeing."

The post processing area was a very large room full of

slaves, some of whom were with their owners and overseers, who were

leaving the SBGF.  No matter what business they had at the facility,

all slaves must exit from this room.  A long line was slowly making

its way out towards the wide open bay of loading dock doors at the

far end.  Along the way were various stations which inquired of

various slaves and their overseers various things as they passed. 

Police, station guards, and processor apprentices were everywhere. 

Most of the processor apprentices appeared to be kids a few years out

of high school, who probably weren't planning on going to college.

A kid about 20 years old, wearing the processor's apprentice

uniform of black slacks, black boots, pressed cream shirt, black tie,

black vest, a heavily tooled service belt, and an ID tag with the

name Tim Sardis, came up to Christopher and attached a leash to his

collar.  He then looked at me, and said, "You're Todd, right?"  "Yes,

I am”, I responded.

"The newly enslaved, fresh off the hook, are often a danger

to themselves.  Because they don't know slave protocol, they often

react with some very unslavelike behavior, such as talking, or not

walking in a service gait, all behavior that would get any slave

tawsed or paddled on the spot here at SBGF.  That's why we 'cone

head' all fresh product.  The guards go easier on them.  Hell, some

newly enslaved guys fresh off the hook are super uppity.  It's funny,

really.  They still think they are free men.  They're all incensed,

and think they have some kind of right to talk, or to piss when they

want to, or even get on the phone and call their girlfriends."

When Sardis mentioned the word ‘girlfriend’, I suddenly

thought of Katherine, Christopher's long time girlfriend. They were

all set to room together at graduate school this coming fall.  And

without thinking, I blurted out, "Gosh, Christopher.  What about

Katherine?  What should I do?"  Christopher's face flashed a deeply

pained look, and he seemed to be too overwhelmed to respond.  He

seemed like he was about to break down and cry.

Sardis answered for us.  "Dude, slaves do NOT have

girlfriends!  And at Baldwin/Fletcher they do not get to use the

telephone, ever.  If you want to be a real friend, Todd, you'd best

get on the phone when you get home and call this Katherine with the

story.  Tell her that Licker here is out of the picture.  He isn't

going to be hitting the clubs anymore."  He lowered his voice and

leaned toward me. "Todd, if you ever had any interest in this

Katherine person, now would be the time to make the moves on her. 

She's alone and vulnerable.  You may find yourself having to do

caretaking duty for a brand new pussy."  He winked, but I ignored the

vulgar remark.

Sardis continued, "Another neat service provided to friends

and family members of slaves by SBGF is the Online Slave Database.  A

password is given to friends and family members of slaves so they can

have access to the latest information available. All they have to

do is call SBGF to get registered.  On a regular basis, SBGF updates

the slave's status reports, info on where he's serving, evaluation

reports, discipline reports, and so on.  Also full body shots are

updated almost monthly so friends and family can gauge the health and

development of the products.  In the case of hard labor slaves, a lot

of gals find the regularly updated pics of the naked slave's

burgeoning muscles to be real hot frigging material.

"I know, also, that the Baldwin’s have a web site with a lot 

of their team in colorful costumes.  Licker will probably be showing

up on that real soon.”

"His pics will also be on the city web site, which is a real

handy service for shoppers and family members alike.  Slaves pictures

are posted and updated on a regular basis to help prevent runaways;

to let the slave's family know pretty well what condition he's in,

since there's a rule that the slave must have a complete set of

photos taken every time there's a significant body modification so

that they're spared the trouble of visiting or inquiring; to let the

slave know that he's significant, that people are interested in him;

and finally and most importantly, to facilitate pre-auction shopping.

"But if the former girlfriend wants to check out the drudge

in person, tell her she can always drive by the Baldwin/Fletcher

farms, since he'll be on display working out in the fields pretty

much seven days a week from sunrise to sunset."

"But anyway Licker, you need to get girls and girlfriends out

of your head, or you are not going to be producing the way top line

material is expected to produce."

Sardis then yanked Christopher sideways to pull him into an

open area and said, "Ok, we need to hurry and give you some

preliminaries so we can ship you off.  We want to get you out of here

as quickly as possible.  Product sitting around here in the warehouse

isn't generating income for its owners, is it?"

"Licker, you're a brand new, squeaky clean, slave.  You're

pretty raw though.  With the right care and training you should be

bringing in a lot of cash for Baldwin/Fletcher, at least for the next

twenty years or so.  By the time they bring you back here for

reprocessing, in about 4 months, you should be looking a good bit

more like the other heavily muscled draft members of their field

teams."

"But my job here is to do anything I can do in the way of

offering tips or suggestions, while paper work is being finalized and

we're waiting for your transport to arrive, to help turn you into

that top producer for Baldwin/Fletcher that I know you will want to

be.  The Baldwin’s have their own way of training slaves, of course,

as you'll soon find out.  But one thing all slaves need to know is

the 'service gait.'  'Service gait' is the way a slave walks formally

when not at labor.  It just means you walk one step at a time, you

don't move your next foot until the previous foot has fully landed on

the ground, you never raise a foot more than a half inch off the

ground while taking a step, and as you walk you keep your arms

akimbo.  Let's try it!"

With the leash in his left hand, he took the tawse from his

belt and slapped Christopher on the buttocks to make him move.  He

commanded Christopher to do the service gait, in a circle around him

as he occasionally prodded him on the butt to move him along.  After

one particularly hard swat Christopher jumped and lifted a foot off

the ground.  Sardis was waiting for that, and said, "You seem to need

a little reminder that you will take small steps quickly, but you

cannot move your next foot until the previous foot has stopped.  Take

down your pants and get em around your ankles.  That'll lock your

feet into place."  Christopher did so, too frightened and shamed to

protest.  The apprentice then swatted Christopher's ass a fierce one

to get him moving.  The motion of the legs rapidly sliding on the

floor caused his cock to swing and his bell to start

ringing.  "That's the way boy, let's tinkle your bell."

The sight of my friend so utterly debased by a kid in a

uniform sent chills through me, yet at the same time I felt there was

no more I could do.  A sense of defeat came over me, and along with

it, resignation.  I needed to stop being upset and just accept that

things were different now.

Hearing the bell, a couple of the processor apprentices who

didn't have too much to do looked at us and came over and joined in

where the action was.  "Who's the cone head you got on the leash,

Tim?", asked a dark haired kid with the ID name of Andrew Morelli.

"His name is Licker.  The name makes me think that the

Baldwin’s have some real interesting chores planned for him."  All

three apprentices let out loud laughs.  Then Tim gave a hard swat of

the tawse across Christopher's shoulders. Christopher yelped in

pain and pistoned his legs to move even faster. The three laughed and

erected at Christopher shuffling along, trying to avoid another swat

of the tawse.  Tim's boner was very intently poking straight forward

in his trousers.

And strangest of all to me, I found myself starting to stir

at the sight of my totally humiliated, defeated, enslaved for life

friend.  What had come over me?

"So, a brand new slave, huh?", asked Andrew, as he and Phil

looked Licker over with a look of ‘you sorry loser’.  "Are they using

him in the fields?", asked Andrew.

"That's what he's on order for." Then addressing

Christopher, Tim continued, "So Licker, dude, it looks like you're

going to have a chance to work on your tan!"  The apprentices all

laughed at Tim's witty remark as he continued guiding Christopher in

circles by the leash.  As he did so, he took his tawse to the

underside of Christopher's scrotum and lifted it, gently teasing his

balls up and down.  "These things feel pretty heavy, boy!  They're

just going to get in your way dangling between your legs out in the

fields. Just an extra piece of useless work load. Just more to

carry around.  You'd be better off if they'd sliced these sweetmeats

off while you were on the hook, since the Baldwin boys aren't going

to let you use them anyway.  I bet you used to tug on this bag while

you were jerking, didn't you boy, huh?”  All three laughed, as

Andrew and Phil both readjusted their crotches.

Phil then said, "Well, at least they didn't have his teeth

removed.  It looks like the Baldwin’s aren't planning on turning him

into one of their 'turkey boys', their full time sucking dick-

gobblers."  "At least not yet!", responded Tim as all three let out

loud hoots.

To be continued…

For more of Randall Austin Stories, Please visit the Randall Austin Archive Group. While it does not yet contain all of Randall’s stories [it will eventually], it gathers the stories in one convenient location.

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Randall_Austin_Stories