Date: Mon, 29 May 2006 11:01:46 -0700 (PDT) From: Hank M Subject: The Fate of a Poor Man's Son, part 3 I was turned on to this universe by the writing of Pete Brown UK. Heated up by some stories from Steam Train. These two authors directed me to the works of Richard Davies, One Ring, Total Reform and others. This story is set in a near-future world in which enslavement is the norm. This story involves erotic situations and actual sexual contact between males - as well as humiliation, exhibition, and much of the usual stuff for this genre. If you are not at least 18 years of age (or whatever legal age is where you are) go away now! If you are offended by the content of this story go away now! If you are in a jurisdiction in which it is illegal to read or possess such fiction stories go away now (well, it would be better if you could get the hell away from that jurisdiction). And if you are someone who cannot distinguish fantasy from reality, please go away and get some help. _________________________________________________________________ By Master Redbeard (redbeardedsf at yahoo.com) I pulled my clothes on quickly and was handed to a bailiff. After another two hours passed, the bailiff took me into a courtroom and I saw Judge Snow once again, but this time he was seated on a raised platform, banging his gavel on his podium. He read off a long rambling legal document with convoluted sentences and words I didn't understand. About the only thing I could follow was mention of my name. Then the judge banged his gavel again, turned to me and said, "Wallace Donetien Smith, you are now of legal age and you are now legally enslaved. Slaves may not be covered in any way in this courtroom. Remove all your clothes, slaveboy." So they had let me put my clothes back on just so I could be made to take them off again. This time there was a courtroom packed with well over a hundred people watching. As I dropped my pants I remembered hearing a childish joke about gay people - something about gays attending court hearings just so they could watch newly-enslaved boys being forced to strip. I looked around at the crowd and wondered how much truth there was in that joke. When I paused before peeling down my briefs, the bailiff beside me started taking his slave prod from its holder at his waist. Soon I was stepping out of my underwear. Before I could even put my hands in front of me to try to maintain a shred of modesty, the bailiff had pulled both my arms up and my hands behind my head, cuffing my wrists together. That's when I finally noticed my father in the crowd. He was down on the floor of the courtroom speaking to the judge. I also saw the captain nearby and another group of serious-looking men who must have been the captain's lawyers. Judge Snow banged his gavel once again and said, "The petitioner will be heard by the court." My father seemed flustered as he began, "Your honor, the captain very generously offered to take my son here on a two year enslavement in order for me to get enough money to pay off my debts. But, sir, the amount that's now in the contract..." The captain stepped back and let his lawyers do the talking. "Your honor knows that the price of slaveflesh fluctuates with the markets. Also, because the boy only became of age today it was not possible to do a full examination of him until this morning. We can't help it if the fair market price the captain can offer for this item is less than the seller may have hoped for." It seemed as if my father was trying to make sense of this. "B-but, your honor... captain... if I only get this amount for my son, Wally, I'll still be paying off the debt and with the compounded interest..." A second lawyer handed my father a small piece of paper and said, "The captain is prepared to offer this amount for a five year enslavement." My father stammered, "B-b-but I only told my son about a two year..." He looked up at me and then said, "I need to discuss this with my son first." Judge Snow banged his gavel. "Your son is not here, Mr. Smith. Your former son, the former Wallace Smith, is now a slave and slaves are not permitted to speak in court." My father looked lost. He kept looking from me and back to the judge. The judge continued, "We don't have all day, Mr. Smith. You can either take the captain's generous offer for two years of the boy's enslavement or the offer for five years. Which will it be?" I couldn't hear my father's whispered voice, but I heard the judge repeat, "Five years' enslavement then." One of the lawyers leaped to his feet and whispered something else to the judge, who banged his gavel once more and decreed, "That will be five years and an extra fifteen days. Apparently, the very generous Captain Winston is inconveniencing himself to accommodate this slave's wish to complete his school year." The judge changed his tone and directly addressed the captain when he said, "You'll have to stop being so thoughtful and considerate, Captain, and remember you are a businessman." Before the judge had even finished saying that last remark, I was being led down a flight of stairs to the basement of this building. A collar was fitted around my neck - one of the newer models sleek silver with a soft leather lining - and the cuffs on my wrists were attached to the collar. Then a microchip was placed inside the flesh behind my left ear and another was placed inside the flesh under my right armpit. I knew this was a global positioning chip that could pinpoint my exact location. This is one of the modern advances that's made it hopeless for a slave to ever escape. The next thing that happened was that I was strapped to a slanted board while my slave ID number was tattooed across my upper right chest. Then I was flipped over and the number was tattooed across my left butt cheek. The slave who did this procedure never once looked up to see my face. I was told to memorize my number 94114W01. When the tattooing was complete and I was still strapped down facing the slanted board two guards came up behind me. I couldn't see who they were. One of them began rubbing a finger up and down my ass crack and smirked, "This is sure one fuckable boy." Every muscle in my body tensed up and I called out, "Stop that, you have no right." In an instant I felt a strap slap across both butt cheeks and I yelled out in pain. The same voice behind me said, "You have a lot to learn about your new status. First I'll put some stripes on this slave ass, then I'll fuck you good." I was frozen with fear, but then I heard the second guard whispering urgently, "Watch it. This one was bought by the captain." There was silence and stillness behind me. Then the first voice grumbled, "Well at least I can use the paddle on him." What followed were ten vicious swats with a wooden paddle. My bottom was aching and felt hot. But in an odd way I felt a sense of relief. This guard was prepared to slice up my ass with a strap and then rape it, but the fact that the captain was my owner had saved me. I closed my eyes and tried to relax to ease the pain in my bottom. I was taken into the parking lot naked except for my collar, handcuffs and shackles on my ankles. Just a few hours earlier I was in this same parking lot fully dressed as a free boy. Now the free people passing looked over at my body. What were they thinking? I saw a string of slaves being pushed close together into a transport. I couldn't see how they were being positioned in there, but it seemed awful, and even from a distance I could smell the odor. But I was led instead to a van and placed into a cage in the back. It wasn't the way I was used to traveling, but again I felt the privilege of being the captain's slave. I hadn't been herded and chained up into some dark smelly truck. I was the only slave in this van and I was taken directly to the captain's mansion. I had never before seen the slave entrance around the back. The driver handed me over to a tall muscular slave who signed for me. Even after the driver removed my handcuffs and shackles, I remained in position with my hands behind my back and my feet spread. I also kept my head down, looking at a point on the ground in front of me. This meant I was looking directly at the exposed penis of the muscular slave who had signed for me. His pubes were shaved as was all his body hair and there was a strap behind his balls that made his penis stand out more prominently. When the driver had left, the slave in front of me said, "You can look up now. I'm Rye and I have instructions of what's to be done with you, boy." I looked up. He was a handsome man in his mid-20s. Even cropped close in usual slave style I could tell that he had blond curly hair. After looking at him and hearing his name, I knew I had seen this slave before. That summer when I visited the mansion and swam in the pool with the captain's two sons, this same blond slave had often been naked working in the garden, digging or watering or pulling the big mower over the large expanse of grass. Sometimes he would be around the pool cleaning it out. I tried not to look at him. I wasn't used to being around slaves. And I was embarrassed by the man's nudity. And yet he had a body to be admired. Back then I thought how much he looked like a college athlete - if not for his enslavement that's probably what he would have been. One day I was swimming with Brad and Randy and having a great time, when Rye came to the side of the pool to check the chemicals in the water. Brad said, "How do you like how his dick is standing out like that? Daddy put a cinch behind his balls to make it more prominent." A million thoughts went through my head at the time. I wanted to ask why his daddy would do such a thing. I wanted to ask how they could make a grown man go around naked like that. But instead I finally voiced a question: "I thought guys got hair around their dicks when they get older?" Brad laughed at me, the nasty laugh that I'd heard the first day he taunted me on the street. "Slaves have all their body hair shaved." When I asked why he looked frustrated with me and said, "Because they're slaves, stupid!" He ordered the slave to stand at attention and then ordered him to get erect. I watched and blushed as, without using his hands, the athletic blond slave willed his penis to stand upright in a matter of seconds. Then Brad told me to come into the changing room with him and he would show me what I wanted to see. I followed him naively. That was when he tried to get me to play with his dick, we had our little altercation and I ended up with Brad's cream all over my belly, my legs and my swimsuit. I ran out of the changing room, past a bewildered looking Randy, and I didn't even bother to take my shirt. I remember the blond slave watching me as I ran past. Now I was faced with the same slave. He was bulkier and, of course, I had grown quite a bit, but he seemed to be looking at me in the same way he had all those years earlier. Now I was also a slave. I was on an equal footing with Rye in this household. He led me down a passageway to a tiled room unlike any I had seen before. There was a slanted board exactly like the one I'd been strapped to for my tattooing at the courthouse. Rye directed me to lean against it and strapped me against the board. Then he brought out some clippers. I'd always been so proud of my hair, dirty blond with just a little curl to it, and I spent a long time each day getting it to look just right. I felt like crying as Rye ran the clippers over my head and great chunks of hair fell on all sides of me. But I had expected it. I was a slave after all. Then I felt Rye rubbing soap under my arms and then quickly using a straight razor to denude my underarms of hair. I squirmed when he soaped around the base of my penis. In just a few strokes my pubic patch was gone. My balls tingled as he pulled down on my sac and stretched it out. Some soap. Some quick swipes with the razor. Then he flipped me over. He spread my buttcheeks and commented, "Doesn't look like there's anything to shave back here. But the captain is fussy about a slave's crack." I felt the tickling of the soap and then the razor sliding outward from my ass crack toward each cheek. I felt very vulnerable at that moment. He was behind me naked. I remembered how quickly he had boned up when Brad had ordered him to do so. Was his erection now poised near my butt? I pulled my cheeks together and muttered, "You better not get any ideas of doing anything back there." The big slave slapped my ass, laughed loudly, and said, "I only do what my master orders me to do, boy. If I were to fuck your ass today master would either bullwhip me, take my balls, or both." When Rye unstrapped me from the slanted board he led me over to an open shower area. But it was unlike any shower I'd seen before. It included drains, but also a toilet and there were multiple shower heads with space for at least six people in the spray of water. The muscular slave started explaining to me that he usually had a partner as this household needed two bath attendants a lot of the time. But the captain just sold his partner and he was left with all the burden of the work on his own. I protested when I realized he intended to give me an enema. I barely remembered my mother giving me one when I was very small. It had been humiliating for me as a little child. Now I was horrified of the thought that I'd have an enema administered by this naked man. But he made it clear that this was on the captain's orders. Then he said that I'd soon get used to it as household slaves like me were cleaned out every night. I wasn't just subjected to one enema, but to a series of three, before Rye declared that the water was clean enough and I was done. He then led me to another passageway where a cage stood against a wall. The cage was six feet tall, by six feet wide, by four feet deep. There was a drain in one corner to be used as a toilet and there was a penis-shaped object sticking out from another corner. I was told this was my water supply and I could drink by sucking on the dildo. Also in the cage were my schoolbooks, along with some lined paper and two pens. Rye explained to me that the captain had very generously set this up for me to use during the next two weeks while I'd be going to school. He then rattled off information that he'd obviously memorized point by point. He told me I would be expected to jog to school and back (slaves were expected to jog or run when en route). He told me I would leave the house 20 minutes before school started and be expected back at the house 30 minutes after school let out. I told him that I didn't think I could make the three-mile jog in that amount of time. He seemed annoyed and pointed out "the captain is giving you an extra ten minutes to get back here because it's uphill." He also made it clear I'd be strapped for each minute I was late either arriving at school or arriving back. There was more he had to tell me. The captain did not want my father to have any contact with me during the fifteen days I was finishing up the school year. I was not to stay at school for any extra activities. When he said I would not be attending my high school graduation in two weeks' time, I asked if there was any way I could talk to the captain and appeal this decision. "Maybe the captain just doesn't know how important it is to me!" Rye looked at me like I was crazy. Then in a quiet, intense voice he said, "You're a slave in this household, boy. That's all you are to the captain, his newest bit of slaveflesh. The only reason he's doing all this to let you finish up your school year is because your father had it written into the contract. Don't push him on this. Don't push him on anything." Giving it some thought, Rye concluded, "Slaves don't ask for things. Slaves aren't supposed to want anything. And if a slave doesn't understand that, he will be punished for sure." Before leaving me for the night, Rye brought me a pair of white underpants and a pair of cloth sneakers. The single article of clothing looked like a pair of briefs, but the fabric was thinner and they were cut so tight that they would have exposed my pubes (if I still had them) and I could feel the top of my ass crack being exposed as well. This was one of many designs for slave shorts currently in fashion. Rye explained that the captain liked the fact that the shorts resembled free boy underpants. I asked about clothes for the next day, clothes I could wear to go to school. Rye seemed surprised by my question. "You're a slave. That's what you'll be wearing." I barely slept that night. All I had was a bedroll less than an inch thick, no pillow and no cover. In the morning Rye gave me a bowl of slave chow, but with no utensils so I had to eat it by hand. I gathered up my books and at 7:40 I began my fast jog to school. It was strange being outdoors and passing down familiar streets wearing nothing but my slave collar, the thin white underpants and the white cloth sneakers that had been provided for me. All during high school I had never been late, but that morning I arrived seven minutes after the first bell rang. My experience at school turned into its own nightmare. The principal Mr. Tucci had always liked me and been kind to me. But he was a strict man from a traditional background who had strong beliefs about the treatment of slaves. I would have to stand in the back of the room in each of my classes. Since slaves were not allowed to sit in the presence of free people, I would not be able to sit in the presence of any classmates for the entire school day. For lunch I would eat slave chow out in the back shed with the slaves of the janitorial staff so that I would not intermingle with the free students. I had never spoken to them or paid much attention to the slaves that worked around the school. Now I'd be sharing a meal with them. As for my fellow students, some of them were too embarrassed to look at me while others couldn't stop staring at me. Erik had been my best friend since starting high school and we were co-captains of the track team. When I saw him glaring at me in the hall, I approached him and quietly asked, "Erik, can we talk?" I put my hand on his arm. He smacked my hand away and shouted, "F**king slave, don't you know enough to call a free man 'Sir'?" Then he turned his back to me and began ranting at the random group of students around him, "I don't know what's happened to slave training these days. If that damn slave tries to talk to me again or puts a hand on me again I will demand that he get a public caning." My heart sank as I watched him walk away. At lunch I went to the shed out behind the school where the school's three slaves lived. Noggy was the senior slave, having been at the school for more than twenty years. His face was worn with age, but he was powerfully built, with thick arms and a broad chest. The other two were younger - Minty had started at the school when I was a freshman and Rolo, who looked close to my age, had started that very year. All of them were very deferential around the students. But I was no longer a student as I sat among them in just the white briefs, eating slave chow with my hands. Noggy grinned over at me as he opened his rough slave pants and pulled out his erect penis. "Only chance during the day to get some relief. C'mon, we're all slaves here, you can stroke your dick with us, boy." Before long the two younger slaves had also pulled out their erections and were stroking themselves quickly up and down. I looked away. I swore that no matter how long I was a slave I wouldn't be reduced to such animalistic behavior. Rolo snorted, "Look who thinks he's too good for us." I stormed out of the shed. Since I wasn't allowed to mingle with the other students, I just lurked behind the shed. But I couldn't focus on any of my schoolwork. I thought about what Noggy had said about this being the only time of day to get relief. Being so exposed had made my penis twitch and get semi-erect often during the morning. I reached my hand down into the white briefs and started to stroke myself, pulling my hardon out of one leg of the small garment and figuring I'd finish off quickly. I closed my eyes as my semen spurted onto the ground. But before it finished spewing out of me I heard cries of, "Eeeeuuuu, look what that slave is doing!" I opened my eyes. Not three yards away stood a group of freshmen boys sneaking cigarettes at the back of the school grounds. I was frozen to the spot as they called out, "Disgusting pervert!" and "See, that's what slaves are like!" Then they began to pick up handfuls of small pebbles and hurl them at me. I ducked and tried to make my way back into the shed when I noticed that my younger brother was part of the group harassing me so. Will was a freshman at the same school where I was about to graduate. Since he'd started high school he was always seeking me out and following me around. I knew he had always looked up to me. Had this been any other day of his school career, he would be fearful knowing I'd report to dad that he had been smoking cigarettes with some unsavory classmates. But now he picked up handfuls of pebbles with his mates and hurled them in my direction. I ducked back into the shed my heart beating fast. The three slaves inside were just closing up their rough pants as I entered. "Well, look who decided to honor us with his presence." Thankfully the bell marking the end of lunch period rang just then. The low point for me came in the passing time before the last period of the day. I was crossing the courtyard when I saw Eddie, the quarterback of our football team. Nobody liked Eddie. And Eddie had the greatest resentment of me. I was set to receive the top medal from the physical education department at graduation, even though Eddie and his football buddies didn't consider track to be a real sport. As he passed me Eddie grabbed a container of leftover food one of his buddies was carrying and he tossed it on the ground in front of me, shouting, "Slave, clean up that mess." I looked down to see the remnants of a spaghetti lunch spread in a three-foot arc. I glared back at Eddie and said, "Go to hell, Eddie. I'm not cleaning up your mess." I hadn't noticed Mr. Tucci nearby. One of Eddie's friends was pulling Mr. Tucci toward our little confrontation. When the principal got the gist of everything that was going on, he ordered me to bend over the arm of a nearby bench. I shuddered as he pulled down just the back of my white briefs, knowing that Eddie and his football-playing buddies were all watching and chuckling. Then I got six hard swats from Mr. Tucci's hand. I was on the verge of crying, not so much from the pain but from the utter humiliation. But I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing tears in my eyes. As if that humiliation wasn't enough I was made to kneel and clean up the food on the ground using just my hands. I tried to carry the remnants of pasta and sauce to the nearby garbage can, but I kept leaving a trail of drips, spots that I then had to try to rub clean with my palms. Mr. Tucci gave Eddie and his friends a pass to get to their last class of the day late, so these football players could supervise me. My knees and hands were scraped raw and dirty and the teacher for my last period class gave me a demerit for arriving late without a pass. I got back to the slave entrance of the captain's house five minutes late. Added to the seven minutes I'd been late arriving at school that morning, I'd be receiving twelve swats of the paddle. After supervising my enemas and shower for the evening, Rye administered the paddling. I gritted my teeth with anger - Rye was also a slave, how could he be so brutal to me? I was locked into my little cage, too depressed to look at any of my books or work on any of my assignments. As exhausted as I was I still couldn't sleep soundly - my butt ached terribly, my emotions were shattered by the treatment I'd received from my former best friend and my little brother, and my pride was wounded from my encounter with Eddie and his football team buddies. And the rest of that week just went downhill from there.