48 Hours on Blue Bayou Pt. 44: Igor 02

"Now, Mr Clegg suggested that you'd get a better feel for this part of our slave prep if you had a go at it yourself, getting into one of the costumes we present these units in at auction. I've asked this group to dress you up so you can see and feel what the units see and feel. Of course, the first step is to make yourself naked; we start, as they say, from the ground up."

To say I was surprised would be a huge understatement, but I didn't want my first hours in the Clegg organization to seem troublesome, so I looked around and found an alcove where I could undress and hang my clothes, neatly, I hoped. I was reassured when, returning to the group, no one made any humiliating remarks, and there were even a few compliments, about my body. I suppose that should have been a warning.

"OK," one of the trainers started. "Don't pay attention to what Rick said. We actually start at the top and work down. Here's a standard snaffle bit; it goes over your tongue, with a curb chain running under your jaw. Together these two hold your tongue in place so you can't talk. At each corner of your mouth, there is a bit ring which holds the strap around your head keeping the business end in your mouth. We want it to feel snug, but not pull at the corners of your mouth.

"Also rising from each bit ring is a strap that joins its fellow at the bridge of the nose and carries over the head to buckle on the bit strap behind your head. Now, take a look at yourself; this tack looks quite flattering on you! A powerful guy nicely controlled!"

I got a quick look in a small mirror and wasn't impressed by any fashion statement. The bit was uncomfortable and I could see it would take some time and effort getting used to it. I guessed that slaves, during their training, get plenty of this practice? I was beginning to drool a bit, and speaking was out of the question. Anxiety was starting to gnaw at me, but the trainers continued with their breezy enthusiasm.

"Now we move to the upper body. Here, we want to show your breasts off to best advantage; because you're a boy, its going to be your pecs and tits. We start with this metal collar which, as you can see, has a soft neoprene rubber lining so it is comfortable to wear. We have found that, if slaves are not comfortable, it shows in their faces and reduces their attractiveness while up on the auction block. On the other hand, anxiety — different from discomfort — is often attractive to our Buyers, helping ramp up the bidding.

"Now, let's move on to the breasts and pecs. We apply these two half-circles around the base of a female breast, choosing a size which will squeeze the breast just a little. For most women, the rings lead to some engorgement of the breasts, which is nicely arousing to the customer. Most boys are pretty flat across the chest, but you've got great pecs! Each breast ring is held in place by a couple of chains. There is a short chain down from the collar to the top of the ring; the chain continues down over the breast, supporting a nipple clamp — a miniclamp for males, naturally. In front, the breast rings are held as close as we want with a spring inside this shiny metal tube, creating the desired amount of cleavage, while a breast chain runs from the side of each ring around the chest. The complete setup looks like a very special bra. You have pecs but no cleavage, so we will adjust the tension enough to hold your breast rings firmly in place. Time to take another look at yourself?"

This "look" didn't square with my fashion sense; I thought the nipple clamps and the bra chain were too tight for comfort. I was now definitely worried, but the trainers gave me no time to protest.

A new trainer took over. "We control the waist with another chain, locked at the back. For a girl, three chains run down from the navel: one goes outside each of the labia and one runs right in the slit between the labia, covering the clitoris. If desired, we can add a clit clamp here. The three chains join between her cunt and her ass and travel back between her buttocks to join her waist chain. The chain across her cunt and her ass can be used to hold a dildo and a butt plug, if we feel it would help the marketing presentation. The insertables are held by clips, of course, and they can make the girl squirm a bit, which helps the 'good look.'

"For a boy, we use one chain that runs from his waist chain down to a ring that encircles his cock and balls. From the back of this ring, the chain runs in his ass crack up to the waist chain. We add rings for his cock and for his ballsac; these are magnetized so they keep each other in place on his package without needing clips or clamps.

"Alternatively, we can use a leather thong to wrap around the neck of his sack and stretch out his balls or use the thong to separate his balls sideways. That always makes the guys feel vulnerable. You see it in their eyes, which is always nice. And, easily enough, the chain across his ass can be used to keep a plug in place."

There was no invitation for a "look" after these chains and fittings were placed. The atmosphere was no longer a "fancy dress" party; these trainers were working their trade on just another subject. They were concentrating on getting the sizes and tensions right, not even looking at me anymore. I kept repeating to myself that Mr Clegg was a friend of Albert and had no reason to do anything dramatic or dangerous to his guest. Somehow, this didn't make me feel much better.

A female trainer was next. "We've almost got our slave's body in proper restraint, so we just chain the wrists to the waist chain behind the back using these padded metal cuffs, closed with small padlocks at each wrist. It makes the girls stick out their chest and tits and keeps the boys feeling helpless."

The cuffs held my wrists at the small of my back, just as in the Transport Mode I had learned about earlier. Now, I was completely helpless as well as silenced. Anxiety had morphed into fear, but I saw no action I could take. I was completely at the disposal of these slavers.

"You will notice that these chains and rings are simple stainless steel, with a matte finish. They are fully functional, but don't dress up our slave. So, we have some bright and shiny gold chains for your decoration. Anyone seeing you with these will know how much your Owner values his slave.

"The idea is to create a drapery with a series of loose chains. We have a short chain running from shoulder to shoulder, curving a bit down to just above your breasts. A longer chain loops over your breasts just below your nipples, so the clamps are visible. The third chain is a bit longer and loops just below your breasts and above the waist chain.

"For your abdomen, we have another series of three looping chains, held to the sides of your waist chain and curving to cover your lower abdomen, the base of your prick, and about midway down your prick. The middle chain also carries some small bells, so you will make music for your Owner. Of course, some owners like to lock their male slaves' pricks in a chastity device, but we'll leave that for now."

This reprieve was not much of an encouragement!

"We usually add another three loops of chain over a male slave's ass; again, we have attached bells to these chains to help your music-making. It's really too bad that male asses are usually just not as naturally attractive as female behinds, right? Yours, on the other hand, is quite good; I would even say Tasty!

I was turned around and more chains were draped over my ass. I became aware of the weight of metal I was now "wearing." Each chain or ring might be just a few ounces, but the combination was adding up to several pounds — and some of those pounds were pulling or squeezing sensitive parts of my anatomy. As I was turned and moved, the bells I was now wearing did start to tinkle. I wasn't sure if it was music, but whoever would be my Owner would surely know where I was. I was also aware that these trainers were now treating me as an object, not a person. I was now feeling the humiliation and "animalization' that is part of every slave's life experience.

The trainers, for their part, were all smiling and congratulating each other on "another job well done." They circled me, or commanded me to turn or bend or move, taking souvenir photos of their work, both full length and close-ups, apparently.

The female trainer who had directed the application of the gaudy gold chains clapped her hands for attention. "Hey, guys! We've got this unit all dressed and ready to go. Why don't we take him upstairs to today's auction and see what price he'll fetch?"

As one, the other trainers agreed with this sally and, before I could make any kind of move, they had clipped a heavy chain to my collar and were leading and dragging me into the corridor. It wasn't a long trip. I tried to hold back as much as possible, which only brought laughs from the group and a slash from someone's riding crop across my back. "That's one reason why we don't drape chains across your back," added a voice, probably trying to be helpful, but only adding to my rising panic.

Our destination was a large room, brilliantly lit, which presented a ring of daises, raised to display the slaves available. I was pushed to an empty one, where one trainer shackled my ankles to chains at each back corner while another trainer adjusted the small spotlights highlighting the new merchandise on offer. The activity brought immediate attention from the well-dressed buyers circulating in the room.

A short man, not as well-dressed and perspiring, poked at a trainer, who turned and, giving him a huge welcome, announced, "Brian! We've brought a 'late addition' to the catalogue."

This was the moment I felt sick to my stomach. I had trained in the military and knew battlefields, from deserts to swamps to the urban chaos of enemy cities. I didn't know slave auction rooms. But, the chains held fast and all I accomplished was to interest more buyers in the slave flashing all the gold, clearly a sign of a former owner's regard.

The Corps trains you to control panic. In a moment, I had stilled myself. I reasoned that Albert would not ignore a disappearance of a brother. There would be consequences, probably fairly quickly and fairly publicly, that Freddie Clegg Enterprises and Canopus Impex would not enjoy. I reasoned that this "event" was very likely the idea of Mr Clegg. Perhaps he was more upset at my questions than I had suspected, and this was his "lesson" to a young upstart? Perhaps it was some "role play" suggested by Albert, a sort of live-fire exercise to further my education?

If either of these scenarios was correct, and I couldn't think of any others that made sense, then my best line of action was to "go along" with it, playing the unwilling slave until Clegg called an end to the game. After all, there was no "former Owner" and no data or paperwork to identify the provenance of the "slave."

That comforting thought lasted only a few moments. One potential buyer asked for the "stuff on the new unit" and a trainer pecked at his iPod and showed him all the details he could want.

OK, I thought, anyone can fake a catalogue page. It's not as secure as the actual paperwork that a buyer would expect.

But, I was still, bit by bit, getting desperate. Albert might mount an attack, but where would my chained body be by then? What about me mounting an attack as soon as I was reasonably free of these damn restraints? Remember! I was a Marine. I had been trained to a peak of physical perfection. I had been trained to kill. I stilled the emotions in my face as best I could, and went back to Plan A. Plan B would have to wait until after the auction.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter 128: Display and Mount the Block

I was the focus of attention for several Buyers in the half-hour or so I was on display. Each asked about my "training" and my "level of submission." The trainers had reassuring words for each. Each Buyer asked about my "Reserve Price." I didn't hear what the trainers said, but none of the buyers seemed uncomfortable with the number given. I felt a flash of humiliation when I thought that, first, my price might be embarrassingly low, and, second, that I might not "make" that price. I laughed to myself at this: I really was taken by this experience!

Chimes ended the "Demonstration and Viewing" period. One by one, slaves were taken away to the auction block. A trainer remained with me at all times, cooing comforting words to the effect that I would be an asset in the stable of any Master or Mistress. I tried to ignore this thought, concentrating on my military training. Who had firearms? Had I seen anyone with a Taser? Which of the trainers and handlers looked tough and strong? Who looked like a killer — like me? When would I strike? What would be the best opportunity to break out?

Finally, the guards came for me. Not roughly, but firmly, they hustled me into a small theatre and pushed me up on the block. Brian, the auctioneer, gave me a look that was either a leer or a grin, and waved some papers as he described this "late addition." They gave me credit for being an American but alleged that my financial sense — rather, lack of it — had led me into ruin and the proceeds of my sale would be sent to satisfy the loan sharks. No mention was made of my proficiency, or lack thereof, in sexual matters.

The bidding was slow but steady. I quickly spotted some of the men and women who had "viewed" me earlier. There was also a young woman, dressed very plainly compared to the run of buyers in the theatre, sitting next to a raven-haired, blue-eyed, woman with legs up to her armpits and wearing a suit with tailoring so sharp you could cut yourself on it. I was impressed by the woman; something about her said Dangerous, but it was the young woman who was bidding. Not large amounts, but steadily matching the other bidders.

Brian, suspecting that my "late addition" might escalate into a sum sizable enough to give him an impressive commission, doubled his efforts to hype the sale. None of the bidders seemed impressed by his comments, which I thought were mostly irrelevant. The raven-haired woman, however, plainly showed irritation on her face.

At one point, she abruptly rose and approached me. She said one word: "Spread." In the moment, I could not understand the meaning of her command. It all happened so fast! She held out an arm and a handler filled it with a whippy switch. In an instant, she brought it down across my right thigh. In surprise and in the white flash of pain, I buckled. A half-second later, she scored another white flash of pain across my left thigh. Tears filled my eyes. When she said, quietly, "I said, Spread your legs," it was all too easy to obey.

I spread on her command, embarrassed that I had been caught so much off guard, but my combat brain was still not in the zone. Barely seconds after I had spread, the woman brought the switch across the insides of both thighs, first left, then right. I was gasping at this latest, unexpected attack of painful slashes when I heard her announce — to Brian and maybe to her fellow Buyers — "This slave is not ready for sale. He is not conditioned to pain and, clearly, does not take well to discipline. It's all very well adding late units of merchandise to the catalogue, but they must be ready for market. This slave has potential but, in my opinion, it is just not ready."

At this, the other bidders fell away and I was sold to the young woman, or, more precisely, to whomever was the mastermind behind her. She just didn't look like a Mistress to me. The end came rather quickly, and I didn't catch what my final price was. Brian hadn't mentioned my Reserve Price at the start of the bidding, so I didn't know if I'd beaten it. From the length of the bidding, however, I figured I'd done well on both counts.

The guards took me down from the block and hustled me to a small room, where my ankle chains were locked to rings set in the floor. I was told nothing of who had bought me or where I was going, and my gag prevented me from asking anything. I knew, of course, that slaves spend a lot of time waiting for a Master's command, and so, I waited.

It was the raven-haired woman who finally came. She walked around me; I had the presence of mind to know that, if she had wanted me to turn and display myself, she would have ordered it.

"So, Mr Igor, what do you think of our House of Slavery?" she asked. "I am sorry about your thighs, but I thought it was time to show that someone took Quality Control seriously! Four stripes? Well, at least you are marked symmetrically."

Her use of my name, which had not been mentioned all day long, was the clue that this "event" had been staged after all. Warm feelings to the world, to the trainers, and to the raven-haired woman flooded through me. I bowed as low as I could with all the metal confining me, causing, even to my ears, some rather pleasant sounds.

"Oh dear!" she said, "I forgot your gag. I'll get the team to take you apart." She turned and left. A few moments later, the trainers all piled into the room and, as she had promised, "took me apart." I was amazed that it took so little time to remove rings and chains that had taken so long to apply. Finally, the young woman who had "bid" for me appeared with all my clothes, nicely presented on hangars. I dressed without realizing that my nipples, which had become numb after a short time, were now receiving fresh blood and were again painful.

The raven-haired woman introduced herself as Elspeth Grant — "Everyone calls me Ellie" — the head of Clegg's legal department and, Albert had suggested, Clegg's long-term partner.

"Thank you," I said. "It isn't every day that you meet the lady who has bought you."

The room laughed, and I laughed along with it, mostly from relief as my fears evaporated at last.

Ellie patted my shoulder and mentioned that it was the first time she'd been a "buyer" and she'd thoroughly enjoyed it. The trainer team wandered off and Rick appeared, a lop-sided smile on his face.

"Please don't think badly of us," he pleaded. We knew you were coming for an internship and we'd talked about what to do while you're here, but instructions came down this morning about what the Boss wanted done, along with promises of what would happen if anyone fouled up. Tell us, did we have you believing that you were on sale for real?"

I shook my head. "No, of course not. I had a feeling my short talk with Mr Clegg hadn't gone exactly well and that he was trying to give a lesson to a smart young whippersnapper. I want you to know that you all performed quite well and, let me assure you all, I certainly learned what a slave goes through. And, particular thanks for only the one slash of the crop; I don't need another to have lots of respect for that instrument, but I have even more respect for the switch!"

It was time for dinner, and many of the Canopus staff left for home. The remaining trainers took me to a sumptuous local hotel where we enjoyed a very pleasant meal, wine, and whiskey afterwards. It had been a long day, in many ways, but I fell asleep in my palatial bedroom long before I could write any sort of report for Albert.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter 129: Operations, Research, and Marketing

In the next few weeks, I got to see much more of the "snatch squads," and even went along on a few operations. Clegg's Director of Operations, Harry Keitley, wasn't pleased to babysit a newcomer, but he allowed that I hadn't "fucked up" any operation. Later, I learned that that was high praise from one of Clegg's inner circle.

The new man, Larry Ross, was Director of Marketing. He provided insights into the kind of men and women our industry was serving along with some ideas I found refreshing. Harry's ideas about females were generally downbeat. They were useful for sex but he really didn't see them as people, just as "units of merchandise." I suspected that, if my Introduction to Clegg Enterprises has been up to Harry, I might actually have been sold off!