I am an IT specialist. I am also gay although
I have kept that hidden except from my lifelong friend Charlie. I live at Palm
Beach on the Gold Coast of Queensland and took a shine to a store assistant at
the local Coles store. I tried to be friendly (and that is all) to him at the
store but he shunned me, almost rudely and I used to plot my revenge as I lay
alone in bed at night.
Two years ago my life changed
radically. I had already inherited my parents’ house when they had died, one
from cancer; the other from a broken heart six months later. But then my aunt,
whom I had adored and always kept a close watch on, also died, leaving me everything
– and that was in the millions. I had had no idea she had been a keen investor
and had built up an enormous fortune, or that I was her sole beneficiary.
Imagine my delight, therefore when I heard Karl had been
charged with drug trafficking and sentenced to slavery for life for his crime.
My name is Mark Vaughan and I had
obtained a degree in Information Technology as well as Business Management
and with Dad’s help, set up my own technical business servicing clients’
computers and on the side writing programs to assist in the more skilful use of
their computer systems for the better management of their businesses.
I was doing quite well when Mum developed pancreatic
cancer and was dead within five months. They had been a wonderful couple and
the best parents a man could have and although he tried to cope, Dad just pined
away and was gone himself six months later.
I stayed on in their house, which I had inherited (being
an only child) and got on with my life, visiting the Coles store for my
shopping and surreptitiously perving on Karl. I have no idea why he so pointedly
ignored me or if I approached him directly with a question was ultra-formal and
rather terse in his replies.
I don’t think I ever gave him a clue that I was attracted
to him sexually but perhaps he had some sixth sense that warned him to be wary
of me. Who knows? What I do know is that I felt hurt and extremely miffed by
his attitude, hence my nightly plottings of what I would like to do to him if I
ever got my hands on him.
When my Aunt Hilda died, I mourned her as much as my
parents for she had been a wonderful friend all my life and a huge support when
my parents died. I had no idea that she had built up this enormous fortune for
she lived quite frugally and was always so grateful when I brought her little
presents on my weekly visits when I took her out for a ‘treat’.
As a result, I decided to sell my parents’ pretty standard house and that of my aunt and buy a very
nice house on the Tallebudgera Creek as I had always wanted a boat and this
house had its own slipway.
I also asked Charlie if he would like to join me there and become my companion and help with the housework,
etc. I told him I would pay him twice what he was earning as a mechanic and he
jumped at the chance.
We had always been very close although he wasn’t in any
way gay. He knew I was though but never once ever cast aspersions on my
sexuality.
On that point, I didn’t actually practise sex with men. Never
even tried it; far too scared of public opinion and of contracting AIDS or the
like and so I accumulated a veritable library of porn of various kinds and
satisfied my sexual needs with various gadgets I acquired (once my parents were
gone, anyway).
I used to talk to him about Karl vis-à-vis me and he
always grinned and said he wouldn’t like to be in that young man’s shoes if I
ever did, for my ramblings about what I’d like to do to him were pretty far
out.
It was Charlie who told me
of Karl’s crime and its result. I don’t watch the news (or TV generally) much
but it seemed Karl had been growing and distributing cannabis on a large scale
in a property in the hinterland and the drug squad had been watching him for
many months.
I asked Charlie to go along to his auction at the State
Slave Centre and to acquire him at any cost. Thanks to my parents’ thrift and
even more so, Aunt Hilda, my investment account was now over ninety million and
growing nicely as I had not abandoned my business and it too was earning me
well over half a million a year and, apart from the house, I had not splurged
on expensive cars, clothes and the like.
Slaves bought directly from the SSC routinely cost
between two and five hundred thousand. They were in their raw state, untrained
in any skills apart from those learned in their private lives and were very
much cheaper than those purchased from a dealership where they were first
trained in useful skills and their bodies honed and toned to near-perfection.
Charlie had a card connected to my household operating
account and I loaded that with a million dollars, just in case.
As I bid him good luck I asked
him to bring the slave back clothed. “I want to do the stripping myself,
Charlie.”
He grinned back at me. “Sure, Mark. Will do.”
Auctions at the SSC are held every Saturday at nine
o’clock and the week’s intake from the various courts around the Gold Coast
were all therefore auctioned off each Saturday morning. I had been interested
enough to go along once to watch the process. I didn’t repeat it for to do so
without actually buying a slave might give a hint I was simply perving on the
males and so alert people as to my sexuality. But in any case, most of them
were not particularly attractive anyway.
Each of them was sold naked and as clothing of any kind
was forbidden in a slave that was usually the way they
would be taken home by the buyer. In this case, I wanted to shame him so gave
Charlie a note to the SSC to say I wished him delivered to me clothed. This was
perfectly permissible and not even unusual as the
stripping of a slave was seen as a rite of passage and many owners availed
themselves of it.
There was another ‘treatment’ all slaves were subjected
to, however: all facial and body hair was permanently removed from all slaves
whether term or life, it being held that this marked their status as a current
or former slave and in any case, public opinion held that hairiness on the
human body was an ugly excrescence.
On my one and only visit to the SSC, I ‘took the tour’
and watched in repressed glee as the current intake were stripped naked and
herded into the race where all hair below their eyelashes was flayed
(literally) from their flesh.
It comprises a glass tunnel with a rubber travelator in the
first stage of which a series of sprays with an ultra-hot defoliant opens the
hair follicles of their skin and prepares them for the flaying process. This section
contains a number of brushes like those found in automatic car washes which
rotate and lash at the hairy parts of their bodies. Some of the brushes are
vertically aligned; others (as between their legs and at the sides of the
bodies) operate horizontally.
The lashes are made from a material that catches the
hairs and literally yanks them from the slaves’ bodies. It is an extremely
painful process – intentionally, for pain has been determined as an integral
part of a new slave’s conditioning to his or her new status.
More of the hot sprays then bathe them in the defoliant
which permanently kills the roots. This process is usually a one-off but any
slave showing a regrowth may be returned for another treatment free of charge.
Oh and to protect their head-hair, rubber bathing caps with
in-built eye-goggles are supplied to every slave to be treated.
They went in hairy (and decidedly ugly) and came out very
much improved!
I was in my study working on a new business
program when Charlie returned with Karl in tow. I looked up at their entry and
smiled as I noted the horror on the new slave’s face when he recognised me.
“You!” he expostulated but then subsided quickly, aware
already that subservience by a slave to his owner (and to every free person for
that matter) is a minimum requirement.
I didn’t say anything. Not yet, but continued to look him
up and down from behind my desk but then turned to Charlie. “Thank you,
Charlie, but may I ask why he is clothed? Are not slaves required to be naked?”
Charlie smiled. This of course, was a little drama cooked
up between us. “Oh, so it is, Mark. Must have slipped my mind…”
I got up then, moved around my desk and stood directly in
front of the now very scared young man – he was just twenty-one at this time,
nine years younger than me – staring directly into his eyes and as we were both
of the same height, that was directly across to him.
I grasped him by his chin and moved his head this way and
that while the fear mounted on his face. “I offered you friendship, boy, and
you spurned it – and me. Well now I own
you, body and soul, for the rest of your life and believe me, that life is not
going to be very pleasant.”
“What are you going to do to me, er, Master?”
I smiled, but it was as brittle and cold an expression I
could muster. “Oh, first of course you must be stripped. I have always wondered
what your body was like… I knew it was athletic from the shape under your
clothes, but I wondered whether your muscles were well-defined
and also the size and shape of your cock and balls.
“Oh yes, boy, I am
going to fuck you! How does that prospect find you?”
Now his face showed real terror. “Please Master. Not
that. I’m not gay. I like girls. I can’t bear the thought of you fucking me…”
“Too bad, boy. You engaged in one of the worst crimes on
our statute books: the growing and distribution of drugs for profit. You are
now a slave for life and that means I can do any damned thing I like with your
body.
“For example, I may decide to castrate you – but if I do,
it will won’t be just your balls… Oh no, your cock will go, too. I have an idea
that a perfectly smooth groin down there would be a most attractive sight. Not
even a little bud to urinate from…”
He stared at me in more horror. “But how will I piss,
then?”
I grinned. “Simple. We feed you a couple of litres of
water and then wait until your bladder is full to bursting and then simply
pierce your urethra, down between your legs and the hot piss will then jet out,
all over the inner planes of your thighs. Won’t be pleasant for you, but it
will please me enormously watching your distress.
“But that is only one of the options open to me. I might
decide to have your arms amputated – or your legs and thighs – or both. You
would then make a fine pillow for me to rest my head on at night…
“Or, I might ask my surgeon to remove your voice box so
you cannot speak. There are many, many more such procedures that are open to me
so I would advise you to be particularly attentive to my orders, or those of
Charlie here, for any lack of zeal, competence, or a display of pleasure in
serving me will, as sure as God made little apples, result in pain for you –
and the most severe degree of pain I can create.
“But enough of this chit-chat. I want to see your body
naked, as is required by law. Strip, boy! And be quick about it!”
The terror on his face was now very palpable and I played
on it as he feverishly tore off his shirt and tie (the clothes he had worn to
the court), revealing an upper body that had me staring in admiration for the
pectoral and abdominal muscles were sharply defined as were the muscles of his
shoulders and arms and I knew at once that he must play sports and perhaps was
even a gymnast like myself.
No sport defines the male human body like gymnastics and
only male ballet dancers come near to us in achieving the perfect physique. This
wasn’t the reason I had taken it up, though. That was from a love of the sport
from my earliest years on and I had never failed to attend the gym two and
sometimes three times a week.
It was another reason I had lashed out in this rather
large house for just Charlie and me: it had a hothouse built on to its side
that ran right up to the roof of the second floor and I had immediately
converted this to a well-equipped gymnastics room. If I was right in my
summation that this boy was also a gymnast, he could join Charlie and me there
where we would exercise naked every day.
After shedding his shirt, he kicked off his shoes and
dropped his trousers to reveal calf and thigh muscles that now confirmed for me
his practice of gymnastics and when I saw his buttocks: two narrow, heavily
indented slabs of smooth warm muscle, I knew all over again, I was right.
And that leaves his genitals. It was obvious he didn’t
want to strip down his bikini briefs but his fear of my earlier words and the threats they had implied were even stronger
and as he dropped them down, I gasped as I beheld the true beauty of his whole
body.