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.