Date: Wed, 14 Dec 2011 01:31:10 -0500
From: Jase Jason <jase-jason@hotmail.com>
Subject: My Life So Far  -  Part Five

MY LIFE SO FAR

This is a work of fiction.

If you are underage, object to gay erotic fiction, or it's illegal where
you are, please leave now.

This work is copyright and remains the intellectual property of the
author. Any reproduction, either in part or in whole, without the express
written permission of the author is strictly forbidden.


Part Five.


Master Michael duly graduated (to my surprise considering the amount of
studying he had done) and he and his two buds decided to live it up before
leaving for college.  There was an endless round of partying and, if they
were unable to party at the Smith mansion, they invariably were able to do
so at either Chuck's or Lawrence's place.  The other alternative was to
hire a motel room.  They were never short of willing girls but, on the odd
occasion that they were unable to recruit girls, I was rounded up and
accompanied them.  There was a lot of beer drunk and drugs consumed and, to
the accompaniment of porn videos, I was used sexually by all three.

Then, early one morning two weeks before Master Michael was due to leave
for college, I was dragged from my bed by two transport guards from the
same packet delivery firm that had collected me on the previous occasion,
and moved to Induction and Orientation Enterprises in Ravenswood.  This was
the same firm Master Michael had entrusted me to previously for training.
Clearly I was to be auctioned off and, although I knew better, I couldn't
help but ponder the fact that after nearly two years, I had been removed
from the Master's house without so much as an indication that the Master
himself, Master Michael or Master Bradley had the slightest interest in my
departure.  I once again felt deeply concerned about my future.

@@@@@@@

I discovered that IOE, as the firm was known, not only were involved in the
slave training business, but also had a slave auction house on the
premises.  I was warehoused in the same facility that slaves undergoing
training were kept, and I witnessed daily the humiliation they underwent,
as I had done previously.  The next auction took place a week later and, on
the day, we were prepared in the usual fashion for auction.  We were
shaved, oiled and given sex stimulants and, six slaves at a time, presented
on the podium, to which we were manacled by the right ankle for inspection.
I hated my head being shaved but it was preferable to wearing the haircut
Master Michael had designed for me.  The Smith family collar and earrings
had been removed too and I was fitted with a standard temporary iron
collar.  I suffered the usual mauling by prospective buyers with stoicism
but I could see that some of the newly-enslaved stock, were having
difficulty in accepting the humiliation of it all and some were actually in
tears.  A few strokes across the back with a crop from the handlers,
however, soon put a stop to the sniveling.

I was very surprised to see Kenny Anderson among the prospective buyers and
onlookers.  You may recall that he was the owner of Slaves r Us in
Sunninghill and, as I think I mentioned earlier, I had known him as a
slightly older guy around my neighborhood a few years earlier.  I was even
more surprised when he actively started to bid for me and finally outbid
the other interested buyers.  I was hustled off the stage and into one of
the holding cages in the warehouse and it wasn't too long before one of the
young handlers attached a leash to my collar saying "Time to shit and piss
dude.  We don't want you messin up Master Kenny's van."  From the latrines
I was dragged through to the despatch area where one of the handlers I
recognized from Slaves r Us took over and pushed me into the back of a
closed van and into a cage which permitted the occupant to sit but not
stand.  He secured me by means of an ankle restraint to the side of the
van.  There were six cages in all and two of them were already occupied by
scared looking blond kids, maybe 18/19 years of age.  No sooner had I been
caged, when Kenny Anderson arrived on the scene, the door at the back of
the van was slammed shut and locked, and he and the handler climbed up
front.  We were on our way back to Slaves r Us in Sunninghill.  For the
first time ever I had not been gagged while in transport and was thus able
to talk in undertones to the other two kids.  The one guy, whose name was
Casper, was in obvious distress and unable to control his tears.  Upon my
asking, he informed me he had been found guilty of taking his uncle's car
for a joyride without permission, and some redneck judge had passed down on
him a sentence of lifetime slavery. Without letting on in any way to
Casper, I marveled at the injustice of it.

On arrival at the now familiar premises of Slaves r Us we were hurried
through to the Warehouse section, with a few obligatory strokes over the
back along the way, and after having been taken through to the latrines,
ensconced in the cramped individual cages. After about an hour, Kenny
Anderson entered from the administration section and looked us over with a
critical eye.  "Yes sirree," he started, "I think you three blondies are
gonna make real fine brothel slaves.  I'm pretty sure my partner in
Catalonia will be well pleased with you. Blond slaves are particularly
sought after in Central America."  He then kicked the front of my cage and
addressed me - "Dude, I bet this ain't much like Glendale High School, huh?
Yep, seems like you have come quite a way since then!"  he said with a
smile.  "As soon as the Export Permits come through from the Department of
Commerce, we'll have you on your way."  Casper was sobbing again and, when
he did not cease after being told to shut up, Kenny ordered one of the
handlers to fit him with a ball gag.  "Can't stand fuckin snivellin." he
informed everyone at large.

A week later I overheard Kenny instructing his older brother Blade to
prepare the three of us for air shipment to Santa Ana, which I knew was the
capital city of Catalonia.  The flight was due to leave that afternoon and
about three hours before the time, we were taken through to the despatch
center.  There I saw three standard slave shipment cages had been prepared
for us.  These cages were about 5' x 5' x 5' and consisted of four sides
and a roof of strong crossed metal bars with a solid wooden base which was
secured to a pallet enabling the cage to be moved using a forklift.  We had
previously been watered and fed and allowed to use the latrines, and now we
were pushed into the cages which were then locked.  I noticed that a sealed
ration of slave chow had been thrown into the cage and that on the side of
the cage had been affixed a bottle of water.  This bottle had a nozzle
sticking out the bottom with an embedded valve and, in order to access the
liquid, one had to take the nozzle in one's mouth and release the valve
with one's tongue.  You would see identical receptacles attached to the
inside of cages housing laboratory chimpanzees. Once ensconced in the cage
I saw over to the side three strong cardboard boxes without bottoms which
were designed to be slid over the cages.  The boxes had a number of holes
at various points for ventilation purposes.  On the side of the boxes were
stickers from Trans-Caribbean Airlines stating the flight number.  In
addition the following had been stenciled on all four sides of the boxes -
"Slave in Transit.  Handle with Care.  This Side Up".  I couldn't believe
what I was seeing.  The truck which was to transport us to the airport
pulled up at the loading bay and, just before the cardboard boxes were put
in place over the cages and secured, we were instructed to put our upper
arms against the side of the cages and given an injection.  It turned out
to be an anesthetic and we were thankfully "under" for the major part of
the journey.

@@@@@@@

I regained consciousness shortly before the plane started its descent at
our destination.  Once the plane had taxied to the airport terminal there
was the noise of much activity as the passengers deplaned and thereafter
their luggage was unloaded.  The plane was then pulled over to the cargo
terminal where we three slaves and the rest of the cargo were off-loaded.
I can still feel the heat and humidity that engulfed us as we left the
plane. Representatives of our new owner were on hand and we were quickly
cleared through customs.  We were forklifted on to a flatbed truck and
driven away.  We arrived at our destination some twenty minutes later and
were quickly off-loaded on to the platform of the loading bay.  The
cardboard boxes were unsecured and removed from our cages and I was blinded
as the glare assailed my eyes.  About six or seven curious handlers all
carrying short whips were standing around and they were soon joined by a
good-looking young man, in his late twenties I would have said, who was
dressed in an immaculately pressed white linen suit, red tie and expensive
looking brown shoes.  I was to learn later that he was our new Master,
Senor Carlos Mendoza, the sole owner of a chain of fourteen male brothels
of which we were to become part.  He looked us over, said something to the
handlers in Spanish, and returned inside.  The handlers sprang into action,
unlocking the cages and dragging us out, and in time-honored fashion,
chased us into the building all the while shouting and laying strokes of
their whips across our backs.  Our limbs were stiff from being
restrictively caged for some six hours but, of course, that was a factor
that the handlers chose not to consider.

We passed through a steel security gate into what I was sure would turn out
to be the warehousing facility.  What lay before us was something which in
other times I may have conjured up in my mind as being a picture of Hades.
It literally took my breath away.  We were in a long room, dank and dark,
and the smell of sweat, piss and shit, allied to the excessive heat and
humidity, was overpowering. There appeared to be no means of ventilation.
Along the one side of the room were four prison-type holding cells each
with four fold away shelves for sleeping and each contained a garden-type
watering can containing water with a plastic cup attached.  Apart from that
the cells were bare.  At the rear of each cell was a squat slave latrine.
Ten slaves were being held in those cages and, apart from the effects of
the conditions, they all looked pretty normal to me.  They were naked of
course and all wore a similar narrow shiny steel collar.  They turned out
to be serving brothel whores who were being moved from one town to another
and were being warehoused until transport was available.  On the other side
of the room were twenty cramped individual cages similar to the ones used
at Slaves r Us to warehouse slaves awaiting auction, and these contained at
that time six young men with frightened expressions on their faces and a
cowed look about them.  Their bodies all bore the marks of beatings. These
were new whores who were undergoing training before being deployed to
brothels throughout the country.  We three new arrivals joined them.
Casper was pushed into a cage next to me and was obviously in a state of
acute dejection.  As soon as the handlers had left, I tried to comfort him
but very clearly told him he had better pull himself together or he would
not survive for long.  It was strange to observe the difference between the
demeanor of the handlers here and those I had encountered at home. I had
become accustomed to handlers dressed almost in military style and who
imposed strict laid-down discipline, for example, the no-talking rule,
while here the handlers were sloppily dressed and appeared to be less
strict in some matters and we were able to converse with each other.  When
circumstances merited it, however, they were extremely brutal, for example,
if a slave were to show the faintest sign of insubordination.  I had a
rudimentary knowledge of Spanish from classes at high school and this was
to come in very handy until later when I became quite fluent.

@@@@@@@

Twice a day the new slaves were all herded to the back of the warehouse and
told to shit and piss and in the evenings the serving brothel whores would
join us and we would all be hosed down. That was a blessed relief from the
heat. Depending on who was on duty the handlers sometimes left us to
stretch our legs for about half an hour and I became friendly with one of
the awaiting transport slaves who spoke surprisingly good English.  He gave
me the low-down on what to expect and it did little to allay my worst
fears.  It seems that we would, like all slaves of whatever category, be
subjected to two weeks of hard labor with regular beatings, the purpose of
which was to break down the slave's resolve to resist either in mind or
body, and to accept its new lot in life.  Other slaves, field slaves for
example, were subjected to an even harsher regimen of back-breaking labor
and would then be taken away and put to work under the overseer's whip.
Those of us destined to serve in brothels, however, had yet to undergo
further training in the arts of sexual submission and we ultimately spent a
further four weeks there.  During the days we would randomly and a number
times a day be taken through to the other side of the building for
"training".  You would enter through a room which looked like a doctor's
reception area with some plastic furniture and old pornographic magazines
strewn around. Invariably there would be seated there two to six young men
or boys who looked like typical blue collar workers.  Some of the boys were
clearly of school age and sometimes even had their school uniforms on. When
we were taken through on a leash the occupants would look up but usually
avoided our eyes.

Leading off from the "reception" area on the left was a passage than ran
the length of the building with a series of about ten small rooms leading
off it to the right.  In the first room sat an overseer with closed circuit
TV screens in front of him which allowed him to monitor the goings-on in
the remaining rooms.  We were subjected to ongoing sexual use during the
four weeks we were there in addition to frequent beatings.  The object
clearly was to break us down even further and to acclimatize us to ongoing
frequent use.  This object was achieved by making us available to the free
young men and boys of the town who, as a sweetener, were also paid a small
sum in dollars for their participation.  These were the young guys who we
would see seated in the "reception" area perusing porno magazines while
awaiting their turn.  As far as possible no one was ever turned away.  The
handlers, of course, played a major role themselves and were particularly
brutal in abusing us.

@@@@@@@

At the end of the six weeks we were ready to be deployed in brothels across
the country.  Normally we would spend about a month in a particular brothel
and then be moved on to another town. We would either be moved directly
from town to town or sometimes we would be transshipped in Santa Ana where
we would spend a few days in the main warehouse.  The break was welcome of
course but the conditions were horrendous as I've previously explained to
you.  We were transported to and fro on the back of a medium-sized flatbed
truck which had a large custom built cage on the back, and which was open
to the elements except for a large canvas sail over the roof of the cage.
In the main we traveled over dirt corrugated roads from small town to small
town and were bounced around continuously and constantly enveloped in a
cloud of dust. Breakdowns were frequent.  Although it was unpleasant to be
exposed thus to the elements, if we had been locked up in a closed
compartment at the back of the truck, it would undoubtedly have been far
worse what with the heat and humidity.

The firm's brothels were at the upper end of the market and really were
quite pleasant.  They were furnished in an old-fashioned colonial way and,
typically, one would enter and to the left would be a large parlor fitted
out with easy chairs, couches and a bar. It was here that the whores
welcomed prospective clients.  The boys wore only blue shorts, which showed
off their genitals to good effect, and the standard thin shiny steel
collars I had first seen in the warehouse in Santa Ana.  Their hair,
although always short, was styled in varying ways accordingly to their own
taste.  In addition they were able to choose certain adornments to increase
their allure and were rouged in a provocative way. Guests would be taken to
comfortable bedrooms upstairs and overall it was a very genteel atmosphere.
We slaves were accommodated in spartan cubby-holes at the back of the
house.

Compared to the lives that other slaves led, I suppose you might say we
were well off but the dark side of the picture was that we were on call for
sixteen hours a day and were expected to entertain a minimum of ten clients
a day. As I mentioned earlier, the firm's brothels were at the upper end of
the market and thus it was essential that fresh new stock be introduced
regularly.  Typically therefore a slave could expect to be "retired" at the
age of 23 to make way for younger stock.  There was always a demand for
these slaves from brothel-owners at the lower end of the market and most
were purchased at auction to serve this alternative market.  These owners
might then expect anything up to ten more years of service from such a
whore who from then onwards would be serving a less-discriminating
clientele. When the slave could no longer make the grade as a profitable
whore, it would once again be auctioned off in the wholesale slave market
for who knows what purpose. Roughly three years after I had been shipped to
Catalonia, I was working in the main brothel in Santa Ana when early one
morning, before the other whores awoke, I was dragged from my bed by four
guards from the Department of Central Slave Management and thrown into a
van, much like the ones in use by the Police, and taken to the main slave
auction house downtown.  Clearly I had served my purpose and the firm's
owner had decided it was time for me to move on.

@@@@@@@

 I have been caged in the warehouse here now for three weeks and, on the
instructions of my present owner, will be up for resale at the auction
which is due to take place next Friday.  I am enveloped by the massive
uncertainty that always surrounds the life of every slave but will have to
once again accept what life will throw at me.  I often cry at night
wondering what might have been had my life not taken such a dramatic turn
that night some five years ago.


THE END