Date: Wed, 20 Jul 2011 18:49:54 -0700
From: Liam R <elathrin@hotmail.com>
Subject: Destinies - Part 3

Destinies
by Liam Wheelwright

Note: Sorry this part took so long.  RL has been stressful and writing time
limited.  Further, I have discovered a flaw in the "Previously" section of
the last chapter. I mistakenly called 513 by the name Justin in the
"Previously" when his original name was Jason.  I have corrected that where
his actual name appears in this chapter.  I apologize for confusion it may
have caused.

Disclaimer: this story is entirely fictional and set in a future time when
slavery is once again legal and normal.  This tale does not include any
person under the age of 18, however if subjugation of persons at or near
age 18 is worrisome, bothersome or troubling in anyway do not read.  Also,
if mention of a person, who appears over the age of 18 but is mentioned to
have been enslaved prior to his 18th birthday is an issue, again please
don't read.  Thanks.

PREVIOUSLY:

In a future time where slavery is legal, a power-mad dictator is overthrown
by the brother of a boy he'd had enslaved.  Him and his 18 year old son
(now named 513), were enslaved by the Usurper.  513 was given over to the
Usurper's soon to be freed brother, in revenge against the Dictator.
Derrek, not yet freed, met with 513 on "equal" footing, and began to tell
the new slave his own past.  What follows is his experiences.

Chapter 3


My brother and I are the sons of a wealthy and powerful Senator; Gordon
Blake.  Like you, I am 18, though I will be 19 in six months.

Hiller and I grew up, like you, with few wants.  We each had our personal
slaves, and had free rule over most of the house slaves.  I was quite the
athlete in school, and had expected to be captain of the High School Swim
team, before my enslavement ruined many things.

Father was head of the Budget Oversight Committee.  Hiller only recently
explained some of this too me; but it seems our father discovered a well
hidden budget problem.  According to Hiller, father discovered that Renald
had been ferreting away funds from the treasury into his own private
accounts.

Apart from his obvious disregard for, and perpetuation of cruelty against
slaves, and the increasingly flimsy excuses for enslavement of Free
Citizens; Renald had taken it upon himself to line his already considerably
full pockets with even more of the taxpayers' money.

Exactly how father's discovery was unmasked by Renald, neither Hiller or
our father ever learned.  But, it was, and Renald had to act, or face a
coup.  Though, as it turned out, his action lead to the very coup he
feared.

Renald couldn't attack my father directly.  He was too powerful and too
well liked by the citizenry.  So Renald attacked him in another way...by
enslaving me.

Three years ago, I was at a swim practice after school.  I'd just finished
dressing after practice, when officers entered the locker room.  Naturally
all the team gathered around to see what was happening.

The officers talked briefly with the coach, who seemed to wilt before our
eyes as they talked.  Next thing anyone knew, he was pointing to me, and
two of the officers grabbed me, while another read off the charges and my
rights.

I had been arrested for two counts of petty theft.  My trial was held in
days, and my attorney told me to plead no-contest, as the evidence was
damaging.  Didn't seem to matter how many witnesses I had that proved I was
elsewhere when the crimes occurred...they all seemed to suddenly change
their minds about my alibi within hours after making their statements.

I had no defense left except my word; there was no time for my father and
brother to use money to learn the truth of the matter...to find the real
culprits.  What choice did I, a 15 year old High School student have?  So I
pled no-contest.

It was a shock when the judge handed down the sentence: 20 years
enslavement, with no possibility for manumission until I'd served 10.

My father wept, and my brother just stared ahead.  I think he was as
traumatized by the sentence as I was; but then, he didn't have to endure
what happened next.

Officers came over, one with a collar and chains in his hand; the other
with a slave prod, ready to give me an electric shock if I didn't comply
fast enough with any orders.  They were a menacing sight, and the first
order I received was difficult to do.

"Remove all Free clothing, slave; you have no rights to it," said the one
with the prod.

Looking around, desperate for help, I realized that the courtroom was
mostly empty.  There were guards at every exit, and my attorney...having
nothing to say to a slave; no words of compassion, no statements about
appealing, nothing...had already left.  My father was still weeping, but
now my brother was trying to comfort him...neither looking at me.

I had waited too long to comply, it seemed, as I soon felt a searing,
jolting pain spread from my left hip.  My leg went numb and my throat
seized up...I couldn't even scream.

As the pain began to ebb, the guard with the prod growled: "I told you to
strip, slave...now."

Whimpering, and highly embarrassed, I removed my clothes; everything, until
I stood totally naked.  The cold air of the courtroom raised gooseflesh on
my hairless swimmer's body.  Being a swimmer, I'd been naked around others
plenty of times before...but never in a situation like this.  I blushed
terribly as the temporary collar was locked on my neck, and the chains
secured to my ankles and wrists...my arms bound behind my back and
connected to the collar.

They marched me out of the back of the courtroom, where the placed me in a
cell with other naked, and shackled men, women, and teens...all recently
enslaved.  We were left there for several more hours waiting for the end of
the day's dockets.  Occasionally another naked and collared slave would be
brought to the cell.  Many were crying...I was just too stunned; though by
that night, the shock wore off and the full horror of what had happened
caused me to cry and sob long into the night.

Finally, we were all herded out of the cell, though the support corridors
of the building, out the back, and into a waiting slave transport.  You've
seen them throughout the city before...a flat bed truck with a large cage
on the back, open to the elements and to public scrutiny.

The trip to the processing center wasn't long; but given it was a cool
evening, and we were all naked, and bunched up together...thoroughly
humiliated at being driven naked through the streets of the city in which
we'd lived; past homes, offices, schools, and parks where we'd spent our
time...it seemed like an eternity.

On arrival, we were hauled out, marched inside and again made to
wait...this time we weren't allowed to sit at all.  After several long
minutes, we were finally each called forward by case number, and taken
individually through a pair of doors into a processing room ( very much
like the room where you were processed last night, 513).

When they pulled me in, I was shivering and terrified.  I'd seen slaves,
I'd learned much about them in school.  I'd always had sympathy for them,
despite what my fellows thought of slaves in general.  Now I was one.  That
thought hadn't sunk in until standing there naked in the processing room.

They were quick, and efficient.  My body and facial hair were quickly
removed forever.  They shaved my hair down, and to my surprise locked my
cock into a metal cock cage.  I was told that I was not to be allowed to
cum or play with myself again until after I was sold--standard policy for
pubescent minors, it seems--and then it would be my Owner's choice.  Collar
and cuffs, tattoos and brands all followed.  In no time at all I was a
collared and marked slave.

From the room I was taken to the kennels, where I would be allowed to sleep
at night.  During the days I was forcibly trained in the basic slave
techniques.  From kneeling and serving drink or food, to sucking
cocks--they used dildos on mannequins that would shoot real cum (donated by
older slaves), for this training.  On and on it went for weeks.

I was beaten for failure, for disobedience, and simply when a guard needed
to beat someone up.  They were not allowed to do anything that would scar
me physically, however.

Eventually, I was taken to the auction block for the first time.  It was
humiliating standing there leashed to the stand under me; made to display
myself in any way free people wanted, to debase myself for them.  It was my
first, and thankfully only time on the block...I was purchased that day by
the man who was to be my Owner for much of the last three years.

Once I was purchased, and he had declined any specific modifications...they
shipped me to his home, in much the same way as before, except i was in a
small cage, alone, with other slave cages beside me holding still other
slaves.  One to a cage.

The first days at the home were difficult.  I was given much more specific
training than I had been at the center, and was still left locked in the
cock cage.  By this time, I'd been locked for two months without even a
prostate milking.

I was beaten again for failures and disobedience.  Though less often beaten
for sheer pleasure.  The man who Owned me was not a Sadist.  However, he
kept me in the cock cage the whole time he Owned me...it was only ever
removed for cleaning and resizing.  Never once was I allowed an orgasm;
only prostate milkings.  He may not have been a sadist, but that was a hell
I do not desire to repeat...nearly three years without orgasm...I nearly
forgot what they were like.  (I'm sorry you are locked the way you are,
513, it was not my desire.)

About four months ago, however, my brother purchased me from the man.
Seems the man knew of my innocence and had saved copies of my fathers
evidence, which would help my brother overthrow your father.  My brother
blackmailed him into testifying, and even into selling me to him at a low
cost.

Once my brother had Ownership, he removed the cock cage, and while I was
still a slave, he treated me like family when alone, and let me do what I
wanted with my cock.  He told me everything about how he found me, and how
he planned on getting me free; by overthrowing your father.

Now here we are...your father has been over thrown, I will be released
shortly, and Hiller made you into my slave.

Like I said before, I do not want revenge.  I did not want you to be made a
slave, nothing was your fault.  You did not and do not deserve this.  But,
for now, you are, and you are mine.  We will have to move forward and see
where this takes us.

You know, I don't like numbers; at least not for identification.  Call it a
quirk of having been a slave.  So, I think we will call you Jason
again...though I guess that qualifies as a slave name now.