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Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter of the saga of the Massachusetts roommate into Tennessee involuntary servant (or slaveboi.) I hope you enjoy this chapter and forgive the interstice. As always I truly value hearing from my readers. daw
The Roommate - Chapter 22 Unpleasant Acres
From the end of Chapter 21
As I mulled over my dramatic change in status, I heard the locks being unlocked for the cage furthest from me, and then the distinct sound of leather striking bare skin, and sound of pain being registered by the recipient of the pain of the leather strap hitting bare flesh, and the clanking of chains in motion as I was sure, even though I could not see the actual event, that the first of my new band of brothers was being released from the telephone booth like cage, and then the clanking of the chains leaving the room. For some time silence again reigned in this ante room to a life of hard labor and abuse, and then the sounds occurred again. I resigned myself just to await my turn, as if I had alternatives to just waiting. For some reason a kind of peace came over me. I realized that the stress of making decisions and taking on the responsibilities of a free man were no longer any concern of mine. I was amazed as I felt a certain tension leave my body. I did not have to worry any more about friends, family, obligations, and responsibilities. All I had to do was follow orders...and as I had clearly figured out that society did not regard hard labor slaves as having almost any brains...I knew that probably never again would I have to decide on what I would do, and weigh the consequences of my decision. All I had do was work and do as I was told. Was it rationalization? I decided I did not care. I had made a decision, and it seemed to promise not a particularly pleasant life, but as a human with a brain I had rationalized myself into acceptance and made peace with reality.
The Roommate Chapter 22 Unpleasant Acres
I heard the elevator door chime. The same group of officers who had taken all the previous hard labor slaves to the elevator and to wherever they were fated to work all the rest of their lives at heard labor marched down the room toward the last remaining criminal...me. I had no doubt. I knew where I would be. I would be at Pleasant Acres, but no longer living an indulgent life of luxury in the main house. I remembered my tour, and how I was given the long view of the hard labor gangs at the quarry. I felt that Beau probably had not given me the long view of the hard labor slaves as that was not where I was intended to slave for the summer. I suspect I was to be on a gang of slaves in the agricultural activity of Pleasant Acres. I too could be doing the weeding and cultivating and whatever it took for these foods and fibers to reach their maximum growth and minimize the number of plants which did not produce to the maximum.
In moments this band of booted, supremely fit and muscled free men were in front of my cage.
The officer in charge looked at me with contempt, and then a little smile which made me shiver in fear. I was absolutely sure that anything that would make this muscled monster of a man that happy could only be something that would only make my life more miserable.
Staring at me, but addressing his fellow goon squad members, the leader of the group, produced a key ring, and holding out one key as the other keys jungled merrily, he unlocked the opening at the front of the cage that would let me out of the cage, but although out of the cage, I would be anything but free.
"Gentlemen," he intoned solemnly, and clearly not addressing me but the other members of this group of man-beasts any one of which could control me totally if I were totally free, but who now represented massive over necessity to control one prisoner, "...we have here the perp who destroyed a part of the fence leading to Master Beau Masterson's home."
I actually could feel an aura of hostility come toward me as all the goon squad looked at me with the same good will as a cat might have for a mouse that is cornered and about to be played with before being eaten.
"I know we all appreciate that every Christmas every police officer receives a cash Christmas bonus from the Masterson family, and so as I release this scum from its cage, let's be sure that scum knows how we here in the South treat rude and criminal northerners who come down here to repay kindness with criminal destruction of property."
After that speech I knew that anything but my best efforts to follow all orders would be met with painful physical pain inflicted upon me by these men.
The officer then used his key to open the door to my cage. "MOVE OUT SCUM!" was my polite invitation to exit the cage.
I began to move out the now opened door, but having been cramped into the tight fitting cage, even though that time had not been extremely long, I could not move very quickly.
"FASTER SCUM!" was my pleasant invitation to overcome pain and difficulty in moving my limbs still new to moving with the added weight of my chains.
I did my best to step outside my little cage and turn toward the door, but apparently my efforts were insufficient as I felt two reactions on my body simultaneously. First I felt a yank on the lead on my collar, and also a yank on my elbow which transmitted to motivation to my chained wrists and then to the belly chain around my waist. Clanking I moved my feet, and again with an application of a slave strap, which is a belt-like strap of leather which is about twenty inches long, and the free person using this strap fixes the loop on one end of the strap around the person's wrist, and then holding a little of the leather strap coming off the loop brings the strap sharply across the body of the of prisoner/involuntary servant to motivate immediate the servant's compliance with whatever order has been given. With my elbow being yanked forward and my butt feeling the sting of two stokes of the slave strap, and began moving with a renewed interest in speed, and found that if I moved fast enough I could keep the connecting chains off the floor and my ankles moved back and forth furiously to move my chained feet as quickly as the free persons could move with their longer strides faster and easier. However, I was realizing clearly that it was the obligation of the servant not to bother a free person in any way, and if any irritation was felt by the free person, it was the servant who would feel the sting of the strap.
As I try to keep up to the pace of the officers even though my shackled ankles do not allow as lengthy a stride as these freemen may make, I shuffle along. I am unsuccessful in keeping up, and feel again a stroke of the strap, across my butt. I certainly have more padding of fat there, but the sting still does make me try even more to keep up with these men whose limbs are unencumbered by chains, but my efforts are not successful.
"You can tell these life servants are really the bottom of the line when it comes to even the most elementary of skills. Look at this pile of shit. It's not even to keep up with a free man's slow stride."
I mentally bristled at this unfair comparison, but I did know better than to voice the comment that my mind supplied of "Look asshole! YOU try walking in all these chains on and see how well you could do!" However, my rational mind told me that as miserable as I felt at the moment, that these cretins were probably able to make my life even more miserable, and so my best course of action was to be quiet and try to master the shackled shuffle. When we arrived at the door at the end of the cell block, I again waited as the officer called into his shoulder... not really his shoulder but to the microphone attached to his shoulder strap... and heard the snap of the locks on the door being unlocked. I was again roughly grabbed by my elbows and propelled through the opening. I was greeted by another hallway with no side exits but another door probably thirty feet away straight ahead. Again I was held, and also a bit dragged, down the hallway. The door latch unlocking, and then the door opening led me to a room with flurry of activity. I saw many officers, some in police uniforms and many in guard uniforms, and several in orange jumpsuits swabbing down the floor. I was grasped more firmly as if I would be tempted to make some sort of wild dash somewhere. I realized that even if not being firmly manhandled I was actually still firmly in custody and still had no real freedom of movement. We moved across the room, and I noticed that my little parade of officers and myself as the main attraction received only some mild and mostly bored looks from the officers around the room, and the persons seated in plastic chairs facing some tv sets hanging from the ceiling. I saw one of my escorting officers take the bulky file that had become my criminal history file over to a counter and hand it to a clerk. I noted the sign above the window said "Registration." I realized like in all good bureaucracies, inventory must be kept track of, and now I, as a state involuntary servant, needed to be registered as belonging to Pleasant Acres.
After this pause for my paperwork to be left off, we finally arrived at another door, but this door had a window in it, and I could see through the window that on the other side was a sort of garage area. One of my escort officers talked toward his shoulder, and I heard the lock snap and the officer pushed open the door, and soon my elbows again were grasped by an officer on each one began my march toward the door. Just as I was about to go through the door another officer came running after us. "Don't take this servant out yet!" he shouted. The two officers who were leading me out the door stopped, and I was dragged back into the main facility.
"Scotty, what's the shit's the problem. We are taking this asshole who destroyed some of Pleasant Acres' fence out and deliver his sorry ass to Mr. Black to transport to Pleasant Acres to be put to work for the rest of its life to pay back for his destruction of their fence."
"I am sorry officers, but when I opened the folder I noticed that there were no mug shots nor finger prints in the folder. I am glad that I checked as always because with servants with previous records of service or incarceration mud shots and finger prints are always there, but for some reason there are none there. I'll need him back so that we can have a mug shot at least, and I would prefer a full body series, and finger prints for the file before I can send the file over to the servant registration office."
"God dammit Scotty, can't you just fake it. Put some other asshole's picture and prints in the file. This pile of shits going to be out in the quarry for the rest of its life."
"I am very serious about my job," Scotty replied in a very offended and very serious tone. "I suppose keeping proper documentation and records seems of no importance to you, but I can assure you, that proper records are an absolute necessity in a well ordered society, and certainly keeping track of the state's involuntary servants is an absolute necessity for a proper accounting of where these servants are, and that they can be accounted for until... in this servant's case, it dies."
"RIGHT! RIGHT! RIGHT!" the officer snarled, and I was yanked back into the large room, and then hustled over to a door marked "REGISTRATION and RECORDS."
"In you go shit head." was the officer's kindly comments as I was shoved through the door.
Inside was what I expected. The camera was set on a little track and the wall was a neutral not quite white background. There was also the expected measurement lines beside which I would be placed so that my height would be noted in the photograph.
"Place him on the scales first." the officer who was clearly in charge of this photo shop ordered. I was placed on the scales. I could see the weight showing up on the screen, and, to my amazement, the weight shown was actually my weight without all the chains and cuffs that were now part of me. The clerk must have seen my surprised look, and as he was focusing on me, explained. "I see you're surprised that your weight is correct. All I have to do is press a button which then automatically subtracts the weight of the collar and chains you're wearing as they are all government-issue, and so I know their weights exactly, and with the push of that button their weight is subtracted from the weight being measured but the scales." I was actually impressed at this bit of computerized planning, but said nothing. I had already learned that unless asked a question, my participation was not expected.
I then was placed facing the camera by the height measurement line, and my right and left profiles were snapped. The next series however was a surprise.
As I stood there I wondered what might be next. The photographer turned to my two escorts.
"Un-cuff his hands and have him strip down. I need pictures of any tattoos and other body marks."
At this point the senior officer of my personal escort intervened. "Can we just unchain his wrists, and have him put his pants and underwear at his ankles. I really don't want to undo his leg shackles if I can avoid that."
"Yes, that will be fine." the photographer replied, and so my wrists were released, and all the other chains above my ankles were gone. Of course, my pants gathered in a lump around my ankles, as my pants rested on my leg chains. The chance of my making a run for freedom that did not seem to be a problem. My shirt and undershirt was then pulled over my head and gathered at my wrist chains. Except for my chains around my ankles and my shoes with my bunched clothing resting on my shoes, and so soon the photographer was snapping pictures of my naked body front and back, and also both sides. I was then allowed to pull up my clothes, and expected to retrace my steps to the garage. However there was one final step. After we left the photographer, he followed my little escort gaggle. However, before we returned to the door to the garage, I was guided to one last place. I was stopped by a place, and as I looked at it I knew what was next – my fingerprinting."
"What happened to the new photo finger printer?"
"That thing is a pile of shit!" came back by my handler. "The prints were not as complete and clear as when I did it by hand, and so I had the county demand their money back. When I showed them how much cleared my hand made prints were over those smudged ones from the machine they got their money back and we again get good clear prints off our customers." I did not share in the smiles from my guards at my being designated a "customer" of my fingerprinting. And so my fingers were grabbed and individually rolled over my record sheet.
"Hold your hand out!" I was ordered and some solution was sprayed on them. I was then handed two paper towels, and ordered to wipe off the ink. I was happy to follow that order, and once I had rubbed off as much ink as possible with the paper towels, the photographer looked at my hands. "He'll need second shot." He said almost to himself, and so my hands were given a second treatment of cleaner and more towels to clean off the ink. This time the towels were almost clear of smudges as were my hands.
"Get back into your stripes slave boy!" I was ordered and soon I was back fully clothed and then, of course, all my chains were reattached. I left the identification station, and my mind suddenly processed that with my face...actually my whole body... now on record as being a life involuntary servant... that even if Beau was somehow able to manage to get me out of this mess, I would have my prints and photos listed as belonging to a life involuntary servant. That thought caused me to shudder, but then I was a bit comforted. I had to believe that Beau would somehow get me back to Massachusetts by the end of summer, and as a prominent citizen there, and in Massachusetts I almost certainly would not ever be in a situation where my fingerprints were be checked. Also, of course in Massachusetts, no person would be returned to a state in the US where that person would again be a servant to a state where everyone in Massachusetts believed that servant was only a euphemism for slavery. I soon was returned to the door to the garage.
When we went through the door, I was surprised...although perhaps I should not have been, that there was my old "friend" George from Pleasant Acres, ready to take me out for a summer of being an involuntary servant. George gave me a pleasant smile... or perhaps a better term would be sneer...as he reached up and attached a lead to my collar. I was going to be led out into society like an animal on a lead. Of course as I ruminated on this comparison I almost had to smile... which had I actually done so would certainly have been interpreted as some sort of rebellion since servants were NOT expected to smile while on a lead, and especially on a lead that would take them to transportation to take that servant to the place that the Great State of Tennessee had determined it would toil at hard labor for the remainder of its life. I again thought to myself. "I know this experience is my payback for subjecting Beau to being locked up in a cell when we went through the prison in Massachusetts, but really this is too much. Then as I made sure I did not smile, as I know that would be interpreted as some sort of rebellion and my butt would feel the price of that rebellion, I allowed myself to act the part of an animal on a lead being taken to the animal's place of service. As I held that thought, I again brightened my expectations, "Surely Beau would not extract a retribution too much more than the relative small amount of time that he had suffered through while in Massachusetts. With my chains clanking...what those wearing them claimed to be "that merry melody of chain on chain," I was being led to a small pickup truck. However the truck bed was surrounded by types of steel bands that I associated from my Massachusetts life, as being on cattle trucks. A ramp had been placed for me to walk up into my mobile cell. I accepted being led into the cage, as my chain lead was passed off to an officer just outside the bars of my cage. "Climb up and in boy." my new handler ordered. Again I complied as there was nothing to be gained, and I was sure there would be punishment for, any resistance that I gave to any order I was given. Once in the cage, my lead chain was padlocked to a chain that went from side to side about waist high toward the cab of the truck. I was now ready for my delivery to Pleasant Acres. This trip to Pleasant Acres would be in the open, like I had traveled there in Beau's open sports car; however, this time I was standing in a cage and chained and collared. I would be thought of like an animal being transported. Once locked in my transport, and the guards had exited, and the gate closed and locked, I looked out at the free world. This time I did not have the unhindered view that I had had from Beau's sports car, but now my views were interrupted by bands of steel. I then smiled to myself. Those bands of steel also made my servant body pretty much obscured from the probing eyes of the free citizens. Once I was secured in my transport, George got into the cab, and soon I was swinging and swaying... not to the sounds of some music, but the sounds of traffic, and of course the jingle/jangle of my chains. Through the city, into the country, and soon I was traveling down the long lane to Pleasant Acres. I remembered how impressed I had been on my first trip down this lane, but this time, as we approached the mansion, my limousine turned to the left, and we went a smaller path to a one story concrete block building. The truck turned into a parking lot next to the building, and George expertly backed into a parking space. Soon my cage was unlocked, and I was released. George led me into a concrete block building, and as I entered I noted that there was a sign next to the entry "SERVANT REGISTRATAION AND INVENTORY CENTER." I realized I was about part of the inventoried as part of the property of Pleasant Acres. I now smiled to myself. I was not too sure that I would now regard my time here as Pleasant. George unlocked the gate to my cage, unchained me from the truck, and led me into a side entrance to this building. Over the door I saw the sign "SERVANT ENTRANCE & REGISTRATION."
"Soon we'll have you all registered and made a part of the estate's inventory. You'll be glad to hear that in the entire history of Pleasant Acres, we have never lost a servant once that servant has been registered into our inventory. Some servant have been sold off later, but most servants are only removed from the books as "Out of Service" which for most means that servant has died. We rarely sell our servant inventory to a rendering plants as the family finds that solution... which does allow organs to be donated to hospitals ... as going too far in the "servant as an animal" mind set. Once again. I was stripped and photographed, fingerprints taken and saved for identification, and finally I was given my new servant interview.
I was led to an office. On the door I saw the identification of the job of the person in the office. The sign read "SERVANT EVALUATION AND ASSIGNMENT OFFICE." As I was led in by my handlers, I was led to a window. The window was open, and I glanced up to see I was at the "Evaluation Office" of this dual task facility.
Another servant, again the collars make one's servant position in society immediately clear, saw the two of us enter the office but I was completely ignored. "Master, how my this humble servant and this office serve you MASTER." He asked this question never looking at George in the face, and ignoring me completely, but respectfully looking toward the middle of his chest. It would later learn that this level of servant never looked directly into the face of a free person as this action would be taken as a challenge to the different roles and levels of life that the two persons occupied, and so the servant kept its eyes lowered to the chest of a free person. I would later learn that a servant who occupied the worker level of servanthood, unlike those VERY privileged few who were domestic servants who worked in the home, were always made aware of their subservient status...even here at Pleasant Acres... which I knew by every servant I had ever talked to...was regarded as the best place to serve in the whole State of Tennessee.
"Register this new inventory as a hard level servant and assigned to the quarry." George said not impolitely, but clearly with a clear sense of his superiority to the servant. "I will be back in twenty minutes, and will expect this servant to be completely registered, and ready for his trip to his place of service."
"Master Black, thank you for your instructions. Master is this new inventory to be re-chained or should I note a payment is to be sent to the state for his chains, SIR?
"I think this servant looks just fine in his chains and that is why I did not have them removed when I accepted his delivery to me at Nashville. After a while at the quarry, this servant may need some adjustment to the chains, and so we can weld the life chains on it when that time comes. At this time note in his new inventory file that to check in six months' time to see if its muscles have grown and then we can weld his permanent chains on, and send these back at that time. Make the notations to notify the state to bill Pleasant Acres for these present shackles, and probably they will be returned in six months to a year for credit to our account."
"Thank you Master for this information, SIR. SIR this servant will be ready in about fifteen minutes for it to be taken to the quarry to begin its life service, Master." I noticed this statement was made with the head raised a bit higher...perhaps even to the lower part of George's face... but still the different statuses were never in doubt."
George than clipped my lead to the large "D" ring attached to the wall, and walked out.
As soon as he left the room, and the door closed and I heard it click to lock, I dared to look up. The room, and to this point I had mostly seen its bare concrete floor, was also totally constructed of concrete block painted a sort of off white. However, the blocks and the concrete floor were both spotlessly clean, and though I was absolutely positive had been here for years, it still had the look of something brand new.
By this time the servant registrar had moved from behind the window to right beside me, and I was shocked and jumped a bit when I heard his voice right beside me. "Well boy, you sure do not look like a quarry slave ( and I did note that the registrar did not use the "servant" euphemism for the factual description of what the law now saw me as being... a hard brawn but little brain slave who would be working under strict supervision for the rest of its life.
"You may look up now boy. We are in the same level of society, but I will tell you quarry hard labor slave boys are thought by the rest of us as the lower end of our class with all brawn and no brain. You do not look like a quarry slave to me, but after a few months, I suppose you will bulk up...or die off." At this comment, I involuntarily looked up, and saw him smiling at me.
"I thought that comment would get your attention. Look boy, you are I are in the same class of society generally, and so we can talk like equals when no master is around, but boy are you in for a rough period of time. You are the smallest, least muscled slave boy I have ever registered for the quarry. Let me tell you that several of those bruits there will really want to claim you as their fuck and suck partner as you're so slight and pretty, and I would advise you to smile at the biggest one of them who comes up to you and says he wants you as his partner. If your partner is the meanest, strongest, and most dominant quarry slave you will be his fuckee, but that probably will be the best deal you are going to get out there. I have heard stories from some of those animals on the few occasions when one comes back to this office for some reason. They are hairy; they smell; and they mostly speak in few and totally profane words."
This speech did not do anything but make me shiver in fear, and my chains did indeed jingle a little bit as I involuntarily twitched in my apprehension of what waited for me.
"Well, let me look at your documentation, and I'll get you ready. I always tell the masters that the process takes about a half hour. It really takes about half that time, but they leave you to me, and go outside to smoke and lie to each other. You must be special to have the Master George, the chief prick of all the guards, personally being you in."
"Well, I would guess you may have heard. I am the guy who ran into the fence on the way into Pleasant Acres."
"No shit Sherlock!" At this point the registrar looked at me with much more interest.
"Well that means I have to be careful not to cut you any slack. Every slave boy here as already heard about this wreck. I imagine even the quarry guards will know. For now strip down for your entrance photo shoot."
I took off my shirt and undershirt and dropped my pants and underpants, and stood there naked except for chains and the bunched pants around my ankles.
"WHERE ARE YOUR TATTOOS!?" the registrar said loudly as I stripped down as much as possible given my chains. "No con with the record that is in this folder would not have tattoos all over his body! Something is wrong here. I have done this job for ten years now, and I know what you should look like from this record. Where are the tattoos from your prison time up north?"
I did not know what to do. If I told him I was not the person whose file he had been given, and if I also said that I knew that this was some sort of plan dreamed up by Beau and being followed by George Black, all that information given to this servant would undoubtedly spread all over the plantation rapidly. I also know that I was now in the public record of the State of Tennessee as Thomas G. Miller, Life Hard Labor Servant, leased (sold) to Pleasant Acres for his period of indenture, which was, of course, life. "Sir, my time in Massachusetts was spent on probation, SIR."
"Really!?" the registrar stared at me. I could sense that the registrar knew that with the convictions on the record, that there would have been NO probation possible.
"Well no matter what, you are here now, and I will register you." He gave me the look that I knew showed that he had not bought my lie about probation. I really did not have any idea of "my" record, and so I had no desire to get into a discussion of my past about which I had no information. I had my fingerprints taken again, and I could tell this guy was more of an expert at fingerprinting than the jail jerk downtown. I mentally stopped to consider what language just went through my head. That type of language was foreign to my life in Massachusetts. Would I have thought of the phrase "jail jerk" in my former life? I guess I was proving that environment is important to humans, and humans are endlessly adaptable. As my life changed from honored upper class executive, to lower class... no lowest class... involuntary servant I guess my language followed my descent. Even in private thought I just did not use this low of a level of language... before. Each of my fingers was expertly inked, firmly grasped and rolled on the record card. From my limited experience I mentally smiled to myself. Who would have ever thought that I could be a connoisseur of a person's skill in taking my finger prints? My little smile did not escape the registrar.
"You smiled when I rolled your fingers? Boy, you must really be hard up for someone to be nice to you." was his comment as he again stared at me carefully. Soon he had taken a photo record of my face, and the back of my shaved head, my upper back, and chest. He even did a close up of my genitals. As he took my cock shots, he couldn't resist a comment. "Kind of small equipment for the quarry. You better expect to be given a girl's name by your fellow slaves. You may even be used by the guards as a reward for some lifer at the quarry who has been looking for a smaller...more female type... slave to be sent to the quarry. Don't flaunt your butt or the guards will take it that you're gay.
"I'm not gay, I stammered. I have a wife and children."
"I did not notice mention of a wife and children in your folder. Why was that not mentioned? Something is not adding up on all this. Tell me what is happening. I may be able to help. I have more freedom in this office then most involuntary servants. If there is something wrong here, let me know, and I will be careful with your information, but also work to get you out of the mess you seem to be in." He stopped talking and stared at me intently.
I paused. Could I trust this servant who seemed to have a lot of personal freedom, or was it his job to test me to see if I would try something, and if I did say something, he would only report me to Captain Black, and I did not doubt that as horrible as my life seemed to be headed right now, Captain Black could find a way to make it even worse...if that could be possible. I decided that perhaps at some future time I would try to use this contact, but for now I opted to wait.
"Sir, I have learned in my short time as an involuntary servant that there are few persons who I could trust, and though I certainly believe you seem to be one of those, those previous and painful experiences make me too cautious to trust saying too much at this point."
There was a very long pause as the registrar just looked at me. I almost felt he was x-raying me. "Well boy, again that little speech was nothing that the professional convict in this record would have ever said. Again, when and if you want to be honest with me, I will try to help. Master Beau is a very fair man, and he would not want to have an actual free man slaving here at Pleasant Acres-----especially with the hard labor animals at the quarry."
Again, I wanted to share my situation with him, but I suppose I had begun to have an involuntary servant's fear of being lured into a situation where the servant can be either turned into a more severe level of servanthood, and have its term of servanthood extended. Of course neither of those two consequences could happen with me. I was at the bottom of the servant chain already."
"Sir thank you for your concern and your kind words." I replied. "However, there is nothing you can do to ameliorate my situation."
When I finished my little speech, I again looked at the registrar.
"SHIT boi!!! The low life ignorant pile of shit that is that has record...in spite of the photo... could NEVER be you. That shithead would never in a thousand lifetimes know the word `ameliorate." However, the Captain seems to be aware of the situation, and so I will keep my nose out of areas in which I could only make my own situation worse,"
Just as he finished his speech, the door opened, and Captain Black walked in."
"Do you have this boy inventoried?!" he demanded.
"SIR yes, SIR" thee registrar replied smartly, and I guess one could say professionally.
Captain Black went back outside, only to return in a minute, but this time he was carrying a long lead chain. I thought that the chain reminded me of the chain on which I had always locked my dog's collar when we went for our morning walk. He was a great dog in most ways, but just could not be trusted to come back when called if he was outside our fenced in back yard. Free, he would run and run. Too many times I had been forced to call neighbors to look out for our dog who would go up to a stranger with his tail wagging, with the same determination and ease as he would run from me. I was now the animal that could not be trusted unless on a lead or in a secure area. I was almost tempted to show my understanding of how I felt I was being treated by barking responses rather than talking, but I rejected that idea very quickly as it would have to be a poor idea to irritate someone who controlled me totally. Therefor when Captain Black snapped the lead on my collar, I just stood there and awaited orders. Captain Black looked at me with a withering stare, and then smiled... Not a friendly smile, but a knowing smile of the victor in some contest. "I see you have learned your true place boy." He said quietly but emphatically. I could not decide if the comment was only that I should accept without response, or one to which I should respond. I opted for the response, and responded sharply, "Sir yes SIR. Sir thank you SIR." Again, I got the smile, and then as I followed my master on my leash, Captain Black went to his horse, tied my lead around the pummel horn, and with a click to his horse who began walking. Well actually the horse was walking leisurely, and I was walking - the slave on a leash following behind the horse, but I was was noisily jangling my chains.
The little parade of myself following my master left the Registrar's Office and began down a path paved with soft much over the crest of a hill, and down the other side. Soon we were by a familiar area – the punishment center. Captain Black moved his horse over toward the punishment stations. I thought perhaps I would soon be given a taste of punishments as motivation to slave hard. Soon I was once again at the building behind the punishment stations. I was doubly fearful now. However, once we got to the punishment stations, Captain Black got off his horse, took my lead and headed me toward a pillory. However, instead of locking into the pillory, Captain Black only tied my lead to the pillory post. The Captain's horse was also tethered to the same post. I mused to myself that both of the Captain's animals were now tethered together to the same post, as was appropriate since now horse and I were more equal than different, although I was sure the Captain valued his horse more highly than I was valued.
Shortly however, I heard to sound of an engine starting, and then, to my surprise, the Captain appeared around the back of the building in a little motorized utility cart. He stopped the cart, got out, and unhitched me from the post, and led me to the space at the back of the cart where I suppose tools and other materials that were going to be used by some worker would be placed.
I was unhitched, and still looking at me like he was examining a worm he had found in his food, he snarled "Get in the back of the cart shithead." I made a mental note that all of my names from the perspective of the Captain seemed to be related to the process of elimination of waste from the human body. As I mulled on this relationship of myself to waste, I decided that his estimation of my value to him, at least, was accurate.
I clumsily climbed into the cart with my chains clanking. The Captain then went over and untethered his horse from the post and tethered his stallion to the cart.
"Shithead I should make you jog or run all the way to the quarry, but that would be too much of a waste of time for me, and you have already been too much of a pain in the ass to justify that inconvenience. You will be able to ride until we get close enough to the quarry hard labor operation so that I can make you run long enough to be sweaty enough to be believable that you have run out to the quarry, but you will not have occupied too much of my valuable time on your worthless hide. I was glad to plant the idea of having you spend some time as an involuntary servant to be a payback for Master Beau's degradation of being locked up in a cell in some foul northern prison." There finally I made the connection. Beau planned to make me spend some time in the process of being turned into a servant as payback for his being stripped, put into a convict's clothing and spending some time in a solitary cage, as well as being subjected to the degradation of being treated as a convict. As I was released from the post, told to climb into the cart, and then reattached to a tether at the back of the cart, I thought to myself. "I know that old saying that `Paybacks are a bitch.' but this payback was much more than that." I was becoming not a bitch, but a base animal.
As soon as the horse and I were settled, the Captain restarted the cart, and we began traveling over the paths toward the mountains in the distance that I remembered from my tour was the location of the quarry. We went through several gates and across the meadows until the Captain stopped the cart, untethered his horse and then removed me from my lead from the back of the cart. We did not seem to be going toward my hard labor destination as quickly as I expected because I thought that Captain Black was in a hurray and happy to have me arrive.
"We are close enough, but also far enough that you should look winded when we arrive at the quarry. I will unshackle your ankles so that you can run with the cart until we get close enough so that you will look winded enough to look correct for a slave boy who has been run out to his place of slavery. Enjoy the ride. IT may be the last good deed you will receive for as long as you are slaving with us."
I swear, the Captain actually smiled as his little speech of mock concern for me as well as clearly establishing how desperate my prospects now were.
The Captain mounted his stallion, and my snapped a long leather lead onto my collar. "READY SLAVEBOI? LET"S GET YOU MOVING!"
He started his horse walking at what seemed to me to be a fast pace, and I began trying to follow along even before the slack of the chain pulled me into following along. We traveled down paths and over several hills, through four fences, and finally I could see how close we were to the hills that I know marked the location of the quarry. Finally, we came to the crest of a hill, and I began my descent, both down a hill, but also down my level of an animal working under the lash. I was completing my descent from esteemed freeman and businessman to an almost animal quarry slave.
It seemed like many miles, but I know that it was not all that many to when we crested another hill, and the Captain paused for me to look down at the quarry, and I could hear, and see the place of my slavery. I decided that I know what the damned souls felt when they were led to the gates of hell in Dante's Inferno.
Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter of the saga of the Massachusetts roommate into Tennessee involuntary servant (or slaveboi.) I hope you enjoy this chapter and forgive the interstice. As always I truly value hearing from my readers. daw
The Roommate - Chapter 22 Unpleasant Acres
From the end of Chapter 21 As I mulled over my dramatic change in status, I heard the locks being unlocked for the cage furthest from me, and then the distinct sound of leather striking bare skin, and sound of pain being registered by the recipient of the pain of the leather strap hitting bare flesh, and the clanking of chains in motion as I was sure, even though I could not see the actual event, that the first of my new band of brothers was being released from the telephone booth like cage, and then the clanking of the chains leaving the room. For some time silence again reigned in this ante room to a life of hard labor and abuse, and then the sounds occurred again. I resigned myself just to await my turn, as if I had alternatives to just waiting. For some reason a kind of peace came over me. I realized that the stress of making decisions and taking on the responsibilities of a free man were no longer any concern of mine. I was amazed as I felt a certain tension leave my body. I did not have to worry any more about friends, family, obligations, and responsibilities. All I had to do was follow orders...and as I had clearly figured out that society did not regard hard labor slaves as having almost any brains...I knew that probably never again would I have to decide on what I would do, and weigh the consequences of my decision. All I had do was work and do as I was told. Was it rationalization? I decided I did not care. I had made a decision, and it seemed to promise not a particularly pleasant life, but as a human with a brain I had rationalized myself into acceptance and made peace with reality.
The Roommate Chapter 22 Unpleasant Acres
I heard the elevator door chime. The same group of officers who had taken all the previous hard labor slaves to the elevator and to wherever they were fated to work all the rest of their lives at heard labor marched down the room toward the last remaining criminal...me. I had no doubt. I knew where I would be. I would be at Pleasant Acres, but no longer living an indulgent life of luxury in the main house. I remembered my tour, and how I was given the long view of the hard labor gangs at the quarry. I felt that Beau probably had not given me the long view of the hard labor slaves as that was not where I was intended to slave for the summer. I suspect I was to be on a gang of slaves in the agricultural activity of Pleasant Acres. I too could be doing the weeding and cultivating and whatever it took for these foods and fibers to reach their maximum growth and minimize the number of plants which did not produce to the maximum.
In moments this band of booted, supremely fit and muscled free men were in front of my cage.
The officer in charge looked at me with contempt, and then a little smile which made me shiver in fear. I was absolutely sure that anything that would make this muscled monster of a man that happy could only be something that would only make my life more miserable.
Staring at me, but addressing his fellow goon squad members, the leader of the group, produced a key ring, and holding out one key as the other keys jungled merrily, he unlocked the opening at the front of the cage that would let me out of the cage, but although out of the cage, I would be anything but free.
"Gentlemen," he intoned solemnly, and clearly not addressing me but the other members of this group of man-beasts any one of which could control me totally if I were totally free, but who now represented massive over necessity to control one prisoner, "...we have here the perp who destroyed a part of the fence leading to Master Beau Masterson's home."
I actually could feel an aura of hostility come toward me as all the goon squad looked at me with the same good will as a cat might have for a mouse that is cornered and about to be played with before being eaten.
"I know we all appreciate that every Christmas every police officer receives a cash Christmas bonus from the Masterson family, and so as I release this scum from its cage, let's be sure that scum knows how we here in the South treat rude and criminal northerners who come down here to repay kindness with criminal destruction of property."
After that speech I knew that anything but my best efforts to follow all orders would be met with painful physical pain inflicted upon me by these men.
The officer then used his key to open the door to my cage. "MOVE OUT SCUM!" was my polite invitation to exit the cage.
I began to move out the now opened door, but having been cramped into the tight fitting cage, even though that time had not been extremely long, I could not move very quickly.
"FASTER SCUM!" was my pleasant invitation to overcome pain and difficulty in moving my limbs still new to moving with the added weight of my chains.
I did my best to step outside my little cage and turn toward the door, but apparently my efforts were insufficient as I felt two reactions on my body simultaneously. First I felt a yank on the lead on my collar, and also a yank on my elbow which transmitted to motivation to my chained wrists and then to the belly chain around my waist. Clanking I moved my feet, and again with an application of a slave strap, which is a belt-like strap of leather which is about twenty inches long, and the free person using this strap fixes the loop on one end of the strap around the person's wrist, and then holding a little of the leather strap coming off the loop brings the strap sharply across the body of the of prisoner/involuntary servant to motivate immediate the servant's compliance with whatever order has been given. With my elbow being yanked forward and my butt feeling the sting of two stokes of the slave strap, and began moving with a renewed interest in speed, and found that if I moved fast enough I could keep the connecting chains off the floor and my ankles moved back and forth furiously to move my chained feet as quickly as the free persons could move with their longer strides faster and easier. However, I was realizing clearly that it was the obligation of the servant not to bother a free person in any way, and if any irritation was felt by the free person, it was the servant who would feel the sting of the strap.
As I try to keep up to the pace of the officers even though my shackled ankles do not allow as lengthy a stride as these freemen may make, I shuffle along. I am unsuccessful in keeping up, and feel again a stroke of the strap, across my butt. I certainly have more padding of fat there, but the sting still does make me try even more to keep up with these men whose limbs are unencumbered by chains, but my efforts are not successful.
"You can tell these life servants are really the bottom of the line when it comes to even the most elementary of skills. Look at this pile of shit. It's not even to keep up with a free man's slow stride."
I mentally bristled at this unfair comparison, but I did know better than to voice the comment that my mind supplied of "Look asshole! YOU try walking in all these chains on and see how well you could do!" However, my rational mind told me that as miserable as I felt at the moment, that these cretins were probably able to make my life even more miserable, and so my best course of action was to be quiet and try to master the shackled shuffle. When we arrived at the door at the end of the cell block, I again waited as the officer called into his shoulder... not really his shoulder but to the microphone attached to his shoulder strap... and heard the snap of the locks on the door being unlocked. I was again roughly grabbed by my elbows and propelled through the opening. I was greeted by another hallway with no side exits but another door probably thirty feet away straight ahead. Again I was held, and also a bit dragged, down the hallway. The door latch unlocking, and then the door opening led me to a room with flurry of activity. I saw many officers, some in police uniforms and many in guard uniforms, and several in orange jumpsuits swabbing down the floor. I was grasped more firmly as if I would be tempted to make some sort of wild dash somewhere. I realized that even if not being firmly manhandled I was actually still firmly in custody and still had no real freedom of movement. We moved across the room, and I noticed that my little parade of officers and myself as the main attraction received only some mild and mostly bored looks from the officers around the room, and the persons seated in plastic chairs facing some tv sets hanging from the ceiling. I saw one of my escorting officers take the bulky file that had become my criminal history file over to a counter and hand it to a clerk. I noted the sign above the window said "Registration." I realized like in all good bureaucracies, inventory must be kept track of, and now I, as a state involuntary servant, needed to be registered as belonging to Pleasant Acres.
After this pause for my paperwork to be left off, we finally arrived at another door, but this door had a window in it, and I could see through the window that on the other side was a sort of garage area. One of my escort officers talked toward his shoulder, and I heard the lock snap and the officer pushed open the door, and soon my elbows again were grasped by an officer on each one began my march toward the door. Just as I was about to go through the door another officer came running after us. "Don't take this servant out yet!" he shouted. The two officers who were leading me out the door stopped, and I was dragged back into the main facility.
"Scotty, what's the shit's the problem. We are taking this asshole who destroyed some of Pleasant Acres' fence out and deliver his sorry ass to Mr. Black to transport to Pleasant Acres to be put to work for the rest of its life to pay back for his destruction of their fence."
"I am sorry officers, but when I opened the folder I noticed that there were no mug shots nor finger prints in the folder. I am glad that I checked as always because with servants with previous records of service or incarceration mud shots and finger prints are always there, but for some reason there are none there. I'll need him back so that we can have a mug shot at least, and I would prefer a full body series, and finger prints for the file before I can send the file over to the servant registration office."
"God dammit Scotty, can't you just fake it. Put some other asshole's picture and prints in the file. This pile of shits going to be out in the quarry for the rest of its life."
"I am very serious about my job," Scotty replied in a very offended and very serious tone. "I suppose keeping proper documentation and records seems of no importance to you, but I can assure you, that proper records are an absolute necessity in a well ordered society, and certainly keeping track of the state's involuntary servants is an absolute necessity for a proper accounting of where these servants are, and that they can be accounted for until... in this servant's case, it dies."
"RIGHT! RIGHT! RIGHT!" the officer snarled, and I was yanked back into the large room, and then hustled over to a door marked "REGISTRATION and RECORDS."
"In you go shit head." was the officer's kindly comments as I was shoved through the door.
Inside was what I expected. The camera was set on a little track and the wall was a neutral not quite white background. There was also the expected measurement lines beside which I would be placed so that my height would be noted in the photograph.
"Place him on the scales first." the officer who was clearly in charge of this photo shop ordered. I was placed on the scales. I could see the weight showing up on the screen, and, to my amazement, the weight shown was actually my weight without all the chains and cuffs that were now part of me. The clerk must have seen my surprised look, and as he was focusing on me, explained. "I see you're surprised that your weight is correct. All I have to do is press a button which then automatically subtracts the weight of the collar and chains you're wearing as they are all government-issue, and so I know their weights exactly, and with the push of that button their weight is subtracted from the weight being measured but the scales." I was actually impressed at this bit of computerized planning, but said nothing. I had already learned that unless asked a question, my participation was not expected.
I then was placed facing the camera by the height measurement line, and my right and left profiles were snapped. The next series however was a surprise.
As I stood there I wondered what might be next. The photographer turned to my two escorts.
"Un-cuff his hands and have him strip down. I need pictures of any tattoos and other body marks."
At this point the senior officer of my personal escort intervened. "Can we just unchain his wrists, and have him put his pants and underwear at his ankles. I really don't want to undo his leg shackles if I can avoid that."
"Yes, that will be fine." the photographer replied, and so my wrists were released, and all the other chains above my ankles were gone. Of course, my pants gathered in a lump around my ankles, as my pants rested on my leg chains. The chance of my making a run for freedom that did not seem to be a problem. My shirt and undershirt was then pulled over my head and gathered at my wrist chains. Except for my chains around my ankles and my shoes with my bunched clothing resting on my shoes, and so soon the photographer was snapping pictures of my naked body front and back, and also both sides. I was then allowed to pull up my clothes, and expected to retrace my steps to the garage. However there was one final step. After we left the photographer, he followed my little escort gaggle. However, before we returned to the door to the garage, I was guided to one last place. I was stopped by a place, and as I looked at it I knew what was next – my fingerprinting."
"What happened to the new photo finger printer?"
"That thing is a pile of shit!" came back by my handler. "The prints were not as complete and clear as when I did it by hand, and so I had the county demand their money back. When I showed them how much cleared my hand made prints were over those smudged ones from the machine they got their money back and we again get good clear prints off our customers." I did not share in the smiles from my guards at my being designated a "customer" of my fingerprinting. And so my fingers were grabbed and individually rolled over my record sheet.
"Hold your hand out!" I was ordered and some solution was sprayed on them. I was then handed two paper towels, and ordered to wipe off the ink. I was happy to follow that order, and once I had rubbed off as much ink as possible with the paper towels, the photographer looked at my hands. "He'll need second shot." He said almost to himself, and so my hands were given a second treatment of cleaner and more towels to clean off the ink. This time the towels were almost clear of smudges as were my hands.
"Get back into your stripes slave boy!" I was ordered and soon I was back fully clothed and then, of course, all my chains were reattached. I left the identification station, and my mind suddenly processed that with my face...actually my whole body... now on record as being a life involuntary servant... that even if Beau was somehow able to manage to get me out of this mess, I would have my prints and photos listed as belonging to a life involuntary servant. That thought caused me to shudder, but then I was a bit comforted. I had to believe that Beau would somehow get me back to Massachusetts by the end of summer, and as a prominent citizen there, and in Massachusetts I almost certainly would not ever be in a situation where my fingerprints were be checked. Also, of course in Massachusetts, no person would be returned to a state in the US where that person would again be a servant to a state where everyone in Massachusetts believed that servant was only a euphemism for slavery. I soon was returned to the door to the garage.
When we went through the door, I was surprised...although perhaps I should not have been, that there was my old "friend" George from Pleasant Acres, ready to take me out for a summer of being an involuntary servant. George gave me a pleasant smile... or perhaps a better term would be sneer...as he reached up and attached a lead to my collar. I was going to be led out into society like an animal on a lead. Of course as I ruminated on this comparison I almost had to smile... which had I actually done so would certainly have been interpreted as some sort of rebellion since servants were NOT expected to smile while on a lead, and especially on a lead that would take them to transportation to take that servant to the place that the Great State of Tennessee had determined it would toil at hard labor for the remainder of its life. I again thought to myself. "I know this experience is my payback for subjecting Beau to being locked up in a cell when we went through the prison in Massachusetts, but really this is too much. Then as I made sure I did not smile, as I know that would be interpreted as some sort of rebellion and my butt would feel the price of that rebellion, I allowed myself to act the part of an animal on a lead being taken to the animal's place of service. As I held that thought, I again brightened my expectations, "Surely Beau would not extract a retribution too much more than the relative small amount of time that he had suffered through while in Massachusetts. With my chains clanking...what those wearing them claimed to be "that merry melody of chain on chain," I was being led to a small pickup truck. However the truck bed was surrounded by types of steel bands that I associated from my Massachusetts life, as being on cattle trucks. A ramp had been placed for me to walk up into my mobile cell. I accepted being led into the cage, as my chain lead was passed off to an officer just outside the bars of my cage. "Climb up and in boy." my new handler ordered. Again I complied as there was nothing to be gained, and I was sure there would be punishment for, any resistance that I gave to any order I was given. Once in the cage, my lead chain was padlocked to a chain that went from side to side about waist high toward the cab of the truck. I was now ready for my delivery to Pleasant Acres. This trip to Pleasant Acres would be in the open, like I had traveled there in Beau's open sports car; however, this time I was standing in a cage and chained and collared. I would be thought of like an animal being transported. Once locked in my transport, and the guards had exited, and the gate closed and locked, I looked out at the free world. This time I did not have the unhindered view that I had had from Beau's sports car, but now my views were interrupted by bands of steel. I then smiled to myself. Those bands of steel also made my servant body pretty much obscured from the probing eyes of the free citizens. Once I was secured in my transport, George got into the cab, and soon I was swinging and swaying... not to the sounds of some music, but the sounds of traffic, and of course the jingle/jangle of my chains. Through the city, into the country, and soon I was traveling down the long lane to Pleasant Acres. I remembered how impressed I had been on my first trip down this lane, but this time, as we approached the mansion, my limousine turned to the left, and we went a smaller path to a one story concrete block building. The truck turned into a parking lot next to the building, and George expertly backed into a parking space. Soon my cage was unlocked, and I was released. George led me into a concrete block building, and as I entered I noted that there was a sign next to the entry "SERVANT REGISTRATAION AND INVENTORY CENTER." I realized I was about part of the inventoried as part of the property of Pleasant Acres. I now smiled to myself. I was not too sure that I would now regard my time here as Pleasant. George unlocked the gate to my cage, unchained me from the truck, and led me into a side entrance to this building. Over the door I saw the sign "SERVANT ENTRANCE & REGISTRATION."
"Soon we'll have you all registered and made a part of the estate's inventory. You'll be glad to hear that in the entire history of Pleasant Acres, we have never lost a servant once that servant has been registered into our inventory. Some servant have been sold off later, but most servants are only removed from the books as "Out of Service" which for most means that servant has died. We rarely sell our servant inventory to a rendering plants as the family finds that solution... which does allow organs to be donated to hospitals ... as going too far in the "servant as an animal" mind set. Once again. I was stripped and photographed, fingerprints taken and saved for identification, and finally I was given my new servant interview.
I was led to an office. On the door I saw the identification of the job of the person in the office. The sign read "SERVANT EVALUATION AND ASSIGNMENT OFFICE." As I was led in by my handlers, I was led to a window. The window was open, and I glanced up to see I was at the "Evaluation Office" of this dual task facility.
Another servant, again the collars make one's servant position in society immediately clear, saw the two of us enter the office but I was completely ignored. "Master, how my this humble servant and this office serve you MASTER." He asked this question never looking at George in the face, and ignoring me completely, but respectfully looking toward the middle of his chest. It would later learn that this level of servant never looked directly into the face of a free person as this action would be taken as a challenge to the different roles and levels of life that the two persons occupied, and so the servant kept its eyes lowered to the chest of a free person. I would later learn that a servant who occupied the worker level of servanthood, unlike those VERY privileged few who were domestic servants who worked in the home, were always made aware of their subservient status...even here at Pleasant Acres... which I knew by every servant I had ever talked to...was regarded as the best place to serve in the whole State of Tennessee.
"Register this new inventory as a hard level servant and assigned to the quarry." George said not impolitely, but clearly with a clear sense of his superiority to the servant. "I will be back in twenty minutes, and will expect this servant to be completely registered, and ready for his trip to his place of service."
"Master Black, thank you for your instructions. Master is this new inventory to be re-chained or should I note a payment is to be sent to the state for his chains, SIR?
"I think this servant looks just fine in his chains and that is why I did not have them removed when I accepted his delivery to me at Nashville. After a while at the quarry, this servant may need some adjustment to the chains, and so we can weld the life chains on it when that time comes. At this time note in his new inventory file that to check in six months' time to see if its muscles have grown and then we can weld his permanent chains on, and send these back at that time. Make the notations to notify the state to bill Pleasant Acres for these present shackles, and probably they will be returned in six months to a year for credit to our account."
"Thank you Master for this information, SIR. SIR this servant will be ready in about fifteen minutes for it to be taken to the quarry to begin its life service, Master." I noticed this statement was made with the head raised a bit higher...perhaps even to the lower part of George's face... but still the different statuses were never in doubt."
George than clipped my lead to the large "D" ring attached to the wall, and walked out.
As soon as he left the room, and the door closed and I heard it click to lock, I dared to look up. The room, and to this point I had mostly seen its bare concrete floor, was also totally constructed of concrete block painted a sort of off white. However, the blocks and the concrete floor were both spotlessly clean, and though I was absolutely positive had been here for years, it still had the look of something brand new.
By this time the servant registrar had moved from behind the window to right beside me, and I was shocked and jumped a bit when I heard his voice right beside me. "Well boy, you sure do not look like a quarry slave ( and I did note that the registrar did not use the "servant" euphemism for the factual description of what the law now saw me as being... a hard brawn but little brain slave who would be working under strict supervision for the rest of its life.
"You may look up now boy. We are in the same level of society, but I will tell you quarry hard labor slave boys are thought by the rest of us as the lower end of our class with all brawn and no brain. You do not look like a quarry slave to me, but after a few months, I suppose you will bulk up...or die off." At this comment, I involuntarily looked up, and saw him smiling at me.
"I thought that comment would get your attention. Look boy, you are I are in the same class of society generally, and so we can talk like equals when no master is around, but boy are you in for a rough period of time. You are the smallest, least muscled slave boy I have ever registered for the quarry. Let me tell you that several of those bruits there will really want to claim you as their fuck and suck partner as you're so slight and pretty, and I would advise you to smile at the biggest one of them who comes up to you and says he wants you as his partner. If your partner is the meanest, strongest, and most dominant quarry slave you will be his fuckee, but that probably will be the best deal you are going to get out there. I have heard stories from some of those animals on the few occasions when one comes back to this office for some reason. They are hairy; they smell; and they mostly speak in few and totally profane words."
This speech did not do anything but make me shiver in fear, and my chains did indeed jingle a little bit as I involuntarily twitched in my apprehension of what waited for me.
"Well, let me look at your documentation, and I'll get you ready. I always tell the masters that the process takes about a half hour. It really takes about half that time, but they leave you to me, and go outside to smoke and lie to each other. You must be special to have the Master George, the chief prick of all the guards, personally being you in."
"Well, I would guess you may have heard. I am the guy who ran into the fence on the way into Pleasant Acres."
"No shit Sherlock!" At this point the registrar looked at me with much more interest.
"Well that means I have to be careful not to cut you any slack. Every slave boy here as already heard about this wreck. I imagine even the quarry guards will know. For now strip down for your entrance photo shoot."
I took off my shirt and undershirt and dropped my pants and underpants, and stood there naked except for chains and the bunched pants around my ankles.
"WHERE ARE YOUR TATTOOS!?" the registrar said loudly as I stripped down as much as possible given my chains. "No con with the record that is in this folder would not have tattoos all over his body! Something is wrong here. I have done this job for ten years now, and I know what you should look like from this record. Where are the tattoos from your prison time up north?"
I did not know what to do. If I told him I was not the person whose file he had been given, and if I also said that I knew that this was some sort of plan dreamed up by Beau and being followed by George Black, all that information given to this servant would undoubtedly spread all over the plantation rapidly. I also know that I was now in the public record of the State of Tennessee as Thomas G. Miller, Life Hard Labor Servant, leased (sold) to Pleasant Acres for his period of indenture, which was, of course, life. "Sir, my time in Massachusetts was spent on probation, SIR."
"Really!?" the registrar stared at me. I could sense that the registrar knew that with the convictions on the record, that there would have been NO probation possible.
"Well no matter what, you are here now, and I will register you." He gave me the look that I knew showed that he had not bought my lie about probation. I really did not have any idea of "my" record, and so I had no desire to get into a discussion of my past about which I had no information. I had my fingerprints taken again, and I could tell this guy was more of an expert at fingerprinting than the jail jerk downtown. I mentally stopped to consider what language just went through my head. That type of language was foreign to my life in Massachusetts. Would I have thought of the phrase "jail jerk" in my former life? I guess I was proving that environment is important to humans, and humans are endlessly adaptable. As my life changed from honored upper class executive, to lower class... no lowest class... involuntary servant I guess my language followed my descent. Even in private thought I just did not use this low of a level of language... before. Each of my fingers was expertly inked, firmly grasped and rolled on the record card. From my limited experience I mentally smiled to myself. Who would have ever thought that I could be a connoisseur of a person's skill in taking my finger prints? My little smile did not escape the registrar.
"You smiled when I rolled your fingers? Boy, you must really be hard up for someone to be nice to you." was his comment as he again stared at me carefully. Soon he had taken a photo record of my face, and the back of my shaved head, my upper back, and chest. He even did a close up of my genitals. As he took my cock shots, he couldn't resist a comment. "Kind of small equipment for the quarry. You better expect to be given a girl's name by your fellow slaves. You may even be used by the guards as a reward for some lifer at the quarry who has been looking for a smaller...more female type... slave to be sent to the quarry. Don't flaunt your butt or the guards will take it that you're gay.
"I'm not gay, I stammered. I have a wife and children."
"I did not notice mention of a wife and children in your folder. Why was that not mentioned? Something is not adding up on all this. Tell me what is happening. I may be able to help. I have more freedom in this office then most involuntary servants. If there is something wrong here, let me know, and I will be careful with your information, but also work to get you out of the mess you seem to be in." He stopped talking and stared at me intently.
I paused. Could I trust this servant who seemed to have a lot of personal freedom, or was it his job to test me to see if I would try something, and if I did say something, he would only report me to Captain Black, and I did not doubt that as horrible as my life seemed to be headed right now, Captain Black could find a way to make it even worse...if that could be possible. I decided that perhaps at some future time I would try to use this contact, but for now I opted to wait.
"Sir, I have learned in my short time as an involuntary servant that there are few persons who I could trust, and though I certainly believe you seem to be one of those, those previous and painful experiences make me too cautious to trust saying too much at this point."
There was a very long pause as the registrar just looked at me. I almost felt he was x-raying me. "Well boy, again that little speech was nothing that the professional convict in this record would have ever said. Again, when and if you want to be honest with me, I will try to help. Master Beau is a very fair man, and he would not want to have an actual free man slaving here at Pleasant Acres-----especially with the hard labor animals at the quarry."
Again, I wanted to share my situation with him, but I suppose I had begun to have an involuntary servant's fear of being lured into a situation where the servant can be either turned into a more severe level of servanthood, and have its term of servanthood extended. Of course neither of those two consequences could happen with me. I was at the bottom of the servant chain already."
"Sir thank you for your concern and your kind words." I replied. "However, there is nothing you can do to ameliorate my situation."
When I finished my little speech, I again looked at the registrar.
"SHIT boi!!! The low life ignorant pile of shit that is that has record...in spite of the photo... could NEVER be you. That shithead would never in a thousand lifetimes know the word `ameliorate." However, the Captain seems to be aware of the situation, and so I will keep my nose out of areas in which I could only make my own situation worse,"
Just as he finished his speech, the door opened, and Captain Black walked in."
"Do you have this boy inventoried?!" he demanded.
"SIR yes, SIR" thee registrar replied smartly, and I guess one could say professionally.
Captain Black went back outside, only to return in a minute, but this time he was carrying a long lead chain. I thought that the chain reminded me of the chain on which I had always locked my dog's collar when we went for our morning walk. He was a great dog in most ways, but just could not be trusted to come back when called if he was outside our fenced in back yard. Free, he would run and run. Too many times I had been forced to call neighbors to look out for our dog who would go up to a stranger with his tail wagging, with the same determination and ease as he would run from me. I was now the animal that could not be trusted unless on a lead or in a secure area. I was almost tempted to show my understanding of how I felt I was being treated by barking responses rather than talking, but I rejected that idea very quickly as it would have to be a poor idea to irritate someone who controlled me totally. Therefor when Captain Black snapped the lead on my collar, I just stood there and awaited orders. Captain Black looked at me with a withering stare, and then smiled... Not a friendly smile, but a knowing smile of the victor in some contest. "I see you have learned your true place boy." He said quietly but emphatically. I could not decide if the comment was only that I should accept without response, or one to which I should respond. I opted for the response, and responded sharply, "Sir yes SIR. Sir thank you SIR." Again, I got the smile, and then as I followed my master on my leash, Captain Black went to his horse, tied my lead around the pummel horn, and with a click to his horse who began walking. Well actually the horse was walking leisurely, and I was walking - the slave on a leash following behind the horse, but I was was noisily jangling my chains.
The little parade of myself following my master left the Registrar's Office and began down a path paved with soft much over the crest of a hill, and down the other side. Soon we were by a familiar area – the punishment center. Captain Black moved his horse over toward the punishment stations. I thought perhaps I would soon be given a taste of punishments as motivation to slave hard. Soon I was once again at the building behind the punishment stations. I was doubly fearful now. However, once we got to the punishment stations, Captain Black got off his horse, took my lead and headed me toward a pillory. However, instead of locking into the pillory, Captain Black only tied my lead to the pillory post. The Captain's horse was also tethered to the same post. I mused to myself that both of the Captain's animals were now tethered together to the same post, as was appropriate since now horse and I were more equal than different, although I was sure the Captain valued his horse more highly than I was valued.
Shortly however, I heard to sound of an engine starting, and then, to my surprise, the Captain appeared around the back of the building in a little motorized utility cart. He stopped the cart, got out, and unhitched me from the post, and led me to the space at the back of the cart where I suppose tools and other materials that were going to be used by some worker would be placed.
I was unhitched, and still looking at me like he was examining a worm he had found in his food, he snarled "Get in the back of the cart shithead." I made a mental note that all of my names from the perspective of the Captain seemed to be related to the process of elimination of waste from the human body. As I mulled on this relationship of myself to waste, I decided that his estimation of my value to him, at least, was accurate.
I clumsily climbed into the cart with my chains clanking. The Captain then went over and untethered his horse from the post and tethered his stallion to the cart.
"Shithead I should make you jog or run all the way to the quarry, but that would be too much of a waste of time for me, and you have already been too much of a pain in the ass to justify that inconvenience. You will be able to ride until we get close enough to the quarry hard labor operation so that I can make you run long enough to be sweaty enough to be believable that you have run out to the quarry, but you will not have occupied too much of my valuable time on your worthless hide. I was glad to plant the idea of having you spend some time as an involuntary servant to be a payback for Master Beau's degradation of being locked up in a cell in some foul northern prison." There finally I made the connection. Beau planned to make me spend some time in the process of being turned into a servant as payback for his being stripped, put into a convict's clothing and spending some time in a solitary cage, as well as being subjected to the degradation of being treated as a convict. As I was released from the post, told to climb into the cart, and then reattached to a tether at the back of the cart, I thought to myself. "I know that old saying that `Paybacks are a bitch.' but this payback was much more than that." I was becoming not a bitch, but a base animal.
As soon as the horse and I were settled, the Captain restarted the cart, and we began traveling over the paths toward the mountains in the distance that I remembered from my tour was the location of the quarry. We went through several gates and across the meadows until the Captain stopped the cart, untethered his horse and then removed me from my lead from the back of the cart. We did not seem to be going toward my hard labor destination as quickly as I expected because I thought that Captain Black was in a hurray and happy to have me arrive.
"We are close enough, but also far enough that you should look winded when we arrive at the quarry. I will unshackle your ankles so that you can run with the cart until we get close enough so that you will look winded enough to look correct for a slave boy who has been run out to his place of slavery. Enjoy the ride. IT may be the last good deed you will receive for as long as you are slaving with us."
I swear, the Captain actually smiled as his little speech of mock concern for me as well as clearly establishing how desperate my prospects now were.
The Captain mounted his stallion, and my snapped a long leather lead onto my collar. "READY SLAVEBOI? LET"S GET YOU MOVING!"
He started his horse walking at what seemed to me to be a fast pace, and I began trying to follow along even before the slack of the chain pulled me into following along. We traveled down paths and over several hills, through four fences, and finally I could see how close we were to the hills that I know marked the location of the quarry. Finally, we came to the crest of a hill, and I began my descent, both down a hill, but also down my level of an animal working under the lash. I was completing my descent from esteemed freeman and businessman to an almost animal quarry slave.
It seemed like many miles, but I know that it was not all that many to when we crested another hill, and the Captain paused for me to look down at the quarry, and I could hear, and see the place of my slavery. I decided that I know what the damned souls felt when they were led to the gates of hell in Dante's Inferno.