The Auction
Matthew had always felt the pull, a deep-seated urge that gnawed at him since puberty. At 19, fresh out of high school and drifting through odd jobs, he couldn't explain it. It wasn't rebellion or escape; it was simply who he was wired to be. The fantasy of standing naked before a stern Master, body exposed and ready for command, made his cock harden in the quiet of his room. He craved the total surrender, the way his skin would tingle under a gaze that owned him completely.
Society had shifted five years back, when the Slavery Act passed amid economic turmoil and calls for 'structured discipline.' The Enslavement Bureau managed it with cold efficiency. Enslavement came in three flavours: court-ordered for crimes, where thieves or vandals traded freedom for service; debt repayment, signing over years to creditors until balances cleared; or voluntary indenture, for those like Matthew who handed themselves in seeking purpose. Once enslaved, uniformity ruled. Slaves stayed naked from induction to release, their bodies tools for labour, pleasure, or correction. Punishments were brutal and public: whips that striped backs and asses raw, canes cracking against thighs or soles in bastinado sessions that left feet swollen and throbbing, and for the worst offenses—escape attempts or outright defiance—execution by hanging, crucifixion, firing squad and sometimes even burning alive at the stake. Bodies left on display as grim reminders.
Matthew had devoured underground forums and leaked Bureau docs, his hand stroking his cock to tales of bound men milked dry during inspections or bent over for the first taste of the lash. But reading wasn't living it. He needed to witness the reality, to smell the fear-sweat in the air. On a crisp autumn morning, he took the bus to the city's Auction Hall, a fortified warehouse on the industrial edge, its walls etched with warnings: 'Obey or Perish.' Free visitors paid a 20-credit entry; slaves entered through chutes, collared and prodded like cattle.
Inside, the air hummed with low voices and the occasional clink of chains. Matthew clutched his ticket, heart slamming as an usher guided him to the observer tier—a glass-walled balcony overlooking the floor. Below, spotlights bathed the display area in white glare, highlighting every curve and crevice. The scent hit him first: clean soap from oiled skin, mixed with the metallic tang of restraints.
The auction focused on voluntary inductees today, young men aged 18 to 22, all fresh and unmarked. Six stood on the central platform, wrists cuffed to overhead bars that pulled their arms taut, ankles locked in spreader bars forcing legs apart. Naked, their bodies shone under a light coat of oil, cocks hanging soft or semi-erect from the exposure, balls swaying gently. Placards at each station listed vitals: height, weight, term length—mostly 5 to 15 years—no health issues.
The auctioneer, a sharp-eyed woman in a crisp uniform, paced the stage. 'Lots 1 through 6: Prime voluntary stock. Full inspections permitted—feet to teeth, with emphasis on genitals for service viability. Remember, buyers: respectful handling only. No strikes, no pain. These are unsold merchandise; preserve their condition for the highest bids.' She nodded to the guards patrolling the edges, batons ready for any overzealous touch.
Buyers—affluent types in tailored suits, a few women in power dresses—filed in, clipboards in hand. They moved methodically, starting with Lot 1: a slim 20-year-old named Kyle, blond hair tousled, his lean frame taut with nerves. His cock, circumcised and average, rested against his thigh; his ass cheeks firm and pale.
A tall man in his forties approached first, gloved hands steady. He knelt at Kyle's feet, lifting the right one by the ankle cuff. The sole faced up, smooth and unscarred. The buyer traced the arch with a finger, pressing into the ball and heel, testing flexibility without force. 'Solid foundation—no calluses, good for endurance work,' he murmured into a recorder. He spread the toes, inspecting between them for cleanliness, then repeated on the left foot. Kyle shifted slightly, his cock twitching as cool air hit his exposed hole from the leg lift.
Rising, the buyer ran hands up Kyle's calves, squeezing muscles lightly, then to his thighs. He cupped the balls first, rolling them in his palm—full and heavy—lifting to check the skin's smoothness. No tugs, just gentle manipulation. Kyle's breath hitched, his shaft beginning to swell. The buyer gripped the base of the cock, lifting it for view, thumb sliding the skin back to expose the head fully. He circled the ridge, noting the sensitivity as it flushed pink, then checked the slit for any signs of imperfection, a bead of precum forming under the attention. 'Responsive organ—seven inches erect potential, clean and veined nicely.'
Turning Kyle with a soft command—'Pivot'—the buyer parted the cheeks carefully, exposing the puckered hole. A gloved finger circled the rim, pressing just enough to test resistance without penetration. 'Tight entry, virgin to use—holds shape well.' He withdrew, smoothing the skin, then checked the back: shoulders broad, spine straight. Finally, the mouth: 'Open.' Kyle parted his lips; the buyer tilted his head, shining a light on even teeth, probing the gums gently, then extending the tongue to inspect underneath. No gags, just thorough.
Matthew leaned forward, his own cock pressing against his pants. The inspection was clinical yet intimate, every touch a promise of future use. Kyle's body responded despite the respect—nipples hardening, cock now half-hard and leaking slightly.
Next, Lot 2: Dylan, 19 like Matthew, with a swimmer's build and dark curls. His balls hung low, cock uncut and thick even soft. A woman buyer, mid-thirties, took charge. She started low, cradling each foot, thumbs massaging the soles in slow circles to gauge texture. 'Sensitive arches—ideal for precise corrections later,' she noted, spreading toes to peer at nails and skin folds. Dylan's legs quivered as she trailed fingers up inner thighs, stopping at the groin.
She weighed his balls in one hand, the other lifting the cock to inspect the underside. Foreskin peeled back smoothly, revealing a glossy head. She stroked once along the length to encourage fullness, watching veins bulge as it reached six inches. 'Good girth—suitable for labour or pleasure duties.' Precum smeared her glove; she wiped it, checking consistency. For the ass, she had Dylan bend slightly at the waist—'Arch back'—and spread the cheeks herself, finger tracing the hole's outline, dipping just the tip in to feel the clench. 'Responsive muscle—trains easy.' Upward: abs flexed under her palms, chest hairless and firm. Mouth opened wide; she counted teeth, scraped the tongue lightly.
Two more buyers followed, one comparing Dylan's feet side-by-side with his own gloved hands, the other focusing on genitals, milking the cock base-to-tip without rushing to full erection, ensuring no strain. Dylan flushed red, his hole winking under repeated circles.
Matthew's pulse raced. These guys were his age, choosing this naked vulnerability. The respect from buyers only heightened the eroticism—no pain now, but the threat lingered in every prod, every exposure.
Lot 3, Ethan, was stockier, 21, with a hairy chest and thick thighs. His cock dangled heavy, balls plump. A group of three buyers—two men, one woman—inspected in tandem, but rules kept it orderly. The first man handled feet: lifting, kneading soles, noting the slight pad under heels. 'Durable for standing service.' Toes pulled gently, one by one.
The woman took genitals, cupping balls and rolling them methodically, then sheathing the cock in her hand to measure flaccid length—five inches soft, she predicted eight hard. She retracted foreskin, blowing softly on the head to test shiver response; Ethan's shaft jumped. 'Eager—produces well.' Ass check: cheeks parted, finger circling the ring, pressing to feel the pucker yield slightly. 'Hairy but accessible—shaves clean.' The second man did the upper body and mouth, pinching nipples softly to erect them, then prying jaw for full view.
Across the platform, Lots 4, 5, and 6 drew crowds. Lot 4, Liam, 18 and wiry, had a long, slender cock that curved left. Buyers lavished his feet—tracing every wrinkle in the soles, spreading toes wide. One woman knelt long, her face inches from his balls as she lifted his sack, inspecting the seam. Cock handled with care: stroked to semi-erection, head exposed and rimmed by a finger. Ass probed shallowly, hole twitching. His teeth gleamed under lights during the oral exam.
Lot 5, Noah, 22, muscular and tattooed, endured a meticulous genital focus. Buyers took turns lifting his heavy balls, feeling their weight, then guiding his thick cock upward for underside views. One buyer milked a drop of precum, tasting it discreetly—'Clean flavour.' Feet soles pressed and flexed; ass rimmed repeatedly, the muscle clenching visibly.
The twins, Lot 6: identical 20-year-olds, Jake and Josh, lean and smooth. Buyers compared them directly—feet matched in arch height, balls identical in hang, cocks mirrored in length and cut. One man circled both holes with lubed fingers, noting symmetry; another stroked their shafts in unison until both beaded at the tips. Mouths opened together, tongues extended side-by-side.
The auctioneer called bids as inspections wrapped. 'Lot 1, Kyle: versatile build, tight assets. Start at 4,000 credits.' Hands rose; he sold for 36,500 to a quiet estate owner, who clipped a lead to his cuffs without a word.
Dylan fetched 37,200, his buyer a corporate type promising 'structured use.' Ethan went for 28,000 to the group, led away with leashes on wrists. Liam at 45,900, Noah 59,100 for his strength, and the twins as a pair for 120,000, their new Master grinning at the matched set.
Matthew watched the slaves marched off—naked, oiled bodies glistening, cocks still semi-hard from handling. The platform emptied, but the images burned: soles exposed, balls cupped, cocks lifted and stroked, asses parted for view. No pain inflicted, yet the inspections stripped them bare, prepping for whips that would soon stripe those perfect skins, canes bruising thighs, bastinado swelling feet into agony. Execution's shadow hung over it all—a noose for the rebellious, cock rigid in final surrender.
Dazed, Matthew filed out, snagging the booklet from a rack: Why Not Indenture Yourself to Slavery? The Facts About Servitude. The cover featured a naked youth kneeling, collar snug, eyes lowered in peace.
Home was a cramped studio apartment, posters peeling from walls. He collapsed on the bed, booklet in lap, the day's heat still flushing his skin. He stripped naked, cock stiffening as memories replayed. Opening the pages, he read by lamplight.
'Voluntary servitude: Embrace your role. Submit to the Bureau for auction. Terms 5-20 years. Upon entry: full strip, medical exam. Remain nude eternally—body as property.' Diagrams showed the process: intake room, clothes bagged forever. 'Initial inspection: Feet elevated, soles scrubbed and assessed for bastinado suitability—arches tested for pain threshold.' Illustrations of a slave's foot in stocks, rod poised but not striking yet.
'Genitals: Balls examined for fertility and resilience; cock milked to erection, measured, foreskin checked. Ass probed for capacity—fingers inserted to stretch ring.' A drawing of a bent slave, gloved hand buried to knuckles, face contorted in stretch. 'Mouth: Teeth inspected, throat depth gauged for oral service.'
Usual punishments detailed starkly: 'Whip: 10-60 lashes on back, ass, or legs—skin splits, blood wells.' A figure lashed over a bench, welts crossing cheeks. 'Cane: 5-48 strokes, targeting thighs, soles, or cock if severe—bruises deep, lasting weeks.' Bastinado shown: feet locked, thin cane whipping soles until raw, slave screaming. 'Execution: For terminal defiance—hanging leaves body swinging, genitals exposed as warning; or squad firing, chest riddled while kneeling naked. The image of a crucified slave was particularly concerning to Matthew.
Testimonials pulled him in. 'The auction inspection was my awakening,' one read. 'Naked, tied spread. Buyers lifted my feet, kneaded soles—knowing bastinado awaited. Balls rolled, cock stroked hard, ass fingered deep. Sold, then the real training: first whip on my ass, 20 lashes, cock leaking through pain.'
Another: 'Voluntary at 18. Bureau stripped me, hosed cold water over cock and hole. Exam: toes spread, balls squeezed till full, shaft edged without cum. Auction—six hands on my genitals, respectful but owning. Master canes my soles weekly; bastinado makes me beg to suck his cock.'
Matthew's hand griped his cock—six inches hard, throbbing. He stroked slow, imagining the intake: guards yanking off his shirt, pants, briefs. Naked, shivering, feet lifted on a table. Doctor scraping his soles, pressing arches. 'Good for whipping.' Balls cupped, rolled heavy; cock slapped lightly to rise, foreskin peeled, head milked for precum. 'Spread ass.' Finger plunging his virgin hole, twisting to prostate—his body arching, leaking more.
He edged, denying release, flipping pages. 'Psychological benefits: Naked service erodes ego; punishments instil devotion. Many slaves cum from the cane's kiss on ass or the whip's bite on back.' Stories of slaves bent double, cane cracking thighs while Masters fucked their mouths; feet bastinadoed then forced to walk coals of obedience.
Execution tales chilled and aroused: 'Watched a debtor hanged—naked, cock erect from fear, noose tight. Balls swung as he kicked, cum spurting in death. Reminder to serve.'
Faster strokes now, thumb over slit. The auction: bound, arms up, legs wide. Buyers at his feet—fingers tracing soles, toes pulled. Balls lifted, cock gripped and pumped to full hardness, eight inches leaking. Ass cheeks spread, fingers circling hole, dipping in respectful shallow. Mouth open, tongue out, throat probed.
He came explosively, ropes of cum hitting his chest, body convulsing. The booklet lay sticky, but clarity followed. This was his calling—the naked crawl to a Master's feet, whip warming his skin, cane bruising his ass, bastinado hobbling him into submission.
Yet doubt flickered. At 19, was he ready for years stripped bare, body punished at whim? Executions weren't myth; one wrong move, and his cock would dangle from a rope. He wiped clean, booklet on the nightstand. Tomorrow, the Bureau? Or wait?
He decided to sleep on it. Pulling sheets over his naked form— a small taste of vulnerability—he drifted off, dreams filled with ropes on wrists, hands on his cock, the auctioneer's gavel falling. Morning would decide his naked fate.
The alarm buzzed at 7 a.m., pulling Matthew from a night of restless dreams filled with naked bodies on auction blocks and hands probing exposed skin. He swung his legs out of bed, his morning wood straining against the sheets—a thick seven inches, head already slick with precum from the subconscious replay of inspections and sales. He ignored it for now, padding to the bathroom for a cold shower. Water cascaded over his lean frame, 5'10" and toned from sporadic gym visits, washing away the sweat of arousal. He soaped his chest, fingers lingering on his nipples until they peaked, then down to his cock, stroking once to ease the ache before rinsing clean. No release yet; he wanted clarity for the day ahead.
Dressed in jeans and a plain tee, he brewed coffee and cracked eggs into a pan, the sizzle filling his small kitchen. As he ate at the rickety table, he flipped open the booklet one final time. Pages worn from last night's frenzy detailed the intake process: 'Upon arrival, the inductee disrobes completely. Guards assist if hesitation occurs—clothing confiscated, body hosed for cleanliness.' Illustrations showed a young man bent forward, ass cheeks spread by rough hands, a hose blasting cold water into his hole to flush him out. Punishments loomed large: whips curling around thighs, leaving red welts that split under repeated lashes; canes snapping against soles in bastinado, feet locked immobile as pain shot up legs; executions swift, a slave's cock spurting final cum as the trapdoor dropped.
Matthew's fork paused midway to his mouth. The pull was undeniable—he craved that naked vulnerability, the total handover of his body to another's will. But theory wasn't enough. He needed a taste, a simulation to gauge his breaking point. His mind latched onto Kieran, his outgoing gay friend from college. Kieran was 21, built like a rugby player—broad shoulders, thick arms, and a cock Matthew had glimpsed once in the dorm showers, veined and heavy even soft. Kieran was unapologetically sexual, always flirting with a wink and a grope during hangouts. Perfect for this.
He texted: Hey man, free today? Want to hit up the slave auction with me? Got something wild to propose after. Kieran's reply buzzed in seconds: Auction? Hell yeah. And wild? You know I'm down. Pick you up in 30. Matthew's stomach flipped, a mix of nerves and excitement hardening his cock again. He outlined the plan in a follow-up message: full rights to strip him forcibly, inspect every inch, use him sexually if he resisted—mouth, ass, whatever. End with a spanking over the knee, nothing harsher. Kieran responded with a string of fire emojis and: You're serious? Fuck, this'll be hot. See you soon.
Kieran arrived in his beat-up truck, blasting rock music. He was shirtless under an open flannel, jeans hugging his bulge. 'Morning, perv,' he grinned, clapping Matthew on the shoulder. 'Auction first? Lead the way.' They drove in charged silence, Matthew's thigh brushing Kieran's as he shifted gears. At the hall, they paid entry and climbed to the observer tier. Today's lots were involuntary debtors—men in their twenties, collared and chained, eyes downcast from the shame of unpaid loans.
The platform held eight slaves, arms hoisted high by chains rattling from the ceiling, legs splayed by ankle bars bolted to the floor. Their naked bodies gleamed under spotlights, cocks flaccid or twitching from the chill, asses on full display. The auctioneer, a burly man this time, barked rules: 'Debtors, prime condition. Inspections from toes up—no damage to goods. Guards enforce.'
Buyers swarmed, suits and dresses contrasting the slaves' bare skin. Matthew and Kieran leaned on the railing, breaths syncing as the first lot drew focus: a 23-year-old named Alex, wiry with a trimmed bush framing his uncut cock. A female buyer in heels knelt first, grabbing his left foot and yanking the ankle up despite the chain's limit. She dug thumbs into the sole, kneading the arch hard enough to make Alex wince but not cry out—rules held. 'Tender pads, perfect for bastinado tuning,' she noted, prying toes apart to sniff between them, then licking a finger to test the skin's give.
Kieran nudged Matthew. 'See that? Imagine your feet like that—spread wide, some asshole tonguing your toes before the cane hits.' Matthew swallowed, his jeans tightening as the buyer rose, palming Alex's balls, rolling them like dice. She tugged the foreskin back, exposing the purple head, and blew on it coolly, watching the shaft swell to six inches. Precum beaded; she smeared it around the ridge with her thumb. 'Leaks easy—good for edging sessions.' Turning him slightly, she slapped his ass cheeks lightly to part them, index finger circling the hairy hole before pushing in knuckle-deep, twisting to feel the walls clench. Alex gasped, cock jumping. Upper body next: she pinched his pecs, twisted nipples until they stood out red. Mouth pried open—'Stick it out'—tongue pulled forward, teeth counted.
Two male buyers followed, one focusing on feet again, sucking each toe into his mouth to gauge sensitivity, the other milking Alex's cock base to tip, squeezing out more fluid. 'Responsive hole,' the ass inspector confirmed, withdrawing his finger slick with lube he'd applied discreetly. Alex sold for 55,800 credits to a stern woman who leashed his neck chain immediately, leading him off with his half-hard cock bobbing.
Lot 2, Ben, 24 and muscular, had a thick eight-inch cock hanging low. Kieran whispered hot against Matthew's ear, 'Bet you'd look like that—your dick swinging while they cup your nuts.' A buyer lifted Ben's feet one at a time, tracing veins on the soles with a pen, marking pressure points for future caning. Balls hefted, skin stretched to check for scars; cock gripped and pumped slowly, foreskin sliding over the head until it wept. Ass spread wide, two fingers scissoring the rim to test stretch—Ben's hole puckered, sucking them in. The inspection dragged, buyers taking turns: one deep-throating the cockhead briefly to taste, another rimming the hole with his tongue, lapping the clean pucker.
Matthew's face burned, arousal pooling in his groin. Kieran noticed, his hand grazing Matthew's ass through denim. 'Getting to you, huh? Can't wait to do that to you later.' The auction rolled on—slaves' soles scraped and flexed, balls tugged and weighed, cocks stroked to erection and measured, asses fingered and spread. One lot, twins again, had buyers comparing their identical cocks side-by-side, jerking them in tandem until both spurted pre-cum onto the platform. Punishments loomed in placards: 'Bastinado certified—soles unmarked for whipping.' Whips, canes, executions flashed in Matthew's mind, his body aching for the simulation.
Bids flew; slaves sold off in chains, naked forms disappearing into vans. Kieran drove home faster, the cab thick with tension. 'That was intense,' he said, eyes on the road but hand dropping to adjust his obvious bulge. 'You sure about this? Full access—I'll fuck your mouth if you squirm, pound your ass if you fight.' Matthew nodded, voice hoarse. 'Do it. Make it real.'
Back in the apartment, door barely shut, Kieran turned predator. 'Strip,' he ordered, voice low and commanding. Matthew hesitated, heart pounding—testing the resistance clause. Kieran's eyes narrowed. He lunged, grabbing Matthew's shirt collar and yanking it up, exposing his smooth chest. Buttons popped as he ripped it off, tossing it aside. 'Told you full rights.' Matthew's hands fumbled at his belt; Kieran slapped them away, unbuckling himself and shoving jeans down. Matthew's cock sprang free, hard and leaking, but Kieran ignored it, spinning him to yank underwear to ankles.
Naked now, Matthew stood shivering, arms crossing instinctively. Kieran uncrossed them roughly, stepping back to appraise. 'Arms up.' When Matthew complied slowly, Kieran grabbed his wrists and hoisted them high, mimicking the auction chains. 'Spread legs.' Matthew widened his stance; Kieran knelt, starting at the feet as buyers had. He lifted Matthew's right foot, sole up, thumb pressing the arch deep. 'Soft here—bastinado would have you screaming quick.' He spread toes, sucking the big one into his mouth, tongue swirling the pad. Matthew's cock throbbed, a drop falling to the floor.
Left foot next: Kieran bit the heel lightly, then trailed licks up the calf, inner thigh. At the groin, he cupped Matthew's balls, rolling them heavy in his palm, squeezing until Matthew yelped. 'Full sack—loads of cum for milking.' He gripped the cock base, lifting it straight, thumb peeling back the foreskin to expose the flushed head. Stroking slow, he pumped from root to tip, veins bulging under his fist. 'Seven inches, thick—sucks good, fucks tight.' Precum slicked his hand; he brought it to Matthew's lips. 'Taste yourself.' Matthew licked, salty tang filling his mouth.
Kieran stood, turning him. “Bend.” Matthew leaned forward, hands on knees. Kieran parted ass cheeks wide, thumbs framing the pink hole. He spat on it, rubbing the saliva in circles, then pushed a finger in dry—Matthew clenched, pushing back instinctively. “Resisting?” Kieran growled, adding a second finger, scissoring rough. “This ass is mine now.” He thrust deeper, curling to hit the prostate; Matthew moaned, cock dripping steadily. Kieran finger-fucked him hard, knuckles bumping the rim, stretching the muscle until it gaped slightly on withdrawal.
Upper body: Kieran pinched nipples, twisting until they bruised red, then shoved two fingers into Matthew's mouth. “Suck. Show me that throat.” Matthew gagged as Kieran pushed to the back, testing depth—saliva drooling down chin. 'Good for cock—deep enough to choke on.' He withdrew, slapping Matthew's face lightly. 'On your knees.' Matthew dropped; Kieran unzipped, pulling out his nine-inch cock, thick and curved, balls heavy below. “Open.” He fed it in, gripping hair to control the pace—thrusting shallow at first, then deeper, head bumping tonsils. Matthew choked, tears welling, but sucked eagerly, tongue lapping the underside.
Kieran face-fucked him steadily, balls slapping chin, grunts filling the room. “Take it—slave boy.” Matthew's resistance melted into submission, his own cock untouched but leaking puddles. Kieran pulled out, strings of spit connecting lips to head. “Up.” He dragged Matthew to the couch, sitting and yanking him across his lap face-down, ass up like a child in trouble. “Time for punishment. You hesitated—naughty.”
His hand came down first—sharp smack on the right cheek, skin blooming pink. Matthew jerked, yelping. Left cheek next, then alternating, building rhythm. Kieran's palm cracked against flesh, ten smacks turning ass red, heat radiating. “Count them,” he demanded. 'Eleven... twelve...' Matthew gasped, cock grinding against Kieran's thigh, friction edging him close. Twenty total, cheeks throbbing, handprints visible. Kieran rubbed the hot skin, dipping a finger back into the loosened hole. “Learned your lesson?”
He flipped Matthew off, standing to stroke his cock furiously. “On your back—legs up.” Matthew complied, knees to chest, hole exposed. Kieran knelt between, rubbing his head against the pucker before pushing in—slow at first, then slamming home. Matthew cried out, ass clenching around the girth. Kieran pounded deep, balls slapping taint, hand jerking Matthew's cock in sync. “Cum for me—show you're ready.” Pressure built; Matthew arched, spurting ropes across his abs, hole milking Kieran's shaft. Kieran followed, flooding the ass with hot cum, pulling out to watch it leak.
They collapsed, breaths ragged. Kieran cleaned up with a towel, then pulled Matthew close. “Your body's prime—smooth skin, tight hole, cock that begs for use. Feet sensitive, ass takes a pounding. You'd auction well, fetch top credits. Enslavement? You'd break quickly at first—the inspections, the whips—but you'd thrive in it, begging for more after the pain turns to need.'” Matthew nodded, spent and sated, the simulation sealing his path. “You will need some time for the bruised nipples to heal up before you turn yourself in. Don’t know why you want to do this to be honest. It won’t be like your fantasy you know. It will be harsh and unyielding. You will be property, no rights, no freedom and no way out. Once you have signed that paper, you are a slave. Think very carefully my friend. I am sure you can get what you need without formal slavery.”
One-week later Matthew set off for the enslavement office.
TO BE CONTINUED..
