Easy Changes

Many of the families shopping stopped to watch the army slaves do their training drill, just as we did, as if it were a holiday parade. The children squealed with laughter whenever the drill sergeant would snap her whip across some misstepping slave's back. As they got closer we could see that all of the slaves had large rings through their foreskins. Lionel pointed it out to us, "I had heard that Army slaves were infibulated to keep them energized." I said, "Tough shit. Too bad!" Lionel didn't see it my way, "Why? They're just army slaves, and it helps to keep them focused on doing their job to protect this county."

When they passed us the sight of them was even more frightening, for almost all of them had red whip marks clearly visible across their backs, rumps, and thighs, which obviously had been laid on recently. And several had permanent scarring on their backsides from punishment strokes. Lionel pointed out the scars with a smile, "Nick, let that be a reminder to you of how lucky you are to be staying at home with us!"

Lionel threw his arm around me, "Come on, let's hurry and get Nick collared before he gets any ideas." We continued on our way to the registration office. Nick was depressed and I didn't like the sort of comments Lionel was making. I felt sorry for Nick and walked along side of him and took his hand in mine.

The collaring went quickly. Lionel handed the attendant the court papers, and noted the collar requirement (it had to contain both GPS and electro-shock features). The agents signaled for us to move to a display case of the various models with our requirements. So we asked our slave if he had any preference. Nick actually perked up at the chance to select his own collar. When he selected a collar of silver and blue braided metal strands, Lionel and I both Okayed it, and the collaring specialist led Nick to a collaring stand. He removed Nick's scarf, Nick stood in position, a portable work bench swung around his neck, the collar was fitted, the specialist placed both ends of the collar in a large, automated, device, squeezed the handles, pushed some buttons, rotors sounded, metal crunched and squinched, and once the device was removed, it was done. "Collared for life!" Smiled Lionel.

Lionel took the scarf and looped it through the collar, and it hung off the back of the collar like yellow braids. Lionel led us on, "It's haircut time!"

The rest of the Special Services Center was a lot cheerier than the Slave Control Headquarters. It was loud and full of bustling shoppers, much like a regular shopping mall. Slave Cuts featured photos in the front window of the current most popular slave hairstyles. Nick and I stopped to look at the pictures, but Lionel had already decided, and told Nick to get in the haircut line. Lionel and I stayed off to the side chatting while Nick got in the slave line. For the first time during the day it hit me hard; god was I ever glad that I'm not a slave.

Six barbers were cutting hair, and the wait was not long. When Nick was called up Lionel went to the barber and told him he wanted Nick to have the 'war orphan cross' in standard blue. The barber removed Nick's slave cap and shirt, and started buzzing Nick's head. Nick and I soon found out that the war orphan cross cut consisted of a strip of hair an inch thick running across the crown of the head from the middle brow to the back of the head, and a strip crossing that one running from ear to ear. After the cross was buzzed on his head, the barber shaved it all clean and trim. Then he painted the hair in a thick, glue-like, blue dye. Ten minutes later he was rinsing Nick's, head in a sink. As he was drying Nick off he asked Lionel and me if we wanted our 'boy' to have a pubic shave. Lionel told him he was just about to ask for one.

Apparently there was only so much indignity that Nick could take. He said angrily to Lionel, "Fuck man! You ain't gonna do this to me, you bastard!" The barber informed Nick, "Sorry dude. That outburst is going to cost you. This is government property, so it's going to be a mandatory paddling." Lionel and I looked at each other, and we both stifled an urge to smile. The barber punched a button, and a barber wearing a water-protection covering entered from a side door. Our barber indicated Nick, "This one needs a full pud scrubbing. I'm calling the squad on this one, so they should be arriving just about the time you're finishing his shave."

The barber in the scrub coat took Nick by the arm and said to him, "So you, you're off to a scrubbing, a shave, and a paddling. It's a proven winning combination." He led Nick out and we followed him into the next room. It was simply a small barber room with four workstations. Two other slaves were naked and mounted on backward leaning work frames, which positioned their bodies over large basins equipped with hoses. One was getting a crotch shave, and another was getting a full body shave. The barber in the white coat told Nick to strip and he did, without resistance. He looked funny in his new haircut having to do what he was told. The barber pulled him onto the frame and cranked it into position. He positioned his feet in some hanging stirrups, spread his legs, hosed down his groin, sprayed him all over with shave foam, and quickly denuded Nick's private parts.

As he hosed him off two young officers of the National Slave Patrol Academy entered. They were impressive in their black and blue uniforms and academy hats. One of the officers carried a large case. As Nick was getting his crotch hosed off he glanced at them and a fearful yet pitiful look came over his face. One of the officers, indicating Nick, asked if he was the newly registered slave Nick, number 0708096. The barber indicated that he was and both officers went right up to Nick, reclining and wet-crotched on the frame.

The younger of the two, Officer Collins, looked down at Nick and said, "Well, well, what have we here? It looks like a new slave in his first fancy new slave haircut. Your first day on your new job as a lifer slave and already you're causing trouble for us free folk. The good thing is you're already naked and scrubbed for your paddling." Officer Collins sneered at Nick, it was clear he didn't like slaves. Addressing his partner, Officer Paterno, he continued, "Look at this loser, he looks like a little bald mole rat. I say we take advantage of his fresh shave." He asked the barber if he had any pure rubbing alcohol. The barber said, "Not quite, but how's 99%?" Both officers smiled, pleased, as the barber handed the alcohol to Officer Collins.

Officer Collins instructed Officer Paterno to hold Nick's arms down, as Collins stood in front of Nick's shaved groin. "Hey slave kid, how about a nice after shave lotion to impress your date?" Collins poured a huge amount into his hands and started rubbing Nick's freshly shaved groin, pubes, cock, nuts, and ass. From the heat and burn of the alcohol Nick shot an instant boner into Collins face, as Collins poured some more alcohol into his hands and rubbed it in. Nick was yelling and twisting as the officers smiled, his baldhead with the blue cross bobbing up and down. Collins took hold of Nick's erection, pulled it up, squeezed the bulb head of his dick to open his piss slit, and poured alcohol into his piss slit. Most of it ran down Nicks shaft, over his bare pubes and down into his asshole. Nick was screaming like hell as the officers and the barbers all laughed. "Feel nice and invigorating, does it? Your date is going to be impressed with your sporty grooming habits; new haircut, clean-shaven cunt, all lotioned up! You should score big tonight!"

For the 10 minutes or so that it took the alcohol about Nick's groin and in his piss slit to dry up, Officers Collins and Patrona continued in their joking about and taunting of Nick as he writhed in pain on the shaving table. Lionel and I felt helpless seeing our brother treated this way, and neither one of us was knowledgeable about what was the proper treatment of errant slaves. We didn't interfere because we knew that government agents must know what was proper treatment to best get a slave to obey. Collins told Nick to get off the table, "Let's march this kid out to the paddling ramp." Patrona snapped a leash on Nick's collar and give him a sharp tug to lead him outdoors. I asked if Nick could put his clothes on. Patrona seemed surprised at my ignorance, "Your first slave, huh?" I nodded 'yes' and he told me to bring Nick's uniform along with me, because slave punishments were always administered in the nude on government grounds.

As Patrona led Nick, totally naked and bald crotched, by the leash outdoors, Nick was scurrying along like a little monkey, as he tried to cover his groin from the view of passerby's. He bent slightly too fully cup his private parts, making him look quite silly as he hobbled along naked with his blue-crossed head bobbing up and down. It turned out the 'paddling ramp' was located just two shops down from the slave barbershop. It was nothing but a raised dais in the mall's pedestrian traffic walkway. It was shocking to watch my older brother being led to and then strapped down naked in public to a punishment horse. Just like the military drill parade, everyone stopped to watch as if it was some scheduled entertainment break. Officer Collins opened his case and pulled out a paddle and held it up for the crowd. The crowd hooted and applauded. But Officer Collins, surveying the pedestrians, held off the start of the punishment a bit until many more folks had gathered around to watch.

Nick was bent over the horse with his rump up high, his legs strapped to the back legs of the horse, and his arms to the front legs. While the officers waited for the crowd to build, Patrona ran his hand over Nick's buttocks and joked with Collins.

When a good-sized crowd had finally gathered and Officer Collins laid on the first blow of the paddle to Nick's rump, I was shocked at the ferocity of the blow and jumped. Nick screamed, the crowd cheered. After three more blows Nick was howling and bucking fiercely and I was frightened and had an urge to cry. I asked Officer Patrona how many blows Nick was going to get, and he told me fifteen. After another blow Patrona saw my concern and a tear in my eye and came up to me and put his arm around me. "I take it he's your brother, since you two resemble each other." I told him he was, and he comforted me, "This is nothing, believe me. Humiliation and a little pain are the best things for new slaves. By laying it on now in the early days of his enslavement it will help insure that not many more such punishment sessions will have to take place in the future. Trust me. Guys like Nick, at that age, are pretty damn resilient. Believe me; this is doing him a world of good. And if you think this is anything, wait until you see him get his first bullwhipping!"

I felt better after that, and was actually able to relax and enjoy the spectacle somewhat by the time the last blows were delivered. The officers unstrapped Nick from the frame. He was bawling like a baby, and his genitals, which had been hidden from view during the strapping, came into view. Nick was hard as a rock, and it looked especially huge since he was totally bald down there. In fact, I felt a momentary flash of envy at the size of his pecker. A lot of the audience members were straining to get a view of Nick's penis, but he turned to me to conceal himself and I gave him his shorts and tunic to put back on.

When Nick was dressed the officers came up to us, and Collins started unbuttoning Nick's rump covering, "While on government property, freshly chastened butts have to be on display for six hours. I'd recommend you follow the same procedure at home for your brother." When Nick's totally red and sore butt was finally exposed, Collins waved his finger in Nick's face, "Now you obey your brothers! They care about you!" Nick was crying the whole time, not looking anyone in the face.

Lionel and I thanked the officers as they left, and Lionel said to Nick, "Well bro, it looks like you're going to be serving your friends tonight with your butt on display."

I was in hurry to get down from the paddling ramp, because people were still standing around watching and talking about Nick. When we got off the ramp it was amazing to me how some people wanted to get a close up view of a freshly paddled slave. Nick kept his red, tear-stained face, looking to the ground as we walked on, and just a few stores down was the bookstore dad wanted us to hit. I quickly gathered up the items dad wanted me get. The four pamphlets for Nick were: 'Slaves and Masturbation', 'Punishment and Dignity', 'The Benefits of Infibulation', and from the Enslaved Family Members Series, 'On Receiving Encouragement, Correction, and Chastisement from Siblings'.

And a book for dad, 'Options for Owners - Chastity Belts, Infibulation, Castration, Penectomy - A Comprehensive Manual on the Pros and Cons of the Most Common Sexual Modifications and Procedures for Slaves'. When Nick saw the title at the checkout counter I thought for a moment there was going to be another scene, but Lionel calmed Nick down, "Don't you worry, dad's not planning on having anything done to you yet. He said he just wants to read up on the topic. I know Uncle Phil has suggested to dad that he get you castrated, but dad doesn't agree with him."

Our next stop was 'Implements', advertising in the display window 'Slave control implements to fit every need'. When we got in, I must say Lionel and I got kind of excited. We felt like kids in a candy store because it finally hit us that now Lionel and I had a slave to control, a slave who could do stuff for us. We were now just like those showoff rich kids who parade their slaves along side of them wherever they go.

Lionel went immediately to a display shelf of short hand held instruments of correction, such as flip whips, tawses, short canes, and straps. A sales clerk immediately came to answer any of his questions. I was fascinated with leashes, manacles, and cuffs, and quickly found the display shelf for such items. Lionel selected a handmade tawse, and a barber's whip, and I had my hands full of some hand and ankle cuffs. We laughed as we passed each other, since I was making my way to the short whip display cabinet just as he was making his way to the leash and manacle case.

We soon realized we needed a shopping basket to carry all of our purchases, and Lionel handed it to Nick to carry, "Here bro, carry this! Remember, you're on duty now!"

Lionel and I joined up again at one of the most fascinating display cases; one which displayed various state of the art devices for delivering pain to almost every part of a slave's body. We both played with one that was designed to cause severe pain to a slave's palm. We laughed and asked Nick if he wanted to try it. Lionel got a device that was a flesh grabber, which could be applied to areas of the slave where there were folds of skin, such as the thighs, lower belly, and tits. It hurt like hell. Lionel threw one in our basket.

A poster above a display showed a slave being led by a "Penis Puller", a leash which attaches to the cock shaft itself, rather than to the base, and Lionel pointed it out and laughed, "Hey Nick, how would you like us to take you shopping with your front flap open and us leading you around like that?" Lionel intended the remark to lighten the mood, but Nick didn't smile.

As we made our way to the checkout counter I noticed a display of various blinkers, some with muzzle attachments. I examined a rather fancy model made of dark molded plastic, told Nick to remove his cap and bow his head, and I fitted it on him. Lionel look pleased, so I said, "Let's get it." Lionel agreed that it looked good, but he was worried what dad would say, "It's kind of expensive, and I think we would not really be using it very much." I had to agree, so we passed on the blinkers.

There was a mirror nearby, and when I removed the blinkers from Nick, he saw himself in the mirror, and started to cry. I must admit, he looked like a slave, and nothing but a slave, but I felt that was no reason to cry. I put his yellow cap back on and patted him on the shoulder.

At the checkout stand we saw a book on special display, 'Slave Mantras'. The ad said, 'Slaves who learn mantras are both more pliant and docile. Start your slave on the (mantra a day) program now!' Lionel put it in our checkout basket. Our bill ended up being quite high, but we figured dad wouldn't mind, since all of our purchases were sensible ones. As we walked to the parking lot, Lionel reached into the shopping bag Nick was carrying and took out the mantra book, "Here bro, I want you to study the first mantra, read the chapter on its meaning in the car on the way home, and make sure you have it memorized by the time we get home, or else I'm going to have me an opportunity to practice using my new tawse on you!"

Lionel and I laughed as we got in the front seat of the car. In the car Lionel told Nick he could take his cap off, but Nick said he wanted to leave it on, probably because his haircut was more humiliating than the cap was. Lionel would have none of it, "I said get the goddamn cap off, and get it off now!" Nick started crying out loud as he took his cap off, bawling like a little bald headed, blue-crossed, baby. Lionel and I exchanged glances and had to stifle our smiles.

As we drove home Lionel cranked up the tunes really loud. We wanted to be like those rich kids who like to call attention to themselves, their fancy cars, and their slave in the back seat. It was wild. As we drove home, bobbing to the music, getting stares of admiration from both guys and the chicks, and as Nick tried to hide his face in his mantra book, I saw Lionel give his cock a few brisk tugs and a shaking through his trousers. We smiled at each other when he caught me looking, and I reached down and gave my own pecker a little jingling.

We were in heaven. Rather than go directly home Lionel drove down to the city center where everyone hangs out. We turned the music up even louder, the bass booming, and drove around the center about six times. Lionel and I were intoxicated with our freedom, and we both were doing some serious moves to the beat of the tunes. A lot of kids shouted and waved at us as we passed. It seemed to be true; just owning a slave ups your popularity.

Lionel and I looked back at Nick, his face still in the book. Whether or not he was memorizing his mantra or trying to hide his face, we couldn't tell, but it did remind Lionel that we didn't have much more time for cruising around, "We better get Nick back home, he's on barbeque duty tonight!"

It felt so good having a slave who had to do whatever we told him to do sitting in the back seat, knowing that we were now rich kids; with no college tuition worries; with no need for either a college or summer job; with a slave to do all of our housework, run our errands, and give us massages whenever and for as long as we wanted; and, best of all, the envy of all the poor kids without slaves, who only dream of what it's like to own a slave.

The End