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The story opens in south-central Alabama, on a out-of-the-way farm 
owned by two gentlemen we'll refer to as Dan and Roy. They need to be 
reclusive and circumspect because their trade is that of making young 
men into what can only be called slaves. Some of their "customers" 
have been consigned by a wife, lover, mistress, or master, to be 
taught the behavior and demeanor proper to their station. Others were 
troublemakers or wrongdoers that couldn't be dealt with more 
conventionally. Once trained, most of these are discreetly offered 
for sale to a select clientele, chiefly overseas.
Enough. To the Sunny South, near the end of the 20th century.

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The blazing afternoon sun beat down relentlessly upon the hard-packed 
earth of the barnyard, where a thick wooden post had been set up, 
planted firmly into the ground. One twenty-six knelt there naked, 
with his knees apart and his back up against the rough-hewn shaft. 
His arms were pulled around the pole by his wrists, bound tightly 
together with a nylon cable tie. A chain that went around both his 
neck and the post forced him to keep his head up. The slave had been 
bound there early the previous afternoon and was not looking good at 
all.
A few weeks before, at the periodic inspection, Dan had announced 
that 126 was stripped of his position and privileges as overseer and 
confiscated the strap that marked his status. Furthermore, he said, 
126 was not to shave until further orders. The slaves were stunned, 
none so much as 126 himself, who staggered out of formation at the 
news, the color draining from his face. Recovering from the initial 
shock, he blurted out "But sir--!" without having permission to 
speak.
As if he'd expected this, Dan nodded to 1077, till then 126's right-
hand man, who fetched one of the thick leather gags and stuffed it 
into 126's mouth, securing it at the back of his head, then locked a 
heavy chain between the metal bands around his ankles. Since then, 
his life had been miserable--the other slaves naturally took every 
chance that presented itself to make things as difficult as possible 
for their deposed oppressor--but worst of all was the uncertainty. 
Why had this happened? What had he done wrong? What was to be done to 
him?
Finally yesterday everything had come to a head. He had been led out 
in front of all the other slaves, and told to stretch out on his 
back. Dan had snipped the metal bands off his wrists and ankles, and 
made him stay there while the others pissed on him, especially on his 
face and on his humiliatingly aroused genitals. Roy had then set him 
up against this post that had not been here before, binding his arms 
painfully around it and chaining his neck securely, leaving him to 
shiver through the night and to sweat under the noonday sun.
At least he knew what had happened; he was familiar with the ritual: 
he had been sold! He couldn't believe it; he had thought he was Dan 
and Roy's trusted minion, obediently doing their bidding. There 
hadn't been an auction or inspection as had always happened with the 
other slaves Dan had sold.
Late that afternoon, the slaves gathered again around the post. Roy 
came over to 126, unlocked the chains, and released his arms. "Stand 
up for a minute," he ordered 126, who gingerly stretched his muscles. 
"Five fifty-one, come here and sit against the post with your legs 
stretched out," he said to the slave who had once been a smalltime 
thug and would-be wiseguy known as Tony.
This time it was 551's turn to be chained by his thick neck to the 
punishment post, but his wrists were left unbound. Roy handed him a 
small jar, saying, "You've got a rare treat in store, 551; I want you 
to grease up your dick, and get it good and hard." Five fifty-one 
obeyed, at first enjoying the unfamiliar sensation of his hand on his 
fat cock, but grimacing with pain as it stiffened; meanwhile, Roy 
turned his attention to 126. As he cuffed the slave's wrists behind 
him, he directed, "Now, as for you, I want you to crouch on that 
slave's dick. Just lower yourself nice and slow till you're sitting 
right down in his lap."
One twenty-six complied reluctantly, squatting over 551's husky 
thighs until the head of the big circumcised organ was positioned at 
the puckered opening of his tight asshole, then clenching his teeth 
against the gag, trying to relax his butt-muscles as he gingerly 
eased the stiff pole into himself. On the outside, before he'd lost 
his freedom and been brought to Dan and Roy's farm as a slave, he 
hadn't allowed anything even vaguely resembling a cock to get 
anyplace near his rear end. Even though his once-virgin ass had been 
well and truly opened up half a dozen times or so since then, he 
still detested getting screwed. When 551's fuck-stick was firmly 
lodged in 126's shit-chute, Roy commanded, "Now, 126, you stretch 
your legs out in front of you, outside 551's." Once he'd obeyed, he'd 
lost any control he might have had over his situation--he was 
helplessly impaled. And with 551's hard-on thrust far up inside his 
guts, his own cock began to lengthen and swell. "All right, 551, wrap 
your arms around him, and hold him down tight; he isn't going to 
enjoy what I have to say one little bit.
"So," continued Roy, reaching out with his fist and stroking 126 into 
a full erection, "here's another grade-A product of Fitzroy's Stud 
Farm. Except this one won't be much of a stud by this time next week. 
I seriously doubt whether his new master will have any need for all 
this apparatus, so I'm very much afraid that it will have to come 
off. Quite a shame, too, one doesn't run across balls like these 
every day."
One twenty-six made a desperate attempt to escape, but 551 held onto 
him even tighter and forced 126 back onto his fat erection.
"What you slaves can't be expected to know is that some time ago the 
slave that we've all known as 126 caught the eye of our good customer 
the 'Amir 'Ilm al-Jabr. We concluded our negotiations with His 
Highness last month to our mutual satisfaction, so this slave will be 
sent to al-Qurayn tonight, to begin his service as a palace eunuch."
One twenty-six looked like he would have shit blue if his ass hadn't 
already been stuffed.
Dan came over and lifted up 126's suddenly shrunken cock and hairy 
balls. "Since, by this time tomorrow, this impressive endowment will 
no doubt be severed from the slave's body, I've obtained His 
Highness's gracious leave to make use of it now." Dan looked up with 
a little smile on his lips; a huge contrast to 126's terrified 
pallor. "Most of you have been fucked by this dick; others of you 
have been fucked over by him. So this morning, I'm gonna let each of 
you have at him. You can do whatever you want, using your mouth, to 
126's cock and balls, but you have exactly ninety seconds each--
that's one-and-a-half minutes. Also, take care to keep your hands 
clasped behind your backs at all times, and stay on your knees. You 
can tease him, or drain his balls--just don't damage the merchandise 
too much. His Highness shelled out some hard-earned money for the 
opportunity to deprive this slave of his manhood--, and oh, yeah, for 
now you have permission to talk with each other--just hold it down."
Dan and Roy customarily permitted some kind of genital sport with a 
slave who'd been sold before he departs. Any sexual contact at all 
was a rare, much anticipated treat for the slaves, even though 
release couldn't be hoped for. To a man, they were rigidly erect as 
they watched 126 fuck himself; many of them had been sweating out the 
urge all day, struggling to control their groping hands, to withstand 
the intense craving for release. But when the Masters started talking 
about castration, not a few hard-ons retreated as the threat became 
real. 
"I'm sure you'll all show him a good time now, guys," added Roy, 
"because that big thing's gonna be history. We'll go by number this 
time, beginning with the highest. So 4711, looks like that means you 
lucked out--you're up first again."
The mood lightened as the twenty-one-year-old blond came forward and 
knelt. Forty-seven eleven had arrived only a few months before, but 
he was already a popular slave. His Midwestern bloodlines dealt him 
his straightforward, blue-eyed good looks, and he owed the firm, 
compact muscularity to Marine Corps training, as well as that 
tenaciousness that helped him endure his current ordeal without 
complaint. Bending down into 126's crotch, he displayed the small, 
rounded buttocks that tempted even the straightest of heterosexuals. 
The slaves cheered 4711 on with mostly good-natured comments such as 
"I'd sure like to fuck that tight little butt again!" and "Wouldn't 
you rather be suckin' on my big ol' dick, sweet-cheeks?"