The poster read:
By Order of The Hon. Judge Stella Mackey,
Westmoor District Court of Corrections
(Street Clearance Law 8274)
Sale By Auction
To Be Held At:
The Domestics Auction House, 27 Main Street Sistersville
Wednesday June 19, 2057 - Bidding Starts 11 a.m. Sharp
A superb selection of young male urchins and vagrants for use as domestic slaves - all suitable for home training. The produce will be modified on site prior to delivery. Also, available from our store, at keen prices, an extensive selection of handcuffs, shackles, genital restraints, whips, canes etc. etc.
COME AND CHECK OUT THE FRESH-CUT MEAT!
The Georgia sun was high and fierce in the sky as usual and Karla Andrews slid the air conditioning up to maximum. It was when she reached out for the control knob that she noticed the poster as she drove past Rita’s Drug Store on Ridge Avenue. It was the reference to ‘Fresh Cut Meat’ that caught her eye, so, when she’d finished her shopping at the supermarket, she drove back to Rita’s, parked up and got out to read it properly. “Just what I need,” she thought to herself. She’d been short of domestic help since Grant had been sold to Trisha Carlson. It was a little sideline of Karla’s: buy them in young and cheap; train them up well; then trade them on for a profit. She made a mental note of the date, June 19; she’d definitely ‘check out the fresh-cut meat’. Karla treated herself to an ice cream soda: “You… going to… the auction?” she asked Rita between greedy sucks on the straw, “I am.”
“Sure thing, though I don’t really need anyone at the moment. Since I bought Matt everything’s just dandy, he does the work of two, really seems to enjoy it as well. Then I suppose when you’ve only known begging and the gutter, a square meal every day and a bed each night must be luxury. Say, talking of bed, he’s great in that department too - got a tongue like a hungry lizard! Still, there might be a bargain - something cute to wait the tables and please the lady customers. Even if there’s nothing worth buying it’ll be fun to watch them being modified for service. Oh! Hell! You must think I am sooo depraved saying that?”
“Not at all! I enjoy watching that too and those girls at D.A.H. sure do a thorough modification, sometimes I envy them their work!.”
“Of course, you can ask for a Domestic to be left intact so you can do him yourself at home, ever thought about doing that?”
“Did once; modified my first domestic myself on the kitchen table. Billy, I called him, kindda hunky in a ‘pretty-boy‘ way, but lazy as hell, needed a lot o’leatherin’ - you know the type. I made a real pig’s dinner of his mod. though. Took the poultry scissors to him. Should have know better, I never could cut a straight line at dressmaking classes! That scar went up and down like a ploughed field. Then I cut too deep when I snipped out his fren, there was blood all over the place and the screams, wow, they could be heard in the next county! Had to call the paramedics to sort it out. Learnt my lesson then and there, best leave it to the experts, now male modification’s a spectator sport for me. It looked so savage I thought I’d ruined my investment, lucky old Mrs. Eisenberg liked ’em that way, so I turned a small profit on him.” Karla paused to sip some more of her soda and remained silent, thinking for a few moments. “But you know, if we’re being honest, it is kindda depraved, but it’s not just us - all the women get a kick outta watching. That’s why they do it at the auction, so’s they draw a big crowd. Listen, they could modify them straight away, once the judge has made her order, but they leave it till the sale and do it then and there in front of the lady customers. Not that I’m complaining of course!” Karla slurped up the dregs of the soda from the bottom of the glass and stood up to leave.
“See you next Wednesday then.”
“Sure thing Rita, d’you know I’m kindda looking forward to it, see you there.” And she threw a wicked wink and smile as she walked towards the door.
Things were getting fraught at the Domestics Auction House. It was nine-thirty and the opening of the sale was looming up. The delivery had been late so the girls were rushing to get them logged in and numbered on time - there was dissent in the ranks too.
“Why does Miss Lindy always get to do the modifications? I’m just as qualified as her, it cost me two thousand bucks to get my certificate. Why can’t I have a turn Miss Jameson?”
“’Cos I’m faster than you Miss Jessica!” The girls always referred to each other as ‘Miss’ just to impress on the produce that it must treat them with respect.
“But I’m more thorough than you!”
“Now, now girls, stop squabbling.” Miss Jameson, D.A.H.’s proprietor intervened to stop the arguing. “It’s just another job that needs doing, it’s not important who does it, just so long as it gets done.” To be honest, she knew exactly why the girls were vying for the job - sometimes she wished she still did the modifications herself, but she was too busy in the cash office.
“But Miss Jameson, I need to keep in practice.”
Lizzie Jameson reflected on her own short time as an auctioneer, after she set up Domestics Auction House when the Street Clearance Law came into force - now she was too busy for that with administration. There’d always been keen rivalry to be the one to ‘do’ the modifications. “Listen,” she said, “There’s not much produce today, speed’s not that important and Miss Jessica does need to keep her hand in. You do the mods Miss Jessica and you can assist Miss Lindy.”
“Oh! You mean I just get to hold them.”
“That’s enough of that. You know how important it is to hold ’em, hold ’em real tight. Some of them wimps wriggle like worms on a fishing hook while it’s being done to them. If they move at the wrong time the merchandise can be ruined. That‘s final.” Miss Jameson turned on her heals and headed back to her office; Miss Jessica smiled with satisfaction at her triumph.
At 587 Scottsville Avenue, Karla Andrews was loading the breakfast things into the dish washer. At Rita’s Drug Store, its owner was growling instructions to Matt and handing over control to her assistant, Kylie. The two friends had decided to make a day of it and arranged to meet for a coffee before the auction began.
“How much you prepared to spend?” Asked Rita, dreamily, stirring her latte for longer than was necessary to dissolve the single spoonful of sugar.
“Oh, I don’t like to go above five or six hundred. This is speculative, its young and you never know how it might turn out. If it develops into indolence, or is just plain stupid then you can only sell it on to the farms as field labor, you’d be lucky to see three hundred a piece. But for real quality, and I think I’ve got the eye to spot potential, then I might go as high as a thousand dollars. What about you?”
“Well, as I said, I don’t need any domestic help right now, this is just therapy shopping really, but I might go to five for something decorative, you know what I mean?” Karla did, and nodded knowingly at Rita.
“I think it was a real neat idea passing the Street Clearance Law. It keeps the towns free of rubbish, gives the vagrants a home and a purpose and provides honest, decent folks like us with affordable labor.” Rita confirmed her agreement. It wasn’t just the two friends who thought the Law was a progressive step. The Women’s Party proposal had given them land-slide victories in the last three gubernatorial elections.
At the Domestics Auction House the produce had been processed ready for sale. First, they’d all been stripped naked and fitted with neck collars - naturally, the customers would want to see what they were bidding for. The court orders had been verified and entered in the log and a Lot number allocated to each individual. There own names were no longer important, as their new mistresses would call them whatever they chose. They’d been taken to the ‘marking room’ where two of the girls had busied themselves staining their ears and foreheads with a bright scarlet die - the mark of a domestic slave. They would be kept stained that way by their mistresses so they could be easily identified as runaways if they dared to escape. Then they were all bundled into the small holding cell to await the sale.
At ten-thirty, Miss Jameson carried out her final check to ensure that everything was ready and when she’d satisfied herself, she sent the girls to the locker room to undress. It was the custom at Domestics Auction House for the girls to get naked for the sale, It was their way of showing contempt for the produce they were handling. They wanted to emphasize the point that none of the merchandise was regarded as a proper male being, just a thing to be used and traded, so they need show no modesty. In contrast to the merchandise, which had been deliberately exposed to the sun to develop an appealing body tan, the girls protected their skin to keep it pale and supple. They did redden their lips though, and rouged each others’ nipples just to tease the merchandise with the hint of unattainable female sexuality.
Outside, the seats were filling up with prospective buyers. Miss Jameson viewed the auction arena from her office window; it was good crowd. It only needed two women to compete to own the same slave and prices could be driven profitably high.
“Good morning ladies. Welcome to the Domestics Auction House! My name is Miss Caroline and I’m your auctioneer for today. Please feel free to come up close to inspect the merchandise, test the muscles, check the teeth.” As we advertised, all the merchandise will be modified for domestic service during the auction, if you do not wish your purchase to be modified, please indicate which Lot numbers you’re interested in and we’ll hold off the modification until the ownership’s been established.” She glanced around, but, in particular in the direction of Mrs. Nathan. Janet Nathan had a reputation for always doing it herself; she used pinking shears because she favored that zigzag look.
“Number four!” Janet called out.”
“That’s fine. Miss Jessica, hold off modifying number four until after the Lot’s been sold. Please shout out your bids in a loud, clear voice and hold up your buyer’s registration card. We pride ourselves on our efficiency, it’s just on eleven o’clock so let’s start the auction.” While Miss Caroline spoke, Jessica surveyed the waiting slaves. Fear and apprehension was written across all their faces. It was painted there, not simply from the prospect of being the possession of a cruel mistress, there was the more immediate prospect of their public circumcision.
“We’ll begin with Lot three. Who’ll bid five hundred?” There was no response. “Four? Three then, he’s gotta be a bargain at that price!” A few cards shot up. “Who’ll bid three fifty? Thank you, four hundred? Three ninety then? Thank you. Sold to bidder 174.”
Meanwhile, Miss Lindy had grabbed Lot 8, pinned his arms in a ju-jitsu lock and stood him in front of Miss Jessica, who was already kneeling down on the plastic-covered cushion supplied for her comfort. (She would have preferred velvet, of course, but it was easier to wash blood off plastic.) He struggled, obviously, and shook his head, shouting: “No! No!” - they all would. Well, it was only to be expected - Jessica was about to butcher his cock - slice into the most sensitive flesh on his body. In short, she was going to make him circumcised. She followed the procedure she’d learned on the course. First, she curled her hand around his flaccid, floppy penis and began to masturbate it. She drew the foreskin back and forth over the glans. It was the last time that he would ever experience that sensation. The guy just couldn’t help himself. None of them could! Despite the trembling fear, festering in their brains, anticipating the searing pain about to be inflicted on their precious sex flesh, female fingers couldn’t fail to bring them up to a full, throbbing erection. When Lot 8 was hard enough for her purposes, Jessica drew his foreskin fully forward again, gripped it firmly between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand and yanked on it. She pulled hard until it would stretch no further. Lot 8 yelled. He thought his cock skin was going to rip away from his groin. “Hush there young fellah,” Miss Lindy whispered, contemptuously, in his ear, “Save your cries for later - you ain’t felt nothin’ yet!”
When she was content that the skin would stretch no further, Miss Jessica took up the knife in her right hand and made a number of short, shallow nicks in the strained flesh, all around his cock, following just behind the line of the head. The nicks were clearly visible from the small trickle of blood which rose to the surface. She let the skin spring back. The red, dotted line now rested halfway along his penile shaft marking the point where she would cut him.
Jessica replaced the knife in the small, steel bath of antiseptic, and stood up to pour herself a glass from the Thermos of chilled lemonade that had been provided as refreshment - it might be a long, hot morning. She sipped slowly.
The knife itself was purpose designed. It had a small, black nylon handle specially shaped to take a firm grip, but also be maneuverable. The surgical-steel blade was about five inches long and it was slightly rounded. If you didn’t know better, you’d mistake it for the sort of knife a cook might use to fillet a flounder. Jessica could have used scissors - the curved type, like nail scissors, that Medics used to circumcise those foreskins that had developed beyond the rudimentary, infant state. That was o.k. for paying customers, Jessica thought, those lucky guys who got an anesthetic. But, for slaves, the traditional blade seemed more appropriate. There was no question of anesthetic for them, of course. It wasn’t to be cruel (though there was no harm in letting these guys know that ‘pain’ was going to be a feature of their lives from now on - if they displeased their mistress that was.) No, it was simply a question of economics; why waste the cost of a shot of Novocain on a mere Domestic? Miss Jessica put down the glass, she was ready to continue.
Taking up the knife again, she inserted it, sharp edge turned upwards, between his foreskin and the top of his glans. She pushed it in till the tip of the blade pierced through the pocket of skin behind the guy’s sulcus groove. Then she pushed some more and sliced upwards at the same time. The scream made even Miss Lindy jump: “I’d like to bid for him myself,” she thought, “Just so’s I could give him a dozen with the quirt for being such a wimp!” It was only a dorsal slit after all.
Both layers of his foreskin were now split open on its upper surface from the tip to the preputial root - quite sufficient for a normal circumcision, but this was no ordinary circumcision, it was a full, male, genital modification. It was not just his foreskin that was being cut off, all the redundant sex flesh would be sliced away as well. He was being modified for domestic service; he would almost certainly be put to work in the kitchen and kept naked while he was about his labors - no reason to squander money clothing a slave. Hygiene was paramount. There must be no surplus skin to bunch up behind the head, even when he was slam-dunk flaccid. Miss Jessica was going to prune him back hard like a rose bush in spring, so’s his cock head would be stripped bare for ever more. Never again would even his sulcus be covered to harbor that disgusting smegma. It might make masturbation harder for him, being stretched taut as a balloon, when erect, but what did that matter? Besides, if his mistress chose to use him for sex duties, that totally exposed glans would be perfected for the pleasuring of her vagina.
Miss Jessica, continued to split open the upper side of his shaft skin until she reached the red line where she was going to circumcise. But, Jessica liked to split it open further, cutting almost back to the root of the shaft at the pubis. She liked unfettered access to the genital flesh she was modifying. It was now time to release the inner layer of his foreskin from his sulcus groove. She took another sip from the glass beside her.
She lifted the penis up and held it flat against his belly, the slit prepuce fell open revealing the underside. Its frenum was attached quite high up on the glans at the very top of the two small lobes and extended for about an inch and a half along the mucus layer. It was not the usual string web, but was a thick strip like a piece of elastic band. It looked disgusting and Miss Jessica was especially satisfied that she was about to excise it for his new mistress. She wasted no time, running the tip of the knife up and down, along each side of the ligament. Hell how he screamed! Jessica didn’t care, in fact she was delighted. If it was that sensitive then it had to go. If he was used for bedroom services, and she knew he would be, he’d last that much longer. It was so obvious that evolution of the male genitalia lagged far behind that of the female. Miss Jessica was convinced of the fact.
That’s why women invented male circumcision in the first place. Oh, sure, men thought they‘d come up with it, but that was always the woman’s ploy. Suggest something to a man and then let him think it was his idea. She remembered the story of Zipporah, Moses’ wife, who circumcised their son with a flint knife to keep God happy. Good excuse Zippo - can’t argue with that! But the story did prove that women were circumcising their males as long ago as the stone age! Pity that some tribes had taken to ‘circumcising’ their women too. That was mutilation, unless it was only the clit hood that was cut off - and the woman wanted it that way. That could be fun - Miss Jessica knew. Most of the girls at D.A.H were cut that way, Miss Lindy was the first to get it done in San Francisco and then she did it for the others. It was one hell of a sexual revelation for Miss Jessica, wearing her clit nude. Male circumcision, on the other hand, was not mutilation, it was a necessity. Honing the male genital to a state of perfection for the sexual pleasure of women, simply using a knife to cut away all that unnecessary flesh that evolution should have shed naturally.
While she was reflecting, Miss Jessica cut carefully all around his inner mucosa, close up to Lot 8’s corona, leaving barely enough to stitch his remaining shaft skin back onto. All that was left was to cut around the blood line and the large rectangle of penile flesh came away in her hand. Apart from the sutures he was ‘done’. Except that is for the ‘trademark’. All the girls had one, a little specialty that distinguished her work from the others’. Jessica took the knife again and cut a deep ‘V’ into the top of the shaft skin removing a neat triangle from the penile sheath remaining on the upper side of his cock. She took the needle and catgut and roughly sewed up the bleeding penis, When she came to the upper side, the ‘V’ shape she’d snipped away meant it would not reach the remnant of inner mucosa - that was her intention. Instead, she stitched it directly onto the raw flesh of his exposed penile shaft. Eventually, it would all heal together, but he’d be left with the rough-looking, numb triangle on the front of his penis, right behind the glans. She’d read somewhere about an Arab tribe who circumcised their young men by flaying the entire length of the penis and the scrotum - seemed it ended up looking like a skinned eel! It sounded kindda cool. Perhaps she’d purchase a Domestic herself one day so’s she could try it out on him. By the time Jessica had finished, Lot 8 had been bought by Karla Andrews for $790.
Miss Lindy returned him to the center of the arena to wait for the end of the auction and the settlement and delivery. She took Lot 9 next, followed by Lot 13. It may have seemed random the way she selected them, but there was a reason for her choice. For example, she thought Lot 13 was kindda cute. She was anxious to see how much cuter he would look, in ten minutes or so, after Miss Jessica had taken her knife to his penis. Rita took an especial interest in the modification of Lot 13. Like the others, he cried out when he was cut into - that was to be expected, but he didn’t yell as much as he might have done and Miss Jessica was particularly thorough with his modification. He didn’t even scream loudly when Miss Jessica sliced out his frenulum, just simpered a little and set his young face into a pained grimace.
She excised him particularly slowly, making many, short staccato snips with the point of the blade up each side of the web of skin; when she reached the place where it was attached to his glans she sliced deeply into the underside of his knob to ensure that every vestige of his frenal string was cut out. For evermore he would be left with a noticeable groove there. Even Miss Lindy had to admit to herself that Jessica’s technique was nothing if not exceptionally thorough. Miss Jessica, herself, was especially pleased with her work and held up the bloody string of man flesh for the women to see, which was greeted with appreciative cheers of encouragement. She needed none, the gratification that came from inflicting such an extreme form of flaying on the sexual organs of helpless males was encouragement enough. Jessica would subject the remaining Lots to a similar, acute genital mutilation. Some sensitive souls might have argued that her zeal was excessive. But Jessica had no such squeamishness: women had a right to expect men to be cut that way for their sexual gratification and men had an obligation to submit to it. She smiled, anticipating the day when she would completely skin a man’s cock and scrotum.
Rita visualized Lot 13, dressed in a small, black cache sexe, filling the orders in the Drug Store, pleasing the ladies’ eyes and flattering their fantasies. She made her decision, when he came up for sale she would definitely put in a bid. He came up quicker than she anticipated. Lot 13’s penis had just been sewed up as Lot six went under the hammer, so Miss Caroline decided to sell him next.
There was a buzz of interest when she called out his number. Rita had expected no less. Miss Caroline opened at $500 and there were six bids. “$600?” That saw off the casual interest, only three left. “Who’ll bid seven hundred ladies? Isn’t he worth it, if you get my meaning?” They did, and there was knowing laughter in the buyers’ galleries.
“What do you think?” Rita asked Karla under her breath, nudging her gently.
“I think he’d do you just fine. I liked the way he took his modification and he’s more than decorative. Mind you, that could mean he’s stubborn and willful - still there’s nothing you can’t break with a raw dozen from the bull whip!”
“$700?” Two cards went up.
“$800 then, it’s just between the two of you.” announced Miss Caroline, warming to her task. There was keen interest in the competition.
Both cards went up again, though Jaynie Winters seemed to hesitate a little. Miss Caroline noticed, but Rita was unaware of it. Up in her office Miss Jameson was observing the sale. “Push it up Caro, push it up now.” She willed her auctioneer to take the opportunity. Miss Caroline did.
“A thousand bucks!”
Rita looked quizzically at Karla, wanting advice. She got it: “Buy it, the customers will come, just to be served a soda by it, and for those really interested, there’ll be the weekend hire fees!” Rita raised the card.
“Sold to number 361!” And the hammer fell on the fate of Lot 13. Would it be unlucky for him? Only time and obedience would tell.
They’d both made their purchases, so Karla took some time to survey the scene before her. It was an animated scene, punctuated with patches of serenity. She couldn’t help but notice the contrast between the modified produce and Lots still waiting to be cut. There was anxious fear and apprehension written on their faces. The guy peeping out above Lot 8’s shoulder showed sheer terror in his eyes. Number 6 looked as though he might burst into tears, sitting submissively, awaiting his fate. Miss Jessica would not have to waste time masturbating him, he had already erected. His sexually aroused penis arched upwards against his belly. The foreskin had peeled back revealing his glans in anticipation of its soon-to-be-enforced state of surgical nudity; his frenum was exposed, offering itself for excision. Strange how the prospect of modification aroused some of these guys! But there was no accounting for taste. Miss Jessica was being more than thorough with Lot 3, and Miss Lindy had to hold him firmly while she cut, but his agitated discomfort was plain for all to see, just as his cries of anguish were clear for all to hear.
In contrast, the already-modified Domestics stood quietly, their expressions calm and thoughtful. It was like the guys knew intuitively that circumcision was their destiny, when the agony of it’s inevitability was staring them in the face they squirmed and squealed like scared rats. Once it was done, they calmed down, resigned to the reality, finally content that they were properly modified males. It was as though they’d finally achieved that tacit ambition they’d subconsciously yearned for since birth.
Miss Caroline was occupied auctioning Lot 4. She wanted to get him out of the way. Miss Lindy had to know if he was going to need modifying - and he would, if Janet Nathan wasn’t successful with her bid. “My,” thought Karla, “How anxious he looks. Guess he can’t decide whether he’d rather be modified right here in public by an expert, or have it done later, privately, by his new owner.” Lot 4’s hands had fixed themselves firmly in front of his genitals, whether from modesty or an instinctive gesture of protection Karla didn’t know. But he would have to move them. Mrs. Nathan was demanding to see his penis and testicles. Well, why not? She was about to buy them! He was oblivious to Miss Caroline’s shouted instructions to move them away, so Miss Ellen, who was displaying him, had to slap his face and pull them away herself and hold them behind his back. Janet Nathan must have been satisfied by what she saw, because she upped her bid to $700 and bought him. Karla imagined him, later that day, forced to stand there, hands behind his back, while he had his foreskin snipped away with those pinking shears. It kindda made her moist between the legs thinking about it. She remembered how good it had felt when she modified Billy, even though it did end up looking like he’d dipped his cock into the food processor! The remaining Lots went under the hammer and it was over.
“Thank you very much ladies, that concludes today’s auction. But I do have an announcement to make. Next Friday there is a special auction of female domestics. As you know these rarely come on the market, because they’re usually sent straight to the State Whorehouses. So come along and make your bids, whether you’re looking for a nanny or want to treat your husband to a personal body slave - to keep him from bothering you while you’re ‘busy’ with your young Domestic. You get my drift, I’m sure! Of course you might want a personal body slave of your own, at Domestics Auction House we cater for all needs. Thank you ladies.
The customers left or made their ways to the Cash Office to settle their bills. “There’ll be a big queue, Rita, come with me to the store first, I need to get a new set of clamps. The springs on mine have grown too weak.”
“Sure thing Karla.”
“What have you got in the way of tit clamps?” Karla asked the assistant.
“Well madam these are the most popular line.” She showed Karla a set of steel nipple clamps joined by a heavy chain. “These have a little slide here so you can adjust the grips to apply greater pressure if you wish.” Both women examined the device and Karla clipped one of the jaws around her little finger to gauge the strength. She wasn’t impressed.
“I was really looking for something more out of the of the ordinary.”
“Oh, I understand, you’re looking for something a little more punitive, may I suggest the Crocodile Crusher here. It’s based on automobile jump leads. Feel how sharp these teeth are.” Both Karla and Rita did feel them and had to agree. “And these lugs here are designed to fix electrodes onto. You can shoot as many volts into your Domestic’s teats as you think he can stand, or more if you’ve a mind to.” The women bought a set each.
“These are going to be just great for training purposes,” Karla explained, “I’ll fit them onto my new boy when I set him to clean the kitchen this afternoon and they won’t come off till it’s finished to my satisfaction. I find it’s an excellent way to encourage a slave to work really fast.”
“I’ve only bought mine to use as a sex toy; but don’t imagine that his tits will be the only bit of Matt that these are gonna get clipped onto!” Both women giggled.
When they left the store the queue had disappeared so they handed over the credit cards, collected their produce (which was ordered into the back of Karla’s truck) and drove to Scottsville Avenue for lunch. Both Domestics had been given a cache sexe to put on. A small triangle of white cotton cloth with a string threaded through a channel stitched along the top, to be tied around his hips and a third string attached to the bottom angle to be drawn between his thighs and up through the cleft of his buttocks and secured to the waist string. It was not designed for modesty, simply to protect his newly-wounded penis from infection.
“I’m going to call you ‘Eight’.” Karla told her new Domestic, as she showed him into the kitchen. “I think it’s best to keep an impersonal relationship with a slave, don’t you Rita?” Rita nodded. “There’s the ice box, you’ll find a bottle of Chardonnay in there, you pour two big glasses and bring them to us in the garden by the pool and be quick about it.” Karla led Rita through the back door towards the pool and they both relaxed on the blue-striped sun loungers.
When Eight arrived with the two filled glasses his hands were trembling from nerves, it was inevitable then that as he handed a glass to Rita, he spilt a little on her shorts. “Why you are a clumsy boy aren’t you? I can see your training’s going to have to begin right away. Go back to the kitchen and fetch me the cane you’ll find on the rack by the clock. Sorry about that Rita, but he’ll soon learn not to be careless.”
The cane was a quarter-inch-thick-rattan rod about three feet long. Eight’s head instinctively bowed as he handed it to Karla. “Spread your legs, bend over and grasp your ankles.” She spoke the words with a bored tone in her voice, but then she’d spoken them so many times before. He obeyed silently, he’d been taught how he must comply with his mistress’s commands. It was to be the first, but by no means the severest, of many correctional beatings he would receive in the course of his training. “Say, Karla can I get my new boy to watch this, so’s he gets the idea how domestic service works.”
“Oh, sure Rita, be my pleasure.” Rita went to the front door and called Lot 13 from the truck where he was left waiting.
“Now see what happens to Domestics who displease their mistresses.”
Karla’s arm rose and fell six times thwacking the rod heavily across Eight’s buttocks. “Owww! Owww…!” She was gratified to hear that her efforts discomfited him.
“You always strike at the same spot, low down, don’t you ever criss-cross them?”
“What do you mean Rita, show me.” She handed the rod to her friend.
Rita placed the rod in her right hand, stood on his left side and brought it down at an angle which raised a red weal running from the bottom of his left cheek to the top of his right. Then, she transferred the rod to her left hand, moved to his right side and repeated the stroke in the opposite direction. She continued changing sides until a pleasant fret pattern had been created. Lot 13 looked on with trepidation, he would not intentionally offend his new mistress.
“Why Rita that does look kindda neat, but I guess it’s helpful being ambidextrous when you do that. O.K. Eight, you can stand up now. What is that? Take them off, I want to see what’s going on down there.” Both women had spotted the huge bulge pushing out the pouch of the cache sexe. He didn’t strip fast enough so Karla encouraged him with three more rapid strokes across the backs of his thighs. His hands immediately shot down to unfasten the bow that held the small garment in place.
“Oh, my. What a grower you are!”
“I do declare, you sure bought yourself a bargain there Karla, I’m jealous.”
“I didn’t see it when Miss Jessica worked him up, she got in the way with all that lemonade drinking, none of the women could have seen him or he’d been way outta my pocket, he’d’ve gone to one of those rich divorcees from Carrington Heights. She sure made a mistake not showing that off. I’m gonna measure it right away.” Karla disappeared inside and returned with a thin plastic rule. As she placed it along the top side of his erect penis she caught it in one of the stitches; he winced and jumped in pain. “Stop wriggling!” Karla brought the rule down sharply across the end on his newly-flayed glans. He winced even louder. “Now keep still! Wow, he’s a full ten incher with a six inch circumference!”
“That’ll fetch a big premium when you sell him.”
“I can see he’s going to spend more time leased out to the rich bitches than he will working in my kitchen. Just imagine what he’ll fetch for a weekend hen party.”
“Do you know, Karla I’ve never had one that huge, always wanted to know what it felt like, but they don’t come along that often. It’s kindda making me real horny just looking at it.”
I’ve had a nine incher inside me Rita, it belonged to my ex-husband, that’s what I married him for - and his money, of course not his personality. Pity he didn’t keep it just for me. I lost it when we divorced, but I did get to keep most of his money though. Say, you want to try him out right now? You‘re my guest after all, my house is your house, my Domestic is your Domestic.”
“He’s only just been modified, you sure he’ll be up to it?”
“Oh, he’ll have to take it slowly, of course - all the better for you - and it’ll doubtless sting like hell. But a little pain is a small price for a slave to pay for the privilege of servicing a beautiful lady like you.” Rita lost no time in pulling off her T-shirt and pushing down her shorts and thong and stepping out of them. She lay back again on the lounger, pulled up her knees and spread them wide. “Eight, get down and fuck her, and fuck her real well.” Eight was in a physical dilemma. His erection caused the stitches in his cock to strain inflicting considerable pain, but the more pain he endured the harder his erection became. He was that kind of a guy, it was what turned him on. He was about to protest, but remembered the rod and thought better of it. Despite the brutalized state of his penis, he hadn’t had sex for months and the prospect of penetrating an attractive woman excited him enough to overcome his natural apprehension. He lay on top of Rita and she had him pleasure her hot mouth and suckle her turgid nipples for twelve minutes before she made him enter her. Her juices stung the raw scars like lime juice and, as he thrust inwards, the stitches strained so much he thought they would burst. When his ass rose as he partially withdrew, Karla brought the rod down to meet it, encouraging him to thrust in again, deeper and harder.
Eight’s head was a buzz of confusion. In just a few hours he’d been sold and circumcised, thrashed and humiliated and now he was having sexual intercourse shooting conflicting sensations of pain and pleasure through his cock and brain, or was the pain actually part of the pleasure? He just didn’t know.
The excitement of having such a huge prick inside her brought Rita to a rapid climax and the sight and sound of her abandoned orgasm brought him to a climax too. By the time Rita gave him permission to withdraw, he had already grown soft and floppy, which did not suit Karla because she intended to try him herself. “I guess I should have instructed you properly, but now I’m telling you: never allow yourself to cum, unless you’ve been told to! I want you to fuck me now so I’ll have to get you back up erect. Still, we know your little proclivity for pain, so I know exactly how to get you hard again.” Eight agonized at the prospect of another dozen with the rod, but Karla had a different idea and returned to the house. When she came back, she was carrying a black, polythene bag bearing the inscription: DAH Domestics Store, in bold, red letters. She dipped inside and pulled out the set of nipple clamps. “Come over here and stand still with your hands on your head while I clip these onto you.”
Karla took a clamp in each hand, squeezing hard to open the strong jaws. Eight watched with increasing anxiety as the vicious-looking devices moved closer and closer to his teats. Karla snapped them on him simultaneously. He gasped audibly, his face contorted with the agony and burgeoning tears welled in his eyes. “Aghhh!!! Aghhh!!!” he moaned.
“Hush now, it’s you own fault, if you hadn’t been so insolent as to cum inside Miss Rita here, I wouldn’t need to waste my time doing this to you. But, my, you are predictable, I like that in a slave, see Rita.” And Rita could see that his cock had risen up to a full, thick hard-on again and was even twitching involuntarily. There was quite a pronounced upward curve, all the better to stimulate that G spot when you did it missionary style and the coarse stitches would add to her stimulation. Now she had achieved her purpose, Eight expected his mistress to remove the clamps, but she had a different agenda. “I’ll leave them on you while you’re fucking me, keep you up real hard.” And she did, tugging on them occasionally, for the sheer hell of it. Eight would never cum again without consent, nor would he ever be allowed to jerk-off again either. Karla didn’t want him dissipating his energies. He had to be kept in a state of total sexual frustration and readiness to serve her or the paying customers. After she enjoyed her own orgasm, she took him inside to the discipline cabinet and took out a genital restraint. It resembled a leather jock strap, except that it could be locked in position and, instead of a soft, padded pouch to support his sex organs, there was a steel cup, specially designed to imprison both penis and testicles, a tiny hole allowed urine to escape. He would never be allowed to touch himself again, unless Karla chose to unlock him. “I’ve decided not to call you ‘Eight’,” she told him flippantly, as she snapped closed the padlock, “I’m going to call you Ten instead. Now you get on and clean this kitchen real good, those clamps are staying on until you’ve finished.”