Date: Mon, 29 May 2006 11:01:46 -0700 (PDT)
From: Hank M <redbeardedsf (at) yahoo (dot) com>
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.