Social Services

I couldn't believe that he would strip me. It just seemed too degrading: too final in terms of his threats. I was beginning to realise this was more than an attempt to just frighten me: this was very real.

"Take your trousers off," he snarled. And I did. Fumbling and shaking uncontrollably, I undid my belt and trousers and felt them fall to my feet.

"And your shirt."

A simple statement, yet so terrifying. I removed my shirt slowly and stood there in only my white CKs.

"Get naked then slave," he stated, calmly.

I sobbed quietly. "Please..." I whispered in panic, before he began to rise.

"Sorry, sorry..." I whimpered pathetically and quickly pulled down my briefs to stand naked before him.

He stood before me and I was immediately struck by our relative change in status. Him fully clothed and me stark naked. He came and stood before me, looking deeply into my eyes.

"That's better. Looking more like my slave boy now," he whispered. Then, he reached down and picked up the pathetic pile of clothes at my feet. Turning to face me, he walked to the fire and tossed them on top of the flames.

I sobbed in despair. Psychologically, this simple act destroyed my will. As I stood there naked on tiptoes, an iron collar locked around my neck, he had thrown away my clothes with one callous push into the fire. I couldn't see a way to escape this, my naked flesh shivering in the cold of the room.

He came back and stood before me, and silently ran his hands down my naked chest, stomach and down to my genitals. Silently, he continued down my straining thighs and calves. I felt like a piece of cattle, a piece of meat, being explored by his hands.

"I always wondered what your body was like. Tight little body there for a slave. Your matching little cock doesn't matter, as you wont be getting any access to it slave."

I felt my body and cock twitch at the shame of his comments. It was true that my cock was small but no-one had ever evaluated my body like this, and I felt degraded to be summed up like this. Never mind the comment about not using my cock.

"I'm not a queer by the way boy," he snarled. "I just like a bit of fuckmeat to own and use."

I shuddered in horror at the implications of his comments.

"Anyway, we will save your shaving until tomorrow boy," he stated.

"Get used to being naked. You will have no privacy from me now on, so your body will be on display whenever I choose it to be. And that may include when some of my friends are here as well."

I cast my eyes downward in shame, imagining being displayed as a naked object like this, and yet it all seemed still so unreal. So impossible.

He disappeared behind me and returned, with a piece of cloth in his hand. "But sometimes I will want you dressed in your slave uniform as well. A uniform that befits your new status boy."

"Da-da!" he chanted, unfurling a garment before me. "I spent ages coming up with a suitable slave garment, but I think this will fit the bill."

I stared at the tan-coloured piece of cloth before me. It looked on first glance to be a lycra leotard, and I immediately realised that it would be extremely degrading to be dressed in this costume.

Wordlessly, he pulled my feet into the garment and slid it up my legs. And I squirmed as I felt it pulled up over my body like a tight body sock. When he had it as he wished it to look, he grabbed the crotch and pressed a number of studs together. The one piece item could clearly be ripped open at any stage. He stood back and started to laugh. A simple, stark laugh that made me cringe with horror and disbelief at my humility.

With a chuckle, he pushed my body 180 degrees so that I faced a mirror on the wall behind me and I stared in horror at the sight of myself.

I stood there dressed in the tan coloured leotard. It was legless and armless, with two small straps over my shoulders and the garment V shaped from the straps down between my well formed chest.

And the garment left nothing to the imagination. I may as well have been naked, for every bump of my crotch and outline of my body was clear to see, made obscene by the skin tight revealing costume that marked me as property. My cock was stretched upwards towards my stomach under the fabric, its clear outline making it look ridiculous and my general appearance both obscene and degrading. And above the tip of my cock, in case there was any doubt, was stencilled the word SLAVE in harsh black letters. Marking me as a slave for anyone who saw me.

I held my breath and stared at myself in horror. My bare flesh a shade darker than the tan. I felt an object, a sub human piece of flesh for his amusement. And I could barely yet imagine what his plans for me were, in order to debase me fully and completely.

I hung my head, and felt the tears stream down my face. And listened to his heartless laugh. "Don't worry about the dark patches of hair spoiling the look of your see-through slave costume. We'll have you nice and smooth all over soon, like a true bitch boy."