Ponyboy

The most horrible day I ever lived through was the day my lifelong friend Christopher Worthington was enslaved for life at the age of 22, just 4 months before he and I were to graduate together from SDSU with our bachelors in chemistry.

On the evening of April 3, 2010, my dad told me to cancel my plans for the next day because he and I had something very important to do.  When I asked him what was up he said he could not tell me, and that I would simply have to wait until tomorrow in order to find out.

The next morning over breakfast dad told me what was up.  I reacted with stunned disbelief to what he told me.  And because of what I was to eventually witness on that day, a strange trance like numbness stayed with me for several months, and even now on thinking of the events I revert into a haze, unable to believe that it really happened.

Christopher Worthington and I were friends since the age of 6, when we became neighbors.  Our parents supported our friendship, though they themselves never became especially close with each other.  Mr. Worthington was a successful businessman who stayed pretty much to himself, but he cared very much about appearances.  Not only about how he and his family appeared in men’s eyes, but how he appeared financially in the eyes of others as well. Indeed, Christopher was always neatly dressed, even at casual sporting events.  His hair was always neatly combed, and his manners were impeccable.  He and I grew up together and shared everything.  We even decided, after much uncertainty, to drop our first choices for colleges, so we could attend San Diego State University together.  And we had a great time in college.  They were our happiest times together yet, even after the many years of good times we had shared.  We were best friends for life.  Or so we thought.

Dad told me that Mr. Worthington had contacted him only three days ago with news of his plan, and he was to keep it under wraps.  He told my dad that he was letting him in on his plans because he knew that Christopher and I were lifelong friends, and he wanted me to be present when he announced his decision to Christopher so that I could offer him some support throughout the day, and help him get through the ordeal.

Mr. Worthington had fallen on hard times.  He was in danger of losing the family business.  Under California law children over the age of 18 who have not served in the armed forces or State National Guard before the age of 26 are subject to what are known as “lex talionis” restrictions, which means that they still do not have full rights as adults, though they are no longer considered minors.

Thus, parents still have the legal authority to enslave for profit a free born child if they can prove both that they no longer have the means to care for the child, and that the child fails to meet at least three of the “lex talionis” requirements.  In Christopher’s case he had a bum misdemeanor rap on his civil record for shoplifting, he had no record of civic volunteer duty, and he had more than three traffic violations.  Therefore Christopher, on his father’s order, was sold into slavery.

I was stunned.  Dad tried to reassure me, saying that there was nothing we could do to prevent it, but that I could help in some small way by being at Christopher’s side throughout the day he was to be enslaved and processed.  If I would be at his house, when his dad announced that his life, as he knew it, was over; if I would accompany him to the slave processing center and wait for him; and afterwards if I would accompany him when he was delivered to Arthur Baldwin, who bought him and at whose estate he was to serve; if I would do these things for Christopher, then I would be doing all that I possibly could do.

When I heard the name of Arthur Baldwin, the bleakness that had possessed me suddenly turned to hopelessness. Arthur Baldwin owned Baldwin/Fletcher Enterprises and its chief concern was the Fletcher Farm and Canneries.  Baldwin ran the cannery and farms almost entirely on slave labor, and the overseers of the slave teams were Baldwin’s two sons, Arnold and Retcher.  If Arthur Baldwin had a reputation as a cold-hearted businessman, his sons had the reputation throughout the valley as vicious sadists who delighted in punishing and humiliating their slaves.  They were young, probably only about six or seven years older than Christopher and I, but they had reputations that far surpassed their years.

I remember how Christopher and I used to share stories we had heard about the Baldwin sons.  And just two months ago we had seen them in town, each with a slave on a leash dressed in clown outfits, wearing large dunce caps and sandwich boards proclaiming; `I was caught idling’ on the front side, and `Please spit on me’ on the back.  Christopher called out to them, on that occasion, saying that they were filthy slavers who deserved to rot in hell.  I still remember Retcher looking back and seeing us, and saying, “Oh, its cute-ass Worthington.  Man, how I’d love to have that pony pulling my cart!”

I cried, and told my dad it was injustice.  He tried to comfort me.  And as he embraced me I thought of all the times I had seen Mr. Worthington embrace Christopher.

***

That morning dad and I ate breakfast in silence. He told me that he and I had to be at the Worthington’s by 11 am, since Christopher’s appointment with the slave processing center was at 12:30.  Mr. Worthington wanted things to go fast. After he announced his intentions to his son, and he got the final signature from Mr. Baldwin, Mr. Worthington pretty much wanted Christopher whisked out of his house for good.  The plan was that I then would accompany Christopher, with police escort, to the processing arena, and then afterwards accompany the drudge (what slaves are called in California), along with two requisition officers, to the Baldwin slave compound.

Dad and I arrived at Mr. Worthington’s house at quarter to 11.  Mr. Baldwin was already there, holding a folder stuffed thick with papers.  Also in attendance were Trevor Humphries, Arnold and Retcher’s chief overseer assistant at the ranch, and two plainclothes men from the police department.

California is one of the few states that do not have special police units for the maintenance of slaves.  It is still a liberal state, and the slave rights people maintain that slaves are not a different sort of human being requiring any special policing.  Because of the liberal trend in general along the West Coast, private family ownership of slaves is still relatively rare. Slaves in the west are owned and maintained chiefly by corporations and the prison system.

 I was introduced to Mr. Baldwin, and any fears that had built up in me that he was a monster were immediately dispelled by his seemingly genuine greeting, accompanied by a broad smile and a firm hand shake. It was Mr. Worthington, surprisingly, who looked like an evil person to me.  He was very rigid in demeanor, with a distant gaze in his eyes, perhaps intensified by his nervousness over the situation.  He thanked me for being willing to be at Christopher’s side throughout the rest of the day.

Trevor Humphries seemed to be the kind of man one would expect to bring calm and sobriety to any situation.  In his mid thirties, dressed in a blue blazer and tie, well groomed, he exuded a wholesomeness that was rare in those who handled slaves on a daily basis.

Also present was Christopher’s brother, Dexter. Dexter was three years older than Christopher, and the two of them never got along.  Dexter was always blaming Christopher when things went wrong, and got him into a lot of trouble through the years. Christopher got the rap when Dexter was apprehended for shoplifting some CD’s once.  Christopher always felt Dexter disliked him because he was jealous. I nodded to Dexter, and he smiled back.  He was the only person present who did not seem somewhat apprehensive. Indeed, he seemed to be in good spirits.

When I started to say to Mr. Worthington, “Isn’t there some -“, my dad pulled me to his side and bent down and whispered, “Todd, there is nothing we can do any more to change the course of things.  What you can do is just be with Christopher throughout this day.”

This little interruption seemed to make everyone even more nervous.  And Mr. Worthington, who had been glancing at his watch throughout the introductions, started glancing even more frequently.  Finally when it was eleven o’clock, he looked at all of us and said, “Well, it’s time.  Are we ready?”  Nods from the plainclothesmen and Mr. Baldwin. “Fine, I’ll go and get Christopher.”

My dad and I were nervous, I felt like I could cry at any moment.  Within minutes Mr. Worthington and Christopher entered the room.  On seeing me, Christopher smiled and said, “Hey Todd! Are you going along with dad and me to Spence’s for lunch?”  His dad answered, “Christopher, we’re not going to lunch at Spence’s.  Would you come over here please?”

Christopher was still unaware that anything was up and smilingly went to stand beside his dad.  The two plainclothesman got up and took places one on each side of Christopher.  “Christopher, I have decided to make some changes around here, in our lives.  As you know, my business has failed and needs capital to continue operations.  Mr. Baldwin here has very graciously offered to help me out. I have therefore accepted his payment for your lifetime services.”

“Dad?”

“Hear me out, son.  I, of course, could never allow you to be enslaved and sold at auction. It was only because of Mr. Baldwin’s kind offer to keep you on his property that I could see myself engaging in this course of action. We both owe Mr. Baldwin a sincere show of gratitude for what he has done to help us both out.”

“DAD!”  Christopher seemed to be having trouble understanding the full scope of things. His mouth was open and he was shaking his head.

During the preceding Trevor Humphries quietly took out a digital camera and started to take a few shots of the distressed Christopher.

Mr. Baldwin then spoke up.  “Well, gentlemen, I have to be at a meeting in a little while.  I just need to sign one final paper to complete the sale.  I know the medical records are all in order.  And seeing Christopher up close, I can see that my sons were correct.   When I told them that Christopher might be up for sale, and asked them for their opinions, they both said it seemed like it would be a super investment, and urged me to secure the goods in haste. But because you have been keeping this under wraps, Mr. Worthington; understandably so in these conditions, of course, I did not have access to the usual pre-purchase full body photographs.  Therefore, as is usual, I would like a quick view of the rest of Christopher, if you don’t mind.  I just want to see what I’m paying for, to make sure the goods are in order and there are no surprises.”

“Of course, Mr. Baldwin.  I insist on this myself.” Said Mr. Worthington.  “Christopher, remove your clothing!”

Christopher didn’t seem to hear, and Mr. Worthington raised his voice.  “Christopher, I’m not telling you again, remove your clothes.”

Mr. Baldwin sounded reassuring, “Now, now, Mr. Worthington, no need for any harshness.  It’s understandable that the newly drudged aren’t aware of what codes of conduct are required of them.  That’s why the thoroughly professional sort of training my boys will be offering to Christopher is such a balm to our slaves.  When drudges are given clear guidelines, they know where we stand and where they stand.  But anyway,” continued Baldwin, giving a slight nod to the plainclothesmen, “I am in something of a hurry here, so if we could just move on.”

With that nod one of the plainclothesmen grabbed Christopher’s right arm, pulled from his service belt what looked like a piece of cylindrical metal tubing, and placed it over his thumb.  He then started to gradually turn the top portion of the cylinder.  He watched Christopher’s face as he turned the screw. Suddenly Christopher screamed as if scalded with boiling hot oil, “Take it off, please, take it off!”

The plainclothesman responded, “We’ll take it off as soon as you get every stitch of your clothing off.” With that Christopher tore into removing his clothing with fury as he cried out in pain, practically kicking his shoes off, tearing buttons off his shirt, a Christmas present to him from my dad, in order to remove it in haste, wildly flailing to get his t-shirt off, pulling down his undies.  Then, when totally bare before all of us, and crouching in a kneeling position trying to cover his crotch with one hand he stuck his thumb screwed hand into the air and screamed, “Take it off!  Take it off!”  The officer was quick to remove the thumbscrew, leaving a sobbing, crouching, Christopher trembling in confusion, as he rubbed his injured thumb with moans.  Through all of this Humphries had been calmly clicking away with his digital camera.

The officers then pulled Christopher up by his shoulders.  Dexter was wide eyed with excitement, his mouth open, and a bulge showing in his crotch. Christopher tried to cover his genitals but his arms were swiftly and firmly pulled behind him by the officers, leaving him totally bared for all of us to see.

“Now boy, don’t you worry!”  Assured Mr. Baldwin. “It’s always amusing to me how the newly drudged are so full of modesty.  You’ll get over that in no time. We work the majority of slaves on field duty and in many parts of the cannery totally nude except for work boots.  You’ll get over being around the clothed non-slave employees in no time.  About one quarter of our cannery work force are regular freemen employees.  It’s a very good arrangement.  They help us keep tabs on the slave force.”

Christopher’s head was bowed. Tears rolled down his face, as Humphries advanced slightly, shooting the exposed, distraught lad.

“And judging from the looks of you, you will make one fine hard labor product.  Ah yes.  Very nice, indeed!” approved Mr. Baldwin, as he walked up to Christopher, to more closely examine his purchase.  He ran his hand over Christopher’s chest and tweaked his nipples.  “A good solid piece of merchandise.  Good shape.  And a nice waggler on you, too, boy.” He said as he took Christopher’s penis in hand and weighed it, indicating it to Humphries. “Get a good shot of this,” he said.

“But Christopher,” he continued, “this thing I’m holding isn’t going to be of very much use to you anymore, because one thing we do not allow at Baldwin/Fletcher is any form of sexual release whatsoever, and that includes masturbation.”

Dexter let out with, “Wow, cool man!”  Everyone ignored him.

As Humphries took a few close-ups of Christopher’s unit Mr. Worthington expressed his discomfort at the delays.  “Gentleman, isn’t there going to be plenty of time afterwards to photograph your new purchase?”

“Actually, Mr. Worthington”, responded Trevor, “there isn’t.  We need photos of Christopher before his processing.  He is up for quite a few body modifications today, and Arnold insists on a complete preprocessing photo record of all the raw material on his slave teams.”

“I see,” murmured Mr. Worthington.

Mr. Baldwin continued.  “As I was saying, Christopher, my boys deal very severely with those afflicted with the habit of masturbation.”  Mr. Baldwin finally let go of Christopher’s penis and walked back to where he was standing, saying, “I just offer that to you as fair warning.  My boys are very stern on that issue because they say that drudges who do not engage in such habits and pursuits are much more productive in a labor intensive work environment.  They turn a higher profit.  My boys are concerned about the labor efficiency of the entire team, and an efficient, labor intensive team, producing at top yield, creates an environment that is pleasing to all involved.” Mr. Baldwin was a real slaver who saw slavery only from the business angle, and over that angle he tended to enthuse.  But on this particular day his enthusiasm for business talk was to the distress of almost everyone in the room, especially to poor Christopher.

Only Dexter was bobbing and shifting in wide-eyed, openmouthed excitement.  Mr. Humphries looked sideways at Dexter, and took a discreet snapshot of the wide-eyed older brother.

“Now Christopher,” Baldwin continued, “you should be flattered to learn that you did not come cheap, especially since, as you probably know, your father sold you as a ‘hard labor product.’  That means I paid almost three times for you what I would have paid if you had been offered as a ‘standard labor’ product.”

Mr. Worthington turned red as sweat ran down his forehead.

“Now that’s good for you and bad for me.  It’s good for you because it means that you, as a `hard labor’ product, can be worked up to 14 hours a day, seven days a week, whereas a ‘standard labor’ product can only be worked up to 10 hours a day, six days a week. It has been proven that hard labor drudges are far more content than standard labor drudges.  Their minds are much more occupied, and the suicide rate for hard labor slaves is only about half that of standard term slaves.”

My dad interjected a feeble, “Now wait, one second, Mr. Baldwin.”

Mr. Baldwin thought only that dad was arguing with his business sense and continued. “Let me continue.  Sound business practice dictates that one only pays hard labor product prices if the slaves are in their mid teens, since hard labor can only be extracted until the age of 42.  So that means I get exactly 20 years hard labor return on my investment, compared to 28 years of hard labor if I had invested in Christopher when he was 14 years old.  So I just want you to know, Christopher, that I am purchasing you at something of a loss as a favor to your father.”

“Christopher, thank Mr. Baldwin.”, urged Mr. Worthington. Christopher was unable to answer, only looking down at the floor as the officers held him in place.

Dexter interjected, “Come on bro, just once in your life try to show a little gratitude.”

The lack of response from Christopher didn’t seem to bother Mr. Baldwin, as he continued, “Now as a hard labor product that means you will be on duty and in service 14 hours a day.  But don’t think that just because you’re a drudge now your life is going to be drudgery.  Oh no. The boys see to it that ‘HL’s’ what we call you hard labor products, have an active and varied schedule. They may have you cleaning cesspools one moment, tooth brushing the walkways and driveways the next, using you for target practice at another time, and then the next moment they’ll want you looking your best, all freshly bathed, oiled, and heavily cologned for some activity at the house.  So you will not be bored, young fella, ever, in your service at Baldwin/Fletcher farms!”

“Daddy, no!” Moaned Christopher.

Not registering in the slightest Christopher’s distress, Baldwin continued.  “Ok, now turn around, so I can see your backside.”  Christopher turned around, still choking on tears of humiliation, devastation, and the thumbscrew.  “Nice backside.  A backside always shows clearly the work potential of the product.  And this one has good basic structure, which means it can be worked into becoming solid and successful draft material.  We’re kind of short of good sturdy draft animals on the farm right now.  My boys will probably issue up an order to have you placed into chiefly draft service, which is labor at its most intensive. If they do that, don’t worry.  Draft teams get to spend plenty of time outdoors in the sun.  It’s an absolutely invigorating environment for a young man!”

Dexter taunted, “You’re going to get some muscle on you, bro!”, as Humphries snapped pictures of the backside.

“Ok, now turn around and face me, Christopher, I have some things I need to say to you.”  Mr. Baldwin paused as Christopher made a slow defeated turn around. Christopher kept his eyes to the ground. “Christopher, you are a twenty two year old male, and I’m quite sure your dad hasn’t spanked those butt cheeks of yours in quite some time.  It’s probably been ten years at least.  Am I correct?”

Christopher managed to slur out a quiet “yes” without looking up.

“One of the big differences between free men and slaves, as you may know, is that slaves of all ages are spanked and disciplined in a variety of ways on a regular basis throughout their lives.  A typical male slave from his teen years through his 40’s is either spanked or face slapped several times a week.  But you need to know that because you are to be employed by both the cannery and the Baldwin household, you are subject both to normal domestic and to commercial disciplinary codes.  It means more will be expected of you, and you will be held to a higher standard of conduct than slaves employed only by the cannery.  All of this will be outlined, of course, in your indoctrination period over the next few days. You will be given a thorough training in all aspects of your position as a lifer hard labor product.  You will learn exactly what is required of you.  All rules, regulations and disciplinary procedures will be made very clear.  The boys will be starting your orientation as soon as you arrive, and new slaves are introduced to the rest of the slave population at Baldwin/Fletcher farms their first evening with our traditional welcoming ceremony.”

Mr. Worthington, finally hearing something that sounded half way civil, jumped at it to ease the tension.  “Well that sounds very nice indeed!  Exactly what is it?”

“Oh, it’s very good for morale.  We call it `The Black Balls Ball’.  After my sons deliver Christopher’s pro-forma bare naked bull whipping tonight in front of all the slaves in the compound, and don’t you worry about that.  It’s the standard whipping issued to all new slaves.  It’s a humane gesture, really, which helps insure that most slaves never have to receive another one.  But afterwards, my boys will paint Christopher’s cock, balls, and tits black.  And for the week or so that it takes the paint to wear off, the new slave is subject to mild and friendly hazing from the other slaves.  It’s a wonderful bonding tool, kind of like a fraternity hazing.  It really helps build morale among the slaves.  And it will make you feel a part of the team.  It’s just a very nice welcoming gesture for the new drudges.  Something we do at Baldwin/Fletcher for the good of our slave teams.”

“Fuckin cool!”, exclaimed Dexter.

During the slight pause in Mr. Baldwin’s chatter Humphries went up to Christopher and pinched his nose. Christopher’s mouth opened almost immediately and Humphries grabbed his tongue, pulled it out of his mouth, and examined it, all the while still pinching his nose.  When finished he stepped back and asked Christopher to stick his tongue out as far as it would go.  Christopher at first didn’t respond, but when both officers reached for something from their service belts, he immediately stuck his tongue way out. Humphries then snapped a long shot and a close up of Christopher with his mouth wide open and his tongue sticking out.  Dexter was all smiles, and asked Humphries why he wanted such a photo.  Humphries quietly said it was something needed for the record.

All of us were hoping that both Dexter and Baldwin would just shut up, but Mr. Baldwin continued.  “But don’t think your welcoming ceremony is the only time you’re going to be treated special.  Oh no!  The Baldwin/Fletcher slaves are always a colorful sight when my boys take them out on errands.  My boys like to dress the younger slaves, like Christopher, up in colorful costumes or gear when they take them out about the city.  Our slaves, as you may know, have a colorful reputation around the community, and that is a real morale builder for the slave team, as well as good PR for Baldwin/Fletcher.  And the slaves really enjoy the opportunity to get out and about.  Sometimes the boys will have the male slaves on leashes and get them dressed up as sailor boys, or cowboys, or French girlie maids, or diapered and sucking their thumbs and carrying a baby bottle, or outfitted like a pony and pulling my boys in a cart, or even walking on all fours like puppy dogs, with cute signs around their necks saying, `Pet me’.  My boys are just so creative. It’s all in good spirited fun, of course.  It lets the community know that our slaves are valued and pampered.  And judging from the letters of support we get, the community seems to really enjoy the slave boy spectacles my sons put on.”

Perhaps finally realizing that most of us present in the room were numb, Baldwin gave the order for Christopher to get dressed.  “We gotta get you delivered to the processing center on time.”  As Christopher got dressed, Baldwin took out the document and signed it.  In silence Mr. Worthington and Mr. Baldwin shook hands on the deal.

While this was going on Dexter asked Mr. Humphries if he could get a job at the cannery.  Mr. Humphries responded that family members of any slaves held at Baldwin/Fletcher were not eligible for employment at the cannery or farms.

Baldwin then took the slave processing requisition order out of his folder and examined it. “Let me see what the boys have ordered to be done on you.”  His eyes perused the document.  “Oh yes, pretty standard fare here.  The usual body modifications. Christopher, you’re going to get trussed, trollied, collared, clipped, shorn, shaved, tagged, belled, cinched, tattooed, and branded, as well as ringed in the nipples, nose, ears, penis, and at the base of the scrotum.”  Mr. Baldwin had a quizzical look.  “Huh?  I wonder why the boys ordered a three inch nose ring?  Oh well, they know what they’re doing!”

Humphries interjected.  “Sounds good.  Heavily ringed naked worker slaves always make a very nice display out in the fields.  Our farms are a common destination of families out on a Sunday drive, and even of tourists, who enjoy viewing the sight of hundreds of slaves toiling away.  They frequently stop along the roadside to watch for a while; perhaps shoot some photos or videos.  Some even take advantage of the picnic benches we have set up at various vantage points along the roadway.”

Dexter couldn’t contain himself, “Dad, can I go along to the processing center and watch?  Please?”  He was quickly silenced by a curt gesture from Mr. Worthington.

Baldwin then took out and looked over another sheet from the requisition order folder.  “Well, well.  Good news!  I see that the boys have already given you a name.  Christopher, you are no longer Christopher. Your new name is ‘Licker’.  Licker.  That’s nice. That’s a nice name.  Damn nice!”

Dexter beamed, “Fuck that fits him!” One of the plainclothes officers then spoke up, “In order to be received at the processing arena, Licker has to be fitted with a muzzle, a butt plug, and a penis clamp.  Standard procedure.  It prevents some of the wilder types from soiling the reception area with body excrement and filthy words, before they get hooked on the trolley and sent down the processing rail.”

“You know”, Baldwin spoke up, again believing he exuded information of a calming nature, “traveling along that processing rail hanging from those meat hooks always looked to me like a real fun ride.  Sort of like some ride at the carnival. Well, anyway, we gotta move.  Men, get him muzzled and butt plugged, and clamp his dick!”

One of the plainclothes officers turned towards Christopher and gathered his hands behind his back and cuffed them.  He then took out a muzzle that went over Christopher’s head and under his chin.  Attached at the mouth strap was a small rod that stuck out with a rounded ball at the end.  This went into Christopher’s mouth.  When the straps were secured around his head and under his chin Christopher had to keep his mouth wide open in order to prevent the ball at the back of his throat from gagging him.

The officers then undid Christopher’s trousers, and took them down along with his undies.  They each got down on one knee, one at the front of Christopher and one at the back.  The one in back took a black butt plug, put some lube on it, and worked it slowly up into Christopher’s ass hole.  At the end sticking out of the butt there was a small cross handle.  To this the officer attached straps that went around both of Christopher’s thighs and secured the butt plug.

What Christopher was thinking or feeling or crying, I could not discern, because the muzzle kept his mouth wide open, giving his face a total panic-stricken look.  Humphries stepped in to take a few close up shots of Christopher’s muzzled face.  What was amazing to me was that Humphries was openly erect and was not in the least bit concerned about it.  Christopher and I had once wondered if the stories we had heard about those who handled and disciplined slaves were true; that they were frequently and openly erect as they controlled and whipped slaves because public erections were a part of the accepted culture of slave handlers.

Dexter then moved in closer to Christopher, to watch the clamping up close.  His mouth was gathered in an expression that was a half excited smile, and a half sneer.

The officer in front gathered Christopher’s foreskin very tightly and around it he placed a banding tool. He gently squeezed the handle and a very thick, strong, tight band snapped onto the gathered foreskin.  It looked painful.  Christopher started doing choked whinnying sounds.   The officers pulled up his undies and trousers and zipped and belted his slacks.  The officer who clamped Christopher’s penis reassured him.  “Don’t worry.  The pain will subside in a few minutes.  And they’ll remove that thing as soon as they get you on the hook.”

And then one final encouraging speech from Baldwin. “Ok boy, you’re on your way to a new life.  At the processing center they’re going to get you naked, and truss you up.  They’ll first have you get into a kneeling position and shackle your feet together at the ankles.  Then your hands will be cuffed together behind your back, and these will be attached to your ankle cuffs.  With your feet and hands secured together behind your back, they will then have you spread your knees as wide apart as possible.  This spread out position of the knees will be secured by a set of harnesses that go about your chest and thighs. The straps which encircle both thighs pull up and are very tightly attached to the mid back harness, thus keeping the knees widely spread.  The harness about your chest has a large ring attached in the back between your shoulder blades. They will then hoist you up and attach the ring at your back to a meat hook affixed to a trolley on a rail.  And you’ll be hanging from that hook in that kneeling position, with your knees spread wide so the processors can have clear access to every part of your body.  They will then remove your penis clamp and pierce your frenum and put a ring in it.  To this ring they will attach a laminated card with coded instructions on what stations you’ll be stopped at for body modifications.

“They will then send you down the rail into the processing room.  There will be as many as 200 naked slaves hanging from the meat hooks in the room at one time, riding down the rail getting processed.  In all there are about 80 stations along the rail and you will be stopped at each station and the processors will check your laminated penis card to see if you require their services.  The meat hook ride through all the processing stations takes about three hours, sometimes longer, depending on whether the line gets backed up with too many slaves at one time requiring some of the more time consuming body modifications. Such things as castrations and more complex tattoos can really delay the processing.  They pretty much perform the most common slave body modification requirements on the slaves as they hang from the hooks; also less common requests such as eyebrow removal and teeth extractions.  Licker, you’re not up for any of those yet.”

“And I need to warn both of you that the processing arena is a very noisy place.  But don’t let that be off-putting to you.  A lot of the slaves being processed or reprocessed are under punishment orders of the courts or their owners, and their service orders state that they are to receive no anesthetics for procedures, so naturally there is an awful lot of hollering and screaming.  But just know, it’s for their own good.”

“Oh Dad, please let me go”, moaned Dexter.  Mr. Worthington ignored Dexter and the massive bulge in his trousers.

Baldwin continued.  “Licker, my boys have set you for local anesthetics for all procedures.  Branding, of course, cannot be accomplished painlessly with a local pain killer.  You would have to be put under, and what with the extra fees and longer processing time it really adds up on the processing bill, and your father wasn’t willing to foot that charge.  But the majority of slaves, as you will find out today, are not put under for branding; they are branded right on the hook, as you will be.  When you reach the branding station, they simply lower your chain and ease you into a branding vise, and with you still chained to the hook they strap you into the vise so you’re immobile, apply the brand to your upper right buttock, and in just a second’s time, even before the full pain hits you,  they’re unstrapping you from the slave vise and your hook is raising you back up, and you’re off on your way down the railing to the next station, screaming your head off.   But before you know it your screams will be wiped out by the screams of the guy in back of you.”

“At the end of your ride down the processing rail you’ll emerge a new being with a new life.  And you’re going to be looking very different from the way you do now.  You’ll have no need ever again for your fancy clothes or your hair gel.  You’ll no longer have to worry ever again about keeping up with the latest fashion styles.  You’ll be totally shaved all over, denuded, have rings and piercings all over the place, there will be a slave collar emplaced for life around your neck, your cock and balls will be tightly cinched, and attached to your cock ring now, in place of the laminated card, will be a low hanging slave bell; the sign of a hard labor lifer slave.”

“A very important accouterment of the lifer hard labor product!”, interjected Mr. Humphries.

“Indeed!”, continued Baldwin.  “We have a brand new use for your penis.  Rather than you playing with it, or some girl friend playing with it, it’s going to be used to let my boys know if you’re doing your job and keeping busy.  No more playing with yourself ever again, because your penis is now nothing but an attachment for your slave bell.  Your overseers will expect to be hearing that cock bell ringing nonstop. It will mean that you’re doing your chores with vigor. If the bell is silenced, it will cause your overseer to look up.  There won’t be any slacking with that bell hanging between your legs.  Ding dong, ding dong, the sweet sound of a hard laboring slave.   Everyone’s going to be listening to your bell.  They’ll know where you are, and if you’re doing your chores, by the sound of your cock bell.  You might find it embarrassing at first, but it’s intended to encourage you to perform at your peak service level.  That bell lets everyone know what you are, where you are, and whether or not you’re performing up to standard. There’ll be no danger of anyone thinking you’re Christopher Worthington.  Yes sir, that bell hanging from your cock will keep you and everyone within hearing distance focused on the fact that you are a hard labor lifer slave.  Just make sure your cock bell is jiggling and waggling 14 hours a day and all will be well.”

“It’s going to be a whole new lifestyle for you, quite different from the way things look around here in your dad’s house.  No more rock music, hip hop, girls, college, baseball caps, TV, radio, dancing, drinking, or sports.  It’s a new life, with a new name, and all new adventures.”

“And remember, ‘Licker’ is your name now.”  Then turning to me, Baldwin warned.  “His name is Licker and that is what you are to call him from now on. When Licker’s processing is completed, and he’s removed from the hook, he will be sent to the receiving area, and you are then to come down from the processing viewer platform and join him. Once off that hook, he is a slave for life.  And there will be plenty of guards standing around wielding tawses, service whips, and tasers to enforce that fact.  If Licker so much as dares to speak without first being spoken to, the guards will be on him in an instant, and it won’t be pretty.   When he first arrives in the receiving area he will still be naked and freshly modified, so he will be quite sore. All of his slave body modifications will be on full display right before your eyes, looking mean, raw, and harsh. He isn’t going to be looking anything like the pretty boy he is now.  But try not to be shocked at what you see.  He will look very different to you, and what you see may even frighten you; what with him being all shaved up, and all of his fresh wounds, blood stains, sweat, tear streaks, and body adornments.  And most slaves fresh off the hook are fearfully erect, with their cock bells dinging and dangling wildly.  Slaves fresh off the hook are totally shamed, humiliated, degraded and debased, and that is what Licker will be feeling.  But it’s a good thing, for it is all a part of the successful transforming of the one you knew once as Christopher into a profitable lifer hard labor product.”

Dexter couldn’t contain himself.  “Oh Dad, please may I go and watch him get it?”  Dexter’s obscene erection disgusted even Mr. Worthington.  “Dexter, would you please be silent!”  Dexter put his hands in his pockets, slumped, and let out a low but angry, “Man!”

After the interruption, Baldwin continued, “Then Todd, if you still feel up to it, you may accompany Licker out to the farms along with the requisition officers. But don’t feel bad if you are no longer up to it. Because at that point you and Licker really will have nothing in common anymore. He will then be a new being with a life time of hard labor service ahead of him, and you will be your same old self.  But if you think you can stomach it, well then, certainly, stay on board and enjoy the ride out to the farms.”

“Licker, once you’re off the hook you will be chained and cuffed, and issued a set of brown slave fatigues for transport to the Baldwin/Fletcher farms.” Christopher had been looking stunned before, but now an involuntary shudder ran through his body.  Mr. Baldwin picked up on his reaction. “You’ve noticed those fatigues before, I see, when other young men were wearing them.”  He smiled. “Well, they may not be the nicest things to look at, and they may not be as soft and comfy as the clothes you’re used to wearing. But you’ll never have to worry again about what you want to wear, and you’ll never have to worry about whether your clothes will help you fit into the group you’re in.  When you’re wearing a set of those fatigues, Licker, anybody will be able to tell you’re a slave from a mile away. They’re practical, and they’re distinctive.

“My boys will be waiting at the farms to receive you. You will be given a little blue schoolboy-like satchel, which contains material for you to read and study.  In the satchel you will find manuals and pamphlets on slave behavior, slave grooming, Baldwin/Fletcher protocol, punishment lists, a punishment book, spiritual guides for the slave, a pamphlet on the evils of day dreaming, various self help guides on being a good slave, on receiving discipline with dignity, on avoiding masturbation, and so on.  You will also find an important series on the special and very rigid demands made on the ‘Lifer Hard Labor Slave Product’. The satchel is a real life support kit for those enslaved for life, like yourself.  And be aware that my boys do regular impromptu quizzes on all of the materials in that packet, so make sure you know all of the material well.”

Dexter beamed, “He should do well on those, since Christopher… oops, I mean Licker… always did well on quizzes in school.”

Baldwin, unperturbed, continued, “There is also a pamphlet of slave mantras.  In it you will find various mantras and sayings that will help make your life pleasant as you repeat them over and over all day long.   Repeat ‘I was born to serve, and I am thankful for that’ a thousand times a day and your life out in the field pulling a plow to the sting of the whip will surpass anything you have ever so far experienced, I assure you.”

“We employ all standard control and discipline tools, as well as state of the art punishment devices and techniques out at the farms, so you will want to stay in line.  Make sure you obey my boys.  Everything they tell you to do, you do.  Wiggle, or show a dissatisfied look, and you’ll get slapped or spanked.  Stumble, complain, or make an error, and you’ll get tawsed or paddled.  Any and every act of insubordination gets you flogged.  And defiance in any form gets you castrated.  The materials in your satchel will help you avoid punishment.  Perhaps when you boys are in transport to my estate, Todd, you could read some of the materials out loud to Licker.”

During the preceding, Trevor Humphries had knelt down in front of Christopher, whose head had been bowed for most of the time, pointed his camera up at Christopher’s muzzled face, and had taken a few shots. When he was finished he got up, and as he was putting his camera away, he addressed Christopher.  “Christopher, cheer up!  I know most of this talk sounded glum, coming at it from the business angle.  But you need to realize our slaves not only lead happy lives but are proud of their service.  Why do you think the tourists come out to see them?  It’s an attraction as big around here as the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace.  Our slave teams are an institution that inspires a sense of well being.  When folks see the naked field slaves, all working hard with their nipple, ear, nose, and genital rings brightly gleaming in the sun, and the sound and the sparkle of a hundred cock bells swaying from a hundred cocks and ringing in the fields, not only is it a beautiful sight and sound, but the slaves are proud to be a part of that handsome team.  They stand tall and proud when photos are taken, and they know that they are contributing in an important way.  In fact, the boys could have you on a field team as early as tomorrow afternoon, learning the ropes.  I assure you, that once you see all the cars driving by, some slowing up, some stopping, and all the cameras shooting and clicking away at you in the nude all shaved up with your slave collar, brand, rings, and bell on full display, you’re going to start feeling mighty proud to be a part of it all.”

After Humphries’ inspiring hymn to life as a Baldwin/Fletcher drudge,  Baldwin felt inspired to offer his own concluding remarks. “Remember Licker, you’re in my service.  If you behave yourself, you’ll find it’s a carefree life working on a Baldwin/Fletcher slave team.  And remember too, even if you do mess up and end up having to get stripped naked and taken up for punishment and that’s going to be happening a lot to you in your first few months, it always does; just remember that punishment is good for you and will make you a happy slave in the long run.  It will help form you into a properly chastised servant.  You are a servant now for the rest of your life, and when you are chastised always thank those who correct you.  Always obey, and all will be well!  Discipline, swift and severe, will be there if you forget that.  Always accept your discipline in gratitude.  Doing so will please me, my boys, and the entire slave team, because it will make you into a strong and profitable hard labor product.  For the rest of your life you will be serving me and my boys.  You were born to serve, so serve us well!”

As Mr. Baldwin gave a slight bow to indicate he was finished, Mr. Humphries addressed Christopher’s father.  “Mr. Worthington, I understood you were offering all of Christopher’s clothing and possessions for a lump sum which has been included in the final bid.”

Mr. Worthington made a quick hand gesture to put the subject off, and quietly added, “Yes, Mr. Humphries, I was hoping we could attend to that in just a few moments, once we are alone.”  Humphries complied. As Mr. Baldwin started to collect his papers and bid his farewells, the officers were chaining and cuffing Christopher.  The muzzle kept his mouth open, the chains hobbled his steps.  I watched him for a bit as the officers trundled him down to the car.  He was my friend and I was barely able to look at him because of the pain and distress he was in.

Dexter stirred in the fringes, watching the company depart.  He was like a hovering vulture disappointed to find no remaining carnage.

My dad walked with me as we followed behind the escort officers leading Christopher.  Mr. Worthington stayed behind with Mr. Humphries.  Out on the street, Mr. Baldwin got into a silver Mercedes, as the officers guided Christopher into the back seat of the blue patrol car.  When he was in, one of the officers opened the door for me and I got in and sat next to Christopher.  The officers locked the back doors and got in the front seat, and we drove off to hell.

It was a relief to be away from the place of betrayal, but the ride from Mr. Worthington’s house to the processing center was a somber one.  Christopher could not speak because of his gag and muzzle, and there was nothing I could say that would make any sense. I was as dazed as he was.  We rode together with our shoulders touching, each aware that there was nothing that could be said.

When we pulled away from the Worthington house, Christopher turned toward it and followed it with his eyes until we rounded a corner and it vanished away.  Then he turned his face to me, and I could see that there were tears in his eyes.  It came over me, how strange it is to see a human being in a gag and muzzle. The gag distorts the mouth, and the black straps dominate the face.  Only the eyes retain their original shape, and they seem to shrink behind the apparatus of restraints like the eyes of an animal, small and lost. When Christopher looked at me, I had to look away, because already he was becoming a beast of burden, a drudge.  He was halfway there. Already his well-creased slacks and his expensive shirt, that new blue color that I admired on him and had decided to buy for myself, next time I was at the mall, looked ridiculously out of place, like clothes on an animal. Suddenly the thought crossed my mind, `I’m glad it’s not me.  I’m glad it’s him and not me’. A wave of guilt hit me, but it was true. I WAS glad it wasn’t me. Who wouldn’t be?  When we stopped for a traffic light, I thought I saw people looking at us with that expression of indifferent curiosity with which people regard prisoners or slaves, and I knew they were looking at me as if I were really headed where Christopher was.  I wanted to jump out and yell, `Not me! I’m not a slave! I’m just here to watch!’  And then I felt that wave of guilt again.

When the processing center loomed ahead and came into our sight, Christopher and I both tensed up.  Located next to the central police headquarters in San Diego, the Slave Bureau and General Facility was a three story building that occupied most of a city block.  A steel mesh gate lifted in front of us, admitting us to the garage entrance, and the officers parked the car in a vacant slot.  Mixed in with the cops’ sedans and SUV’s were various kinds of official police and law enforcement cars.  The SBGF handled all aspects of slavery, from the legal division to the holding cells and auction rooms, as well as running the slave processing center.

 One of the officers opened the door on my side of the car, calling me “Sir” and treating me abruptly but politely, the way that police officers treat respectable citizens.  Meanwhile, the officer on the other side was pulling the chained and muzzled Christopher out of the vehicle.  I followed behind while he was led by a chain toward a door that said, `Do Not Enter Without SBGF Credentials’.  One of the officers rang a bell and another officer appeared behind a plexiglas window beside the door.  The requisition officer passed a paper to him, and he spent a moment checking his computer, then handed the paper back to the officers on the outside and buzzed us in.

The Check in Room

 It was dark in the hallway, a big change from the Southern California sunlight outside, and as they started towing Christopher down the hallway he stumbled against one of the walls. The officer in the lead pulled up on his chain and said something to him that I couldn’t hear, something that got him moving again.  At the same time, the officer at the window leaned out of his office, asked me my name, and indicated that Trevor Humphries was on his way over to speak with me.  We were not to proceed into the Trussing Room until he arrived but were to finish our business in the Admissions Lobby and wait there until Mr. Humphries appeared.

 The lobby was the first door on the right.  I caught up with Christopher just as they were leading him inside, and I saw him pause and draw back for an instant, before the lead officer yanked on his chain and he shuffled forward.  Then I saw the room.  Neither Christopher nor I had ever been in a place like that.

It was a concrete box with steel doors.  That was it.  No windows, no decorations, just a table at the front where some officials were seated at and a line of blue footprints painted on the floor, leading from where we stood to the officials’ desk. Standing on the footprints was a line of slaves.

I had never been in a room with slaves before.  I had certainly never touched a slave.  When I saw them, it had always been at a distance.  I would see a state slave truck parked beside the road and beside it a gang of drudges in chains and brown fatigues, slopping through the muck to dig a ditch or clear a storm drain. Now I had entered a sea of cheap brown uniforms, and all I could do was to try not to touch one.

 The line of drudges was what I saw first.  Then I noticed that there were freemen standing next to the drudges, the owners, overseers, or slave cops that had brought them in.  I say these freemen were standing `next’ to the slaves, but actually most of them were huddling in groups by themselves, smiling and exchanging news, while the drudges stood at attention in their formal line.  After that, I looked at the long table at the front, with two gentlemen seated behind it.  They seemed to be finalizing paper work.  Beside their table I saw something that looked like an examination table.

 The officer leading Christopher stationed him on the next available set of footprints, unhooked his lead chain, no longer needed I guess, and made a gesture to me like, stand here if you want to, I’m going where it’s more comfortable.  Then he went over to one side and began a conversation with another officer.  I stood next to Christopher, afraid to look at him but certain that he was shaking with fear.  The shock was wearing off, and the reality was setting in.  In front of us, and then behind us, was that seemingly endless line of drudges, mostly dressed in brown or gray, all locked in slave collars.  Many of them were also identifiable as slaves by body adornments that I didn’t want to notice.  Christopher, however, seemed to be the only one wearing a muzzle, and he was also the only one wearing civilian clothes.  Obviously, he was the only one who was newly enslaved.  The rest were drudges who were used to it, drudges that knew they were to be on their best behavior at the processing center.

All of the slaves were male, except for the one just ahead of us, a good looking female of about 28 years, accompanied as Christopher was by what seemed to be a friend.  Females were processed in a different section of the building from males, but all slaves entered the facility through this room.

I noticed that slaves at the front of the line were disrobing at the table after their paper work was examined.  Then they were led to a door.   The door on the left seemed to be for males, if I read the small sign next to it correctly, and the door on the right for females.   The doors were heavy steel, and stenciled on them were signs in large lettering; `TRUSSING/HOOKING’.  Once stripped, the slaves would go along with their attendants and stand in front of one of those doors. A buzzer would sound, the door would open, both slave and attendant would vanish, and the door would automatically shut. Then the next slave and attendant would stand and wait before the door.

A voice over the intercom intoned. “The following drudges and their overseers, report to Room 34 A: Guppy, Wags, Juicer, and Toasty.  Guppy, Wags, Juicer, and Toasty, report to Room 34 A.”

As the line steadily advanced, new drudges and their attendants were lining up behind us.  Behind us now were four female slaves accompanied by a very young male overseer.  When we neared the head of the line I could see the man seated at the desk.  I stared at him, so I wouldn’t have to stare at anything else.  He was young, trim, wide eyed, clear skinned, handsome, in his late twenties, and wearing a neatly pressed white dress shirt, with a blue tie.  His hair was fancy and neatly combed.  A dark blue blazer hung over the back of his chair.  An ID tag was clipped to the pocket of his shirt, giving his name as James Ferris.  Next to him was seated a middle-aged gentleman, similarly dressed, who worked at the computer on the desk, and who did not interact with either the drudges or their charges.

From in back of us a voice called out, “Hey Jim!”  James Ferris looked up and answered, “Trevor!”  Christopher and I looked around, and there was Trevor Humphries coming up to the desk.  Both Christopher and I felt somewhat calmed by seeing Trevor arrive, since he seemed so wholesome and reassuring.  Or, perhaps more accurately, he seemed `normal’ after a day of the profoundly abnormal.  As he passed Christopher and me on his way up to see James, he stopped, offered me his hand and a warmly beaming smile, and said, “Todd, I am glad I didn’t have to delay your entering the processing room.  How was your trip over here?”  “Fine”, I said.  He told me that he wanted a word with me, but first he wanted a moment to chat with his friend James.  He went up to the table where James was seated, and it struck me as strange that the man who would be handling Christopher on a regular basis didn’t even so much as acknowledge his presence beside me.

James was about to call the slave girl and her overseer, who were ahead of us and next in line, up to the table, but had them hold back from approaching the table as Trevor approached to talk to him.  From where Christopher and I were standing, we could overhear their conversation.  They were obviously friends.  James asked Trevor if he wanted to meet at Brewer’s Pub for dinner after he got off work today.  Trevor said he would love to, but that this was the night he volunteered his services at the homeless shelter.  He said he would be helping serve dinner to the homeless, and then he would probably stay and help with the cleanup after dinner, and then after that he usually stayed a little longer to help any of the homeless who needed assistance with various things, such as writing letters, reading mail, or offering advice on how to take advantage of various community and state services and so on.  But he said he would be happy to go to dinner with Jim when he was finished at the shelter, around 7:30 pm.

When Jim suggested they go to a fancier restaurant, Trevor replied, “I just made my annual donation to the Friends of the Environment, so I have to hold off going to those fancy places. Especially since Baldwin pays me peanuts!”

“But you’re good friends with the Baldwin’s, aren’t you?” asked Ferris.

“I sure am”, replied Trevor.  “They’re great folks.  We belong to the same church and participate in a lot of the same church related activities.  But that doesn’t change the fact that he pays peanuts!”  Trevor and Ferris both had a hearty laugh over this, as Ferris signaled to the two women next in line to approach the desk.

The woman accompanying the drudge gave her requisition folder to James without being asked, obviously knowing the routine.  Ferris examined the papers and asked her if Clitta has been out of her sight since they left her compound.  The woman answered, “She has been. I waited outside for her while she used the restroom at Marshall’s department store.”  James then asked the drudge to disrobe and she proceeded to do so without so much as a hint that what she was doing was in any way unusual; undressing in a roomful of strangers, most of whom were men.   While she undressed Trevor made friendly chat with James about his gardening activities.

Christopher and I had been through a lot that day, our minds not having had a chance to rest since the events of the day began. Not only was the idea of suddenly having your closest and most important friendship torn apart by an enslavement order a shattering blow, but also the total strangeness of the slave culture to us.  In the western states slaves and the slave culture are still not common knowledge to most free persons.  Slavery still is chiefly the concern of large corporations and the prison systems, and these usually employ their slaves in compounds on the far outskirts of populated areas, hiding them from view of a predominantly liberal populace which, if it must have slavery, doesn’t want to see it.

The idea of a woman disrobing in front of us jarred us both, hitting us especially strongly because neither Christopher nor I had a lot of women experience.  As we watched her disrobe, a powerful diverting pain killer from the frightful reality of the last two hours and our minds gladly partook of the drug.

There, just a few feet in front of us, was a beautiful shapely woman removing her clothes.   James patted his hand on the examining table, and the slave knew exactly what was expected of her.  She went to the table, turned around and sat down, so she was facing us.  All we could see were her delicious tits bobbing about, and then James asking, “Trevor, would you mind helping out here?” Trevor didn’t answer with words, but approached the table, and James took his hand to the slave’s shoulder and gently pushed her down on her back into a reclining position.  Then he took a right leg, and Trevor the left, and they lifted the legs into the air, pinned them back, and kept them spread, thus fully exposing the slave’s completely shaved twat.

To Christopher and me it was a sight we would never have dreamed of seeing, a completely shaved pussy, legs spread wide, totally exposed before us.  James put a plastic glove on, dipped one finger in the lube pot, and worked it into the slave’s anus.  As he probed, both he and Trevor gazed gently down at the slave, their mouths slightly open in soft smiles.  Both were erect, openly so, and completely unconcerned about that fact.  Trevor pulled out his finger, removed the glove, and put a clean glove on.  He dipped two fingers into the lube pot.  The thumb and middle finger of his left hand gently encircled the slave’s right breast, as he inserted the two fingers of his right hand gently into her cunt.  He worked the fingers in slowly, as the smiles and erections of both men increased in size.

And so did mine.  I was totally embarrassed, yet not really knowing what I was feeling or what was going on.  Christopher winced in pain, and I realized that his very tight penis clamp was probably making him very sore as his body sought to erect.  I could see the nub in his pants moving.

Once James completed the cavity search, he had Clitta get up off the table, he signed the documents, and then he sent her and her companion off to stand in front of the processing entry door to the right of the desk.

As James motioned to Christopher, the two officers, and me to come forward, he asked Trevor, “So this is your boss’s latest purchase, did he get a good price for it?”

Trevor smirked, “Baldwin only purchases items he judges capable of turning a profit after training and modification, even if he doesn’t intend to resell.  So I’m sure he’s happy.  I know his boys really want this thing, so it probably won’t be sold anytime soon.”

One of our officers handed the requisition folder to James. He checked the papers and told the officers that they could unchain Christopher and remove his muzzle, as a voice over the intercom droned, “Drudges Goat, Hoser, Squeege, Bonx, Ajax, and Flubs, your prescriptions are ready.” As the officers worked on freeing Christopher, Trevor came up to me and put his arm on my shoulder in a most friendly manner, “Since I had to come here on business, I thought I would find you and let you know that there’s no need for you to accompany Christopher out to the Farms if you don’t want to.  I had to stay behind with Mr. Worthington to settle business, and little Dexter was so insistent on going along that I convinced his father that letting him come could have a salutary effect on Christopher having his own brother at his side.  Dexter was so happy that he could be with his brother at this special time that he asked if he could bring his friend Beamer along with him to the processing center.  So I okayed it.  Beamer’s father is driving them out here, so they should be arriving in the processing viewing area shortly.  So Todd, if you don’t want to stay, there’s no reason you have to.  I know you’ve already had a busy day.”

“Oh, I want to very much”, I responded.  “And Mr. Worthington said I could.”

“Worthington, of course, has no say whatsoever anymore concerning Licker.  I mean, if Baldwin wanted to he could sell Licker to the Israelis tomorrow for use in their human decoy project.” Trevor seemed to be trying to convince me not to accompany the transfer guards out to the Baldwin farms, and continued.  “Even if you did go out to the compound, and you are certainly welcome to, and I’m not even trying to dissuade you from doing that, but all I am saying is that you two really don’t have much in common anymore. I mean, what will you have to talk about?  You certainly can’t make plans about what bar or club you’re going to tonight.”

The officers had removed the chains and muzzle from Christopher and he was clearly distressed, overhearing Trevor.  But Trevor continued. “And once out there, you two wouldn’t have much time.  The first day schedule is pretty hectic for a new drudge.  I mean, you two will be able to have a cup of tea together, but that will be about it.   The boys are going to want to get to work on Licker as soon as possible.”  Christopher unexpectedly grabbed my shoulder and said, “I want you to come, Todd.”

On hearing Christopher, Trevor walked over and faced him, and in the same friendly manner as he had done to me, he put his left hand on Christopher’s right shoulder, with a look of benign calm on his face.  Then he drew back his right hand and slapped Christopher in the face as hard as he could.  Christopher screamed.  A tinge of a smile broke on Trevor’s face, and he calmly said, “Drudges never speak to free men unless spoken to or unless following protocol. Since you do not yet know protocol, you are advised not to speak at all!”

Christopher was rubbing his face while Trevor spoke, with tears falling from his eyes.  In an instant Trevor drew back his hand again and slapped Christopher across the face a second time with even more fury.  With his left arm still on Christopher’s shoulder, Trevor continued speaking in a calm, controlled voice, “When you are being addressed by an overseer or master you stand perfectly still.  You do not try to soften a blow with your hands, you do not pick your butt or scratch your head.  You stand still and listen attentively to what is being said.”  Trevor stood slightly back, raising his face a little with even more of a smile, to assess if Christopher was catching on.  Satisfied, he turned back to me as if nothing had happened.

I had reached out a hand in readiness to be able to grab Trevor’s arm should he attempt to slap Christopher again.  Seeing what I was readying myself to do, one of the requisition officers addressed me.  “Sir, I would like to inform you that interfering with a free man’s disciplining of his slave is a serious charge, similar to obstructing an officer in the line of duty.”

Hearing that the officer was finished, Trevor once again in a friendly gesture raised his hand to my shoulder, but it startled me and caused me to flinch.  Trevor was completely sincere and smiling as he said, “Now, now.  I know this is all new to you.  Don’t you worry about Licker. Everything is going to be ok.”

James looked to Trevor to see if he could proceed, and Trevor indicated for him to go ahead, so Trevor told Licker it was time for him to get slave-naked, and to remove all his clothes and place them with the gentlemen seated to his left.  As he said this, Trevor and I turned to watch Christopher, who, dazed, started to remove his clothes.  Somewhat awkwardly as he turned he noticed there was a roomful of people in back of us, all of whom were watching him.  And right in back of us were four female slaves.  I knew this moment was painful for Christopher.  He wouldn’t even so much as wear speedos at the beach, he was so modest.  But he faced forward, crouched, and started to remove his shoes and socks.

As we watched Christopher undress, Trevor, still erect from the face slapping he gave Christopher, put his arm around me as a gesture of concern for me, and continued, “You have to trust that everything will be ok.  Once we arrive at the compound, we’re going to get Licker kitted out, and we’ll have him turned into a whip- smart, spank-happy slave in no time.  He’ll be taught to keep his head polished, his body well oiled, and his cock ring and bell shined and in good ringing order.  And he is going to be happy, because once the boys get him in shape, and he’s alert, bronzed, toned, labor- keen, quickstepping, obedient, and respectful, he will begin to be proud of his status.  And a slave proud of his status and condition is a happy slave.  I assure you, he’s going to be feeling a lot better even before the evening’s over, because once the boys deliver his bare naked bull whipping tonight, he’ll start to adjust and find his place.”

“Oh, and one other thing.  Mr. Baldwin, who is really a most generous and caring fellow, told me to tell you that you could drop by Mr. Worthington’s sometime today or tomorrow if you would like, and have first pick at any of Christopher’s items as mementos. Anything you want of Christopher’s is yours, clothes, CD’s, bicycle, skis, stereo….  There must be quite a few of his things you could use, certainly his clothes.  You two are the same size.  And he’s got lots of nice colognes, too, and, as we know, his girl-courting days are through.  So just go on over, Mr. Worthington knows that you may drop by.”

“Really?” I said, and as soon as I said that I couldn’t believe it.  So I quickly added, “I don’t think I could do that.”

“Why not?  Baldwin got them for next to nothing in the package deal, and he’s just sending it all out to charity stations. So go on, dig through it.  In fact that shirt he just took off is pretty nice, so why not take it?   Of course, you’d have to sew a few buttons back on after the way he tore it off this morning.  But do go on over.  I think Mr. Worthington really wants you to have some mementos of your friendship.”

As Christopher was stripping he heard everything Trevor had said, and he started quietly sobbing.  I went to embrace him but one of the requisition officers gestured me to stay put, and said, “I’m sorry, the processing arena is on a tight schedule.  There just isn’t any time for that.”

Christopher had just his undies left to remove, and did so with a defeated air.  He pulled them off, crouched down, gathered and folded all the clothes, and carried them to the gentleman at the table.  He then covered his penis with his hands and turned and walked back to his spot.  A requisition officer bent down and undid the butt plug straps about Christopher’s thighs, and slowly pulled the butt plug out.  It exited with a `plop’.   He dropped the plug into a plastic bag and placed it in a container marked, `Used’.

James ordered Christopher to drop his hands to his sides, as the intercom intoned, “The following drudges: Nipples, Jimbo, Spot, and Bubbles; report to Mr. Jeffries at Station 10.  Nipples, Jimbo, Spot, and Bubbles; report to Mr. Jeffries at Station 10.”

As Christopher’s hands dropped to his sides, we all noticed his clamped up penis knob.  Christopher was erect and the gathered foreskin looked chaffed and sore. James, indicating Christopher’s erection, and said, “One thing you never want to do is look at girlie pie when your penis is clamped.  The Baldwin’s clamp up dicks frequently out at the farms as a means of both punishment and control for guys who are over sexed.  If you ever find yourself dick-clamped, make sure you don’t go looking at the cunts in the cannery.”

James then asked the requisition officers if Licker had been out of their sight since the enslavement order was signed.  They answered in the negative.  James then took out a broad tipped black inked felt pen and walked over to Christopher.  In big five inch letters across Christopher’s abdomen he wrote `L-34′.  He then spun Christopher around by the shoulders, and with Christopher facing the entire room exposed, the four female slaves staring at his clamped knobbed-up erection, James wrote `L-34′ across his backside.  He then walked around to Christopher, and grabbed his cock by the clamped foreskin, and across the entire top length of his knobbed shaft he wrote, `L-34′ with the felt marker pen.

My friend Christopher was being treated like a slab of meat, coded with a marker pen, paraded around totally naked as snot and tears of shame and defeat ran down his face.

Trevor then came up to Christopher, grabbed him, spun him around, and said, “Well look at you!  Looks like you’re ready for the meat hook.”  He stopped and gazed quietly at Christopher, almost with a look of benign concern.  He took his right hand and put it to Christopher’s nipple, then he slowly started toggling his tit with his thumb and index finger, and quietly whispered, “We’re going to get these titties ringed for you, boy.”  He moved his hand to his left tit and started gently toggling the left nipple.  Trevor’s mouth was half opened as he finally backed away from Christopher.

James came back from the desk and handed me the order folder. “You take this, and when they admit you in to the trussing/hooking room, hand it to the station guide.  All right, you two go stand in front of that door.”  He indicated the door. Christopher and I walked to the door followed by the two officers.

As we were standing in front of the door Trevor came up to me, widely beaming, extending his hand, “I just want you to know you’re welcome out at the farms anytime and as often as you would like.  In the meantime, you take good care of yourself, and good luck in your graduate studies.”  As he grabbed my hand and shook it I could only feebly nod, and say “Thank you, sir.”

After about a two minute wait, the buzzer sounded, the door open, a female attendant in a white coat appeared at the door, signaled for us to enter.  We entered, the officers stayed behind, the door rolled shut, and I handed the folder to the attendant.

On entering the trussing room I noticed about 6 attendants, 2 females, and 4 males.  And I remember very little about being in the room except that it seemed all the attendants moved like lightening, and that I was in the room probably no longer than 3 minutes total. As soon as the door slammed shut, the woman attendant who took the folder from me was gone, and in her place was a male of about 28 years, with a name tag that simply said, `Chip’.  He came up to Christopher with a strange cutting instrument, unceremoniously grabbed Christopher’s penis, attached it to the penis clamp, squeezed the handles, and the tight band fell away from Christopher’s cock.  Christopher immediately started rubbing his shaft with his hand.

As Christopher was rubbing his foreskin, Chip dragged him by his shoulders onto a raised platform in front of a white curtain and another one of the male attendants immediately appeared and started photographing Christopher from all angles.  As he snapped he asked, “Licker, can you get a nice big erection for us?”  Licker gave no answer and Chip asked one of the other attendants for the `ejaculator’.  Another attendant handed him a strange prod-like device.  Chip applied lubricant to the tip, grabbed Christopher by the shoulder, turned him around, put the prod to his butt hole, and shoved it in.  He then pulled a trigger, and Christopher erected to the hilt in an instant.

“Nice one!”, the photographer called out.  “Give us your best smile now, Licker, because these pics are going on the city web site.”

Chip then pulled him off the stand and led him to a portion of the room filled with hoses and scrubbing instruments.  He had him get on a portion of the floor that had steel grating for flooring and told him to pee.  Christopher didn’t know where to go, and Chip indicated that he was to piss in the grating.  Christopher obviously had to go, since he turned his back to us and let out a long stream. When he was done he told him to grab onto a bar that ran lengthwise along the wall and bend over.  When he did so Chip took a hose, put the slender nozzle up his asshole, and filled him with warm water. He took it out, told him to squat and dump, and Christopher did so, red in the face.  Chip then had him stand up and with another hose he hosed him off, then did a very quick toweling of him.

Chip then quickly guided him to a 5 foot square platform that was raised two feet off the ground, and told him to get up on it and kneel down.  Immediately all of the processors surrounded Christopher and from that point on I couldn’t see what was happening, until about one minute later when two of the attendants hopped up on the platform, picked up Christopher trussed in a kneeling position with his knees wide apart and his hands and feet bound behind his back. They hoisted him up and attached him by the ring on his back harness to a meat hook-like thing on a trolley overhead.  He was balanced in such a way that his penis was his lowest hanging body part. Amazingly in that short amount of time they had pierced his frenum, applied a ring, and to that ring had attached a 6 inch laminated card that contained coded instructions for the processors explaining which procedures Christopher was to receive.

When they placed him on the hook the bound Christopher was swinging, turning, and swaying wildly.  Christopher looked terrified as he spun around, but the processors didn’t seem to care.  As soon as one of them punched a button, and the automated trolley started moving Christopher down the railing, the spinning immediately stopped.  The trolley headed towards some plastic slatted mats, but before I could see what happened one of the processors pointed to a door for me to exit from the room, and told me to follow the signs leading up to the visitor viewing room.

The Processing Room

As I entered the processing room viewing area I was surprised to see that it was empty except for Dexter and Beamer, who were leaning against the large Plexiglas window which extended the entire length of the room and looked out and down onto the processing room. When they saw me they shouted out to me as though we were the best of friends, and walked over to greet me.  I nodded to them, hoping they would stay put, but they made their way towards me as I took in the overwhelming sights which greeted me in the viewing room.

It was a long narrow room, and one wall was entirely Plexiglas through which the slave processing operation could be viewed.  The opposite wall was covered in posters and advertising copy relating to the San Diego Slave Bureau and General Facility and the slave trade in general.

I noticed immediately that the only other significant element of the room were two vending machines which offered snacks and soft drinks.  I thought how disgusting it was to sell snacks in this environment, and wondered for a moment what type of person would be able to relax enough to eat snacks in the processing viewing area, until I noticed that both Dexter and Beamer were eating potato chips as they peered through the Plexiglas.

My eyes caught one of the posters, “Does your slave or team need reprocessing?  A smartly turned slave means added value and productivity.  Meet with our slave accessories consultant to customize one slave or a hundred.  Let us help you meet your or your company’s optimal needs.  Make an appointment with a customizing specialist on your way out.”

I approached the Plexiglas and peered out, and I had to stop and catch my breath at what I saw; a sea of hundreds of trussed naked male slaves hanging from meat hooks.  Such a sight as earlier I would not have believed took place within the boundaries of the city I grew up in.  Over two hundred bound, naked, and trussed males hanging from meat hooks in one large room.   Moving along a conveyer track to some 80 stations along the track route, each station manned by anywhere from one to four processors, capable of performing requisite body modifications, often in a matter of seconds.  From the casual `ear piercings’ to the profound `castrations’.

The rail track zigzagged in an `S’ pattern.  Walking amongst the various stations were processor apprentices carrying long poles with leather padded loops 7 inches in diameter on the ends.  With these poles they could speedily loop a hanging slave at the base of his cock and balls from either the front or the backside of the slave.  With this leverage at the base of the slave’s crotch they could halt a lead slave on the trolley while some delay was rectified, or else pull the slave off to a switch track to lead him to some other station.

A sign in the viewer room addressed the grapplers. “Did you know that the processors who man the grappler rods are highly trained through an apprenticeship program that takes 2 years to complete?  It may look rushed or haphazard, but their skill in handling the rods insures that drudges are processed efficiently and safely.”

I momentarily stood transfixed reading the signs, which were as strange to me as the sights in the processing room.

Another sign right next to the first one I read said, “All procedures are safe and humane, and are performed solely for the long term benefit of the drudges.”

Another sign, with a drawing of a processor pushing a trussed slave with a grappling hook, read. “Did you know that slave processors are highly paid professionals?  Processors in all departments are needed.  Please check out the employment opportunities with San Diego SBGF personnel department on your way out,  Thank you.  The California Bureau of Slaves.”

Finally I heard Beamer say, “Hey Dex, there’s your loser brother making his grand entrance!”

“Wow, look at the expression on his face.  The family slave doesn’t look too happy!”, shouted Dexter, as both boys laughed and high fived.  “This is sooo fuckin cool!  You should have your dad enslave Justin, then you could have a family slave too, and make some extra money.”

“Fuck man, look at that, they’re lowering him into a vat of water or something!”, shouted Beamer.

Dexter and Beamer had wide happy smiles as they viewed the proceedings, as excited as if they were at a major sporting event, as they scarfed down their potato chips.

I looked out across the sea of suspended slaves.  Two hundred naked bucks suspended, slowly twirling on their chains.  Two hundred men dangling like slaughtered animals.  Two hundred men being grappled at the base of their cocks by young apprentices moving them this way and that.  Two hundred trussed slaves with every part of their body accessible, being trollied through the processing stations, being stopped and modified at some stations, being passed over at others.

 Screams of slaves being punished by having anesthetic withheld during the processing could be heard continually, though faintly, through the plexiglass.

The only other sound in the viewing area was the nonstop chatter of Dexter and Beamer.  “Serves those slave assholes right, they’re just getting what they deserve!”, opined Beamer.

“Holy fuck, look at that goof getting his eyebrows removed!”, laughed Dexter.

Having to listen to Beamer and Dexter’s continual obscenities made my time spent in the viewing all the more difficult.  As it was, the sights in the processing room alone were almost unbearable to me.  Human beings getting processed.  Getting lowered on their chain, getting raised.  Getting dipped, clipped, shaved, pierced, ringed, branded, cinched, collared, tattooed, stapled, punched, belled, dyed, circumcised, infibulated, castrated, tagged, looped, hooked, soldered, cauterized, stained, scarred.  Some anesthetized, some not.  Some used to the processing room.  Some terrified to death of it.

A voice over the intercom broke my concentration. “The following drudges report to Room 34-A for performance evaluation: Hoser, Squeege, Bingo, Strapper, and Elf.”

Dexter, excited, alerted Beamer, “Yo bro, check it out! Chris just got a boner from his cock shaving!”  They both laughed out loud, as Dexter exulted, “No more strokin that thing, dude!  Fuck, look at him!  What a fuckin loser he is.”

Slaves are `losers’ in the eyes of the unenlightened, and before me were row upon row of naked losers, with their knees spread wide, their arms chained to their bent legs behind their backs. Hanging, dangling, spinning, swaying, losers.  Two hundred loser cocks hanging lower to the floor than any other part of their bodies, erecting and deflating.  Two hundred dangling sweaty loser scrotums filled with four hundred loser balls.  Four hundred arm pits sweating at maximum capacity, emitting the stench of the lost.

Two hundred helpless slabs of meat-hooked loser flesh at the processing plant.  Getting pulled around by their groins by young apprentices, who were not losers, manning grappling hooks.  From two hundred penises dangled laminated cards coded with processing instructions.  Instructions for processing two hundred totally exposed and vulnerable animals who once thought they were men.  Who once thought they were worthy of respect.

“Hey”, Beamer shouted, “they’re stopping Chris at the nose ring station!  He’s getting his septum punched.”

“Cool, he needs one of those!”, replied Dexter.  “Fuck, look at the size of that nose ring they’re putting on him!”

The room became a blur after a while, one naked slave looking like another.  Most of the time I couldn’t spot Christopher in the sea of flesh.  After almost an hour in the viewing room I started to get queasy, and I needed something to eat.  So finally I had no choice but to use the vending machines.  I got some pretzels.  As I went back to watch, Dexter pointed out that Christopher was just about to pass the track nearest to and almost directly below the viewing area.  When Christopher was stopped directly below us and the processors were checking his laminated penis card, Dexter and Beamer started pounding on the plexiglass to get Christopher’s attention. After a few seconds Christopher heard the noise and looked up and saw the three of us, holding snack bags and eating our chips and pretzels.  I felt awful, but before I could gesture to explain the situation to Christopher his attention was suddenly diverted, as an apprentice grappled his groin and rapidly pulled him forward to the next station.

The sight of my friend Christopher left me dazed and sad. His processing was only half completed, and already he looked like a slave.  I stood there pondering the friend I had lost, and gradually I grew numb to the unbelievable scenes before me.  My mind wandered, and for a long time I recalled happy times Christopher and I had shared together, and how we never would have imagined that it all would come to this.

It was a relief when what seemed like a very long time later I was finally stirred from my numb reverie by Dexter and Beamer telling me that Christopher was just about finished being processed, and that they would meet up again with me and Christopher when the transport bus arrived.

As soon as Christopher was off the hook and untrussed, they pushed him against a section of the wall painted white and brightly lit, and started taking pictures from all angles of the naked freshly processed, hairless, collared, ringed, cinched, tattooed, branded and belled Licker.  He was given brown slave fatigues, sandals, and a 10 inch tall cone shaped gray cardboard hat that was held in place by a little elastic cord that went under his chin.  It seemed like he was being told to dress in a hurry.  When he put his cone hat on I saw that it said in bold lettering, “CAUTION: Freshly Drudged – For Delivery to Baldwin/Fletcher.”

The Post-Processing Room

Once Christopher was dressed he was shoved through a door into another room, and it was then that I heard my name called over the intercom to report to post-processing.  I left the viewing area, went down the steps, and followed the signs that led me to post- processing.

In the stairway leading to post-processing, an advertisement read. `Slave training special:  Is your slave or team getting lax? Perhaps it’s time you took advantage of one of our slave training/retraining and motivational courses.  5 days, $500.  You will see the results in your bankbook with a renewed and dedicated slave force’.

When I entered the post-processing area, there was Christopher, and on seeing him up close I was doubtless in as much shock as he was.  For a moment all I could do was stare at his totally shaved bald head, his big nose ring, his shiny ear rings, his ugly brown uniform, his sturdy sandals, his goofy cone hat, his dazed and frightened look.  He frightened me.  I wanted to back away, and run off.

As I stared at him, dazed, the intercom sounded, “Balboa, Jumper, Scamp, Doodles, Wiener, Spitz, and Chowder, report to room 21 for your penis dyeing.”

The post processing area was a very large room full of slaves, some of whom were with their owners and overseers, who were leaving the SBGF.  No matter what business they had at the facility, all slaves must exit from this room.  A long line was slowly making its way out towards the wide open bay of loading dock doors at the far end.  Along the way were various stations which inquired of various slaves and their overseers various things as they passed. Police, station guards, and processor apprentices were everywhere. Most of the processor apprentices appeared to be kids a few years out of high school, who probably weren’t planning on going to college.

A kid about 20 years old, wearing the processor’s apprentice uniform of black slacks, black boots, pressed cream shirt, black tie, black vest, a heavily tooled service belt, and an ID tag with the name Tim Sardis, came up to Christopher and attached a leash to his collar.  He then looked at me, and said, “You’re Todd, right?”  “Yes, I am”, I responded.

“The newly enslaved, fresh off the hook, are often a danger to themselves.  Because they don’t know slave protocol, they often react with some very unslavelike behavior, such as talking, or not walking in a service gait, all behavior that would get any slave tawsed or paddled on the spot here at SBGF.  That’s why we ‘cone head’ all fresh product.  The guards go easier on them.  Hell, some newly enslaved guys fresh off the hook are super uppity.  It’s funny, really.  They still think they are free men.  They’re all incensed, and think they have some kind of right to talk, or to piss when they want to, or even get on the phone and call their girlfriends.”

When Sardis mentioned the word `girlfriend’, I suddenly thought of Katherine, Christopher’s long time girlfriend. They were all set to room together at graduate school this coming fall.  And without thinking, I blurted out, “Gosh, Christopher.  What about Katherine?  What should I do?”  Christopher’s face flashed a deeply pained look, and he seemed to be too overwhelmed to respond.  He seemed like he was about to break down and cry.

Sardis answered for us.  “Dude, slaves do NOT have girlfriends!  And at Baldwin/Fletcher they do not get to use the telephone, ever.  If you want to be a real friend, Todd, you’d best get on the phone when you get home and call this Katherine with the story.  Tell her that Licker here is out of the picture.  He isn’t going to be hitting the clubs anymore.”  He lowered his voice and leaned toward me. “Todd, if you ever had any interest in this Katherine person, now would be the time to make the moves on her. She’s alone and vulnerable.  You may find yourself having to do caretaking duty for a brand new pussy.”  He winked, but I ignored the vulgar remark.

Sardis continued, “Another neat service provided to friends and family members of slaves by SBGF is the Online Slave Database.  A password is given to friends and family members of slaves so they can have access to the latest information available. All they have to do is call SBGF to get registered.  On a regular basis, SBGF updates the slave’s status reports, info on where he’s serving, evaluation reports, discipline reports, and so on.  Also full body shots are updated almost monthly so friends and family can gauge the health and development of the products.  In the case of hard labor slaves, a lot of gals find the regularly updated pics of the naked slave’s burgeoning muscles to be real hot frigging material.

“I know, also, that the Baldwin’s have a web site with a lot of their team in colorful costumes.  Licker will probably be showing up on that real soon.”

“His pics will also be on the city web site, which is a real handy service for shoppers and family members alike.  Slaves pictures are posted and updated on a regular basis to help prevent runaways; to let the slave’s family know pretty well what condition he’s in, since there’s a rule that the slave must have a complete set of photos taken every time there’s a significant body modification so that they’re spared the trouble of visiting or inquiring; to let the slave know that he’s significant, that people are interested in him; and finally and most importantly, to facilitate pre-auction shopping.

“But if the former girlfriend wants to check out the drudge in person, tell her she can always drive by the Baldwin/Fletcher farms, since he’ll be on display working out in the fields pretty much seven days a week from sunrise to sunset.”

“But anyway Licker, you need to get girls and girlfriends out of your head, or you are not going to be producing the way top line material is expected to produce.”

Sardis then yanked Christopher sideways to pull him into an open area and said, “Ok, we need to hurry and give you some preliminaries so we can ship you off.  We want to get you out of here as quickly as possible.  Product sitting around here in the warehouse isn’t generating income for its owners, is it?”

“Licker, you’re a brand new, squeaky clean, slave.  You’re pretty raw though.  With the right care and training you should be bringing in a lot of cash for Baldwin/Fletcher, at least for the next twenty years or so.  By the time they bring you back here for reprocessing, in about 4 months, you should be looking a good bit more like the other heavily muscled draft members of their field teams.”

“But my job here is to do anything I can do in the way of offering tips or suggestions, while paper work is being finalized and we’re waiting for your transport to arrive, to help turn you into that top producer for Baldwin/Fletcher that I know you will want to be.  The Baldwin’s have their own way of training slaves, of course, as you’ll soon find out.  But one thing all slaves need to know is the ‘service gait.’  ‘Service gait’ is the way a slave walks formally when not at labor.  It just means you walk one step at a time, you don’t move your next foot until the previous foot has fully landed on the ground, you never raise a foot more than a half inch off the ground while taking a step, and as you walk you keep your arms akimbo.  Let’s try it!”

With the leash in his left hand, he took the tawse from his belt and slapped Christopher on the buttocks to make him move.  He commanded Christopher to do the service gait, in a circle around him as he occasionally prodded him on the butt to move him along.  After one particularly hard swat Christopher jumped and lifted a foot off the ground.  Sardis was waiting for that, and said, “You seem to need a little reminder that you will take small steps quickly, but you cannot move your next foot until the previous foot has stopped.  Take down your pants and get em around your ankles.  That’ll lock your feet into place.”  Christopher did so, too frightened and shamed to protest.  The apprentice then swatted Christopher’s ass a fierce one to get him moving.  The motion of the legs rapidly sliding on the floor caused his cock to swing and his bell to start ringing.  “That’s the way boy, let’s tinkle your bell.”

The sight of my friend so utterly debased by a kid in a uniform sent chills through me, yet at the same time I felt there was no more I could do.  A sense of defeat came over me, and along with it, resignation.  I needed to stop being upset and just accept that things were different now.

Hearing the bell, a couple of the processor apprentices who didn’t have too much to do looked at us and came over and joined in where the action was.  “Who’s the cone head you got on the leash, Tim?”, asked a dark haired kid with the ID name of Andrew Morelli.

“His name is Licker.  The name makes me think that the Baldwin’s have some real interesting chores planned for him.”  All three apprentices let out loud laughs.  Then Tim gave a hard swat of the tawse across Christopher’s shoulders. Christopher yelped in pain and pistoned his legs to move even faster. The three laughed and erected at Christopher shuffling along, trying to avoid another swat of the tawse.  Tim’s boner was very intently poking straight forward in his trousers.

And strangest of all to me, I found myself starting to stir at the sight of my totally humiliated, defeated, enslaved for life friend.  What had come over me?

“So, a brand new slave, huh?”, asked Andrew, as he and Phil looked Licker over with a look of `you sorry loser’.  “Are they using him in the fields?”, asked Andrew.

“That’s what he’s on order for.” Then addressing Christopher, Tim continued, “So Licker, dude, it looks like you’re going to have a chance to work on your tan!”  The apprentices all laughed at Tim’s witty remark as he continued guiding Christopher in circles by the leash.  As he did so, he took his tawse to the underside of Christopher’s scrotum and lifted it, gently teasing his balls up and down.  “These things feel pretty heavy, boy!  They’re just going to get in your way dangling between your legs out in the fields. Just an extra piece of useless work load. Just more to carry around.  You’d be better off if they’d sliced these sweetmeats off while you were on the hook, since the Baldwin boys aren’t going to let you use them anyway.  I bet you used to tug on this bag while you were jerking, didn’t you boy, huh?”  All three laughed, as Andrew and Phil both readjusted their crotches.

Phil then said, “Well, at least they didn’t have his teeth removed.  It looks like the Baldwin’s aren’t planning on turning him into one of their ‘turkey boys’, their full time sucking dick- gobblers.”  “At least not yet!”, responded Tim as all three let out loud hoots.

The line slowly started moving forward, so Tim halted Christopher by jerking cruelly on his collar, causing him to choke and stumble.  “Come on, we gotta get back in line.  But keep your pants down, I want see if those four girls over there on the receiving dock get juiced up seeing a depantsed, fresh off the hook, newly ringed, and cringing slave.”

All three apprentices laughed and scratched their crotches. Then Officer Floyd Gutter approached us, carrying a tawse,  and addressed them. “Tim, Phil, Andrew, I need you at Station Eight to ease up a log jam.”  Then addressing me, Officer Gutter asked, “You’re Todd Maltsby, correct?”  A little frightened, I told him that I was, and he continued, “Will you take free man responsibility for this drudge, Licker, until his transport is ready?  It could take as long as an hour or two.”

I managed to say firmly, “Sure, officer”, even though I was trembling on the inside.  I figured it would be a great way to get Christopher out of the clutches of the sadist apprentices.  “Ok then, this drudge is now your responsibility, according to California statute.  Just make sure he stays in line here in the shipping/pickup area.”  He took Christopher’s leash from Tim and handed it to me. Then he handed me the tawse he brought along.  “Do you know how to use this thing?”  I hesitated. “Ahh… well…”  Officer Gutter then said to Tim, “Would you stay behind and give Todd a quick course?” Tim nodded assent, and as Gutter walked away he said, “Make it real quick, Tim.  We need you to hurry to join us at Station Eight.” “Sure thing!”, said Tim, as he took his tawse from his service belt and grabbed both ends  and flexed his muscles with it. He offered me his hand in greeting, I took it, and as we shook he said, “Hi Todd, nice to meet you.  Don’t be afraid of using the tawse.  Cone heads fresh off the hook are so fucking,  balls- quivering, cock-bobbing, scared shitless that it’s a real good time to drive lessons home.  There’s something really special about jerking around the newly enslaved.  It’s a totally awesome kind of control.  You know what I mean, Todd?”

“Yeah, I think so”, I responded sheepishly.

“The only way you can learn the tawse is to practice.  The key to the tawse is to halt your wrist the moment body contact is made.  If you do it properly, it’ll sting 3 times as great as any other implement, it can be used over a wider body area, and it results in the least amount of damage.  If you’re good at it there’s practically no damage, and maximal pain delivery.  Just practice.  It makes perfect!”

He paused, looked at me, and continued, “Hey, that’s a real neat shirt you got on, Todd!  Where did you get it?”

“Thanks, Tim!  I got  it at Frederick’s, next to Dupay Hair Salon.”

“Hey, that’s where I get my hair done, man!  Great cut on ya!”

“Thanks dude!  I noticed your spikes.  You look good!”  All of a sudden it hit me that I was getting friendly with Christopher’s tormentor.

“Well, I’ll see you around.  Remember, use the time standing around in line and waiting here to practice your tawsing action on Licker.  Maybe we can get together some time and do volunteer work at the Slave Training Service Center together.  You get a chance there to get hands-on experience in all forms of discipline and control. And it’s a really great environment.  Gives you a great feeling volunteering your time to help out citizens who can’t afford or aren’t able to discipline their slaves on their own.  It’s a real nice sense of community involvement.  You think you’d be interested in volunteering?” Somewhat confused in the presence of Christopher, I let out a quiet, “Yeah, maybe.”

“We never get enough volunteers to help out with the drudges on Tuesdays for ‘Young Adult Night’.  We sometimes get up to 200 young adult slaves, 18 to 21 years old, in need of spankings, and it’s happened that only nine or ten volunteers show up.  Understandably, when people do volunteer work they want a little pay-back in terms of having some ‘fun’, if you know what I mean.  Everyone just seems to prefer wielding the tawse, strap or paddle rather than their own hand, and I don’t blame them.  But spanking is the best way to begin learning techniques, cause you get a real feel and sense of how much pressure it takes to get reactions and so on.  And on Tuesday nights there is just so much material to practice on.  A young butt is great starter material because it’s relatively easy to handle.  If you would just rather watch your first time there, that’s fine.  We always need volunteers to do coffee and beverage duty, also.  Anyway, here’s my number, give me a call sometime, dude!”

Tim handed me his card, I thanked him, and said, “Sounds great, Tim.  Nice meeting you.”

As I heard Tim say “Same here!” as he left, I felt so strange.  A nervous excitement had come over me ever since Gutter put Christopher in my charge and I held him by his leash.  I did not know what was going on.  To get back to reality I told Christopher to pull his pants up.  He did so immediately and thanked me.  “Oh man, what are we going to do?”, he asked as he buttoned up his ugly slave pants.  “You gotta help me, Todd.  We gotta get out of here. Remember how we talked about the networks in Oregon for runaways, how it was a good thing.   Todd, this may be our only chance, you can take me out of here, man!”

I didn’t know what to think.  “Chris, I’m afraid.  If I get caught I could be enslaved for life.”

“Let’s just go for a walk.  Then when we’re alone I’ll go off.  If I’m ever caught I’ll tell them I shoved you.”

“Chris, this is too crazy.  They’ve got police all over.  It would never work!”

“Todd, please!  Help me.”  And with that Christopher broke down and started sobbing.  He fell to his knees and his hands went to his face.

An officer walking by looked at me and said, “Let’s keep it down over there.”

I pleaded with Christopher, “Chris, you’ve got to get yourself together, they’re getting upset with us.  Come on dude. We’re almost out of here.  Just calm down.”

He grabbed my legs in desperation.   “What’s going on, Todd? Help me!”  As he raised his voice more people started looking at us.  “You’re my friend!”

“I know I am. But man, keep it down!”

“What about all the things we talked about?”

“Now is not the time.  I will be here for you, Christopher, but please, don’t create a scene.”

“Todd, you can walk me to Gary’s house.   I can get some clothes there.”

“Man, that’s conspiracy talk.  I could go to prison, Chris!”

“This will probably be our only chance, Todd!  Let’s act now!”

I was totally confused, and frightened as well.  “Hey Chris. Come on!  Don’t give me any of this right now, man, ok?  I’m trying to help you.  I have spent the entire day with you.”

The line moved forward, and Christopher was unaware that we were supposed to move, so I tugged gently on his leash, and said, “Come on, we have to move, they’re watching us.”  As I tugged on his leash and pulled him along I felt a strange stirring.  I had my friend on a leash, and it felt good. “Todd, what about the things we shared, how we hated slavers, and the very idea of slavery.  Look what they’ve done to me!”

Another voice shouted out.  “Sir, you’ve got to keep your drudge quiet over there.  We don’t allow any kind of disturbances, scenes or outbursts in the shipping/pickup area!”

Christopher continued, “Todd, let’s get out of here.  Let’s go for a walk.”

“Fuck man!  Would you just calm down!  Don’t give me any of this shit right now!”  I was getting frustrated.  I was trying to help Christopher, but he was making it hard.

Christopher then started pulling on my arm, raising his voice a little,  “Todd, let’s just go for a walk.  I just need some fresh air.”

An officer, who was doing the rounds and had heard the raised voice, walked a little closer and said to me, “Sir, you have to control him or else you could be cited.”

And then in a total bit of confusion, I let out, “Fuck man, you’re making me angry.  I’m beginning to see why they’ve got to handle slaves like you the way they do.”

I immediately felt upset and confused, and an older officer, with a late middle age paunch,  who was sipping coffee on the shipping deck, seeing the trouble I was having, slowly sauntered over, and in a friendly voice asked, “You need some help here, sir?”

Not knowing what he meant, I replied, “Yeah, I’m just confused.  He’s upset, I don’t know what to do.”

The officer then took the leash from my hands and led Christopher to between a set of two whipping poles off to one side of the shipping room, not far from one of the big open doors looking out onto the loading dock.

He took Christopher’s left wrist, stretched it out, and velcroed it to the strap on the pole at about Christopher’s shoulder level.  He then said to me, “You want to help me with this?”, indicating the strap on the right.   So feeling like I was railroaded into it I took Christopher’s right arm and stretched it out, and velcroed the wrist to a strap at the same level as his left wrist.

The officer then came around to me and extended his hand, and I shook it.  “I’m Officer Bill Koslowski.  I saw you were having some trouble.  Fresh off the hook new drudges are total basket cases, but that’s when punishment does the most good, and makes the biggest impression.  You get his pants down, and I’ll go and get a strap.”

As Officer Bill started to go off I walked up behind Christopher and put my arms around him to undo his trouser buttons.  “Todd?  What are you doing?”

“He told me to do this.”

“Todd, not with those four girls over there!”

Hearing this, Officer Bill stopped and turned around to face us and said, “Boy.  Don’t you get it?  You’re a slave now.  You have no right to privacy any more.  You get slave-naked whenever you’re told.  Your pants come down whenever your overseers tell you they come down.”  With that he walked off and I proceeded to unbutton Christopher’s pants.

“Todd, stop it!”, squirmed Christopher, Officer Bill’s words obviously having made no impression.

“Come on Christopher, I gotta get these pants down.  Officer Bill will be back soon.”

“Todd, no.”

“Let’s get em down Christopher.  Let’s just do what they want.  Don’t create any more trouble for yourself.”  The buttons undone, I grasped the waist of his trousers and rolled them down to his ankles.  His erection from being on the hook was finally down.

The four girls who had been watching us at the far end of the shipping dock, realizing that some punishment was about to take place, slowly started to walk down the dock nearer to where we were, whispering and giggling to themselves. Bill soon came back carrying a three inch wide, doubled over, black leather strap.  “I reckon this would be better for you.”, he said as he handed me the strap.   He then went in front of Christopher and started unbuttoning his shirt.  “You’re not used to the tawse, right?”  I nodded “yes.”  “That’s what I figured.  If you’re new to this, then it’s better to use the belt.  An untrained hand can get a lot more pain delivered with a nice wide belt than he can from a tawse.”  He went to the back of Christopher and rolled his shirt up and hung it up over his shoulders.  “Don’t want the shirt tails getting in your way!”

Then  I saw it, running in a line of half-inch black letters under Christopher’s right shoulder; Christopher’s tattoo: `PROPERTY OF BALDWIN/FLETCHER’.  “There’s another one just like it directly opposite, on his other side, just below the right collarbone”, Bill commented.  “‘PROPERTY OF BALDWIN/FLETCHER’, coming and going. This one won’t get lost”, he chuckled.

“Ok, he’s ready and he’s all yours!  Just avoid that bandage over his right buttock. It covers his brand.”  He must have noticed the questioning look on my face, because the next thing he said was, “You may be wondering what his brand is.  Same as all the rest of them. USLS: ‘United States Lifer Slave.'”

When he heard those words, Christopher shuddered and turned his head, as if to look down at his brand.  Inside, I shuddered too. “You want me to do this?”, I asked.

“Look, if he’s your legal responsibility I’d suggest you start learning how to control him right now.  Don’t worry how you do.  I’ll give you pointers.”  Officer Bill stood off to the side and folded his arms, waiting for me to begin.  “Come on, just jump in and do it.  Everyone’s a little afraid their first time, but you’ll get the hang of it, and may even like it.”

“Yeah, but…”

“No ‘Yeah buts’!  You need to realize that the more strappings he gets these first few days of his enslavement, the better off he’ll be in the long run.  If you really want to help your friend out now, then just start strapping his slave ass!”

I was aware that several officers and attendants were watching from various positions around the shipping/delivery room, and I felt I had no say in the matter, so I drew back the belt and let it crack onto Christopher’s ass.  He screamed and jumped. “Good one!”, encouraged Officer Bill.  “You’ve got it in you, now try another one.”  I pull back the strap and it landed with a crack on the same spot.   Christopher jumped and screamed even louder.

“You’re gonna be a  pro!  The reason I know you’ve got a good swing is that you’ve really got him bucking.  That’s the sign you’re really talking to him!  The screams tell you very little, since they usually scream even if it doesn’t hurt.  Some psychological effect.”

I figured if I did just one more, I could stop, so I swung my arm back really fierce and let it rip.  The belt landed a bit lower and Christopher really screamed and jumped.  His buttocks were flexing a mile a minute.  Through the tears he cried out, “Todd, please stop it!”  Bill shouted, “That’s the ticket!  Give em another one while you got the rhythm going.  It’s for his own good.”  So I let out an even fiercer blow, and Christopher howled.  The girls moved in a little closer.  They were now seeing Christopher from the front.  Smiles erupted on the faces of all the girls, and we made eye contact.  They acknowledged me and giggled.  I was feeling really secure, so I figured I’d do one more swat.  I drew back the belt and laid it on with an inspired energy, and Christopher bucked so much I thought the poles would break.  Christopher’s bell was really ringing wildly from that last blow, what with him bucking his hips, trying to break free, and that caused the girls to giggle in an even sillier fashion.

Bill then commented, “The great thing about a cock-belled slave is not only does it let his overseers know if he’s keeping busy, it also lets his disciplinarian know if he’s doing a proper job whipping him.  A properly whipped slave should be jumping and hopping like he’s dancing on burning coals.  And with a bell you can hear if you’re delivering enough force to his backside!”

Bill then advised, “Ok, now move over here to the side of him, so you can land more force of the blow on the left buttock now. All your first hits concentrated on the right buttock, and you want to spread it out over both slave cheeks.  You want to deliver a nice ass-balanced beating to your slave.  Make sure you cover every part of that naked slave ass.”

So I stood to the left side of Christopher, and I could see that he was starting to erect.  I took a swing and let a good blow land on his left buttock, and Christopher screamed, bucked, and erected full hilt. His bell rang wildly, and the girls keep doing their giggling thing.

“Ok, let em have a couple really at full force now.  Let’s see what you can do”, prompted Bill.  I really had no say in the matter, since I felt like I would be letting Bill down if I didn’t try to teach my slave some manners.

By now I was half erect, and when I saw some of the girls looking at my crotch, I felt strange.  Suddenly I wasn’t embarrassed at being erect in this situation.  I was feeling proud, I was beginning to feel like a man.  The girls were watching, officers and shipping boys were all taking notice, and they all seemed to think I was doing a good job.  Pride took over, and finally I just jumped into the strapping with full force.  The screams of Christopher, mingled with the approving howls of the watchers, inspired me.  And as my belting grew more intent and purposeful, my erection grew to full parade display status.  I saw the eyes of the girls shifting back and forth from Christopher’s bouncing, ringing, unit to my bulging, straining crotch.  My rod felt like it was made of iron, and I was feeling like a man.  It was a totally awesome moment for me. To be erect the whole time in front of these four major babes, and being able to be proud of it, and to know they thought I was a real man.  A real man at last!

After a few more blows my older reality came into focus, and for a second I wasn’t even sure if I had really done what I had just done.  But Officer Bill confirmed it.  “Great job, Todd.  You can let him down now or you can leave him hanging there if you want.  Might be easier on you to just leave him on display until your transport arrives.”  He then addressed Christopher, “Boy, you should be ashamed of yourself having to get a naked strapping right after graduating into your collar.  Are you going to start behaving now, or is your friend here going to have to swat your slave ass some more?  It’s up to you.”

Christopher moaned quietly, “I’ll be quiet.”

“That’s a good boy”, said Officer Bill as he came up to Christopher and straightened his cone hat, which had become lopsided during the strapping.  “Let’s have you looking real nice and slave snazzy!”  He stood back and looked Christopher up and down as he hung bared on the poles.  “You’re a good looking boy.  You should be a fit and snappy slave in a few days, once they get you disciplined up.  I think after the first couple of times you’re hauled over the Baldwin boys’ knees for a spanking you’ll soon catch on that you really do want to be a good boy.   I think you’ve got in you the makings of a genuine quickstepping, eager to please, tractable slave.  I don’t know how smart you are, but that doesn’t make any difference.  You’re probably here because you didn’t do too well in school, right?  Well, for what you’re going to be doing you don’t have to be too smart, in fact it would be to your advantage.  You don’t have to use your mind.  All you have to do is obey.  That is all you have to know; how to obey.  Once the boys get you fine tuned I’m sure you’ll be obeying, complying, serving, and bowing with the best of the team.”

Officer Bill then wished me well, nodded his leave, and I voiced a quiet, “Thanks a lot for helping me out, sir.”

“My pleasure Todd.  I’ll be around if you need me.”

The post-belting silence was broken by the intercom: “Drudges Slit, Geebo, Plaster, and Knob, report to room 32 for ear stapling.”

I was suddenly left alone with Christopher, and now I felt very awkward.  So I told him, “I’m going to get you some water, dude, I’ll be right back and let you down.”  I needed to get away from him, feeling embarrassed at what I had just done to him.

When I got back with the water, I released his wrists and told him to pull his pants up.  As he did that I told him that I only did what I did because I’m sure it prevented him from having to get something a lot worse from one of the experienced guards.  He didn’t say anything.  I handed him the plastic water bottle, and he had to hold his nose ring up with one hand in order to drink.  It was painful for me to watch him drink, because he was so ashamed, even after all he had been through.  He did not want me to see how he would now have to hold his nose ring up and out of the way in order to eat or drink.

After he drank the water, I suggested that we go for a stroll on the loading dock.  He didn’t answer, so I took his leash and gave him a tug.  We walked out on the deck.  It was a nice sunny day outdoors, and eventually the four girls sauntered over.  “So who is the naughty boy?” one of them asked.  “His name is Licker”,  I said, suddenly getting kind of shy.  Another girl, indicating me, coyly asked, “And who is the good boy?”  I blushed and said, “I’m Todd Maltsby.”  She then replied, “I’m Amy.  You certainly know how to handle the strap.  You sure had him bucking around.  You really made his weenie bell tinkle!”  All the girls then started laughing, and she continued,  “My dad needs some overseer help.  Would you be interested?”  “Well, yeah.  I’ll will be needing to look for a summer job soon.  Sounds like fun”, I said, forgetting to ask myself what Christopher might be thinking.

“So what are you doing now?” Amy asked.  “I’m just delivering Licker here to his owner.  This is his first day as a naked lifer hard labor slave.”  Three of the girls looked at him with some pity, but one of the girls let out an impish, “That’s not a bad idea.  He looked real good naked.”

All the girls giggled as they looked over at the cowed and humiliated Christopher.  Christopher’s head was bowed, so I gently tugged his leash and said,  “Licker, say ‘hi’ to the girls.” Defeated, Christopher said, “Hi”, without looking up.  The shy girl in the back finally spoke up, “No more idling for you, Licker!”  The girls giggled dumbly at her remark.

I was feeling strange on the inside.  I was some kind of new person.  Suddenly not upset.  And Christopher was looking like a different person, also.  He seemed foreign to me; all bald, ringed and defeated.

Finally a call came over the intercom for Rooster, Possum, Tits, Buckles, Licker, and overseers and guests, to report to position number 8 on the transport loading bay for delivery to Baldwin/Fletcher.  Amy handed me her dad’s card and said, “I sure hope you give dad a call.”  I thanked her and nodded to all the girls, and looked at their asses one more time as they departed.

I led Christopher out by his leash.  Because the complex was large and confusing to me, it took me a little while to find loading bay position number 8.  Christopher was no help with directions, as he was looking down the entire time, dazed and sniffling.  As we arrived the other four slaves were already there, but no one else. They were obviously not freshly enslaved.  But as I came towards them with Christopher on the leash, they all looked interested.  I nodded to them and introduced them to Licker and myself.  They were all very friendly, and as they each nodded they said “hello” to us and introduced themselves.

Christopher assessed them with an interest.  One appeared to be around Christopher’s age, two were about 30, and another about 40 years old.  They displayed a variety in their hair and body adornments.  But immediately I noticed two things about them in which all four of them were similar. They were all fully erect.  Seeing that made me recall what I had heard an apprentice say earlier in the preprocessing room, “You can always tell a Baldwin/Fletcher slave, by the way their lollipops are always straining in their brownies.”

And the other way in which they were all similar, and were also just like Christopher, was that they all were wearing the same brown slave uniform; `Brownies’.  Upon seeing them I knew that the thing I called my friend on the end of my leash was one of them also, a slave like them.  And the moment Christopher saw them I think he finally began to realize that fact.  If Christopher had any doubts he was a slave, they were beginning to dissolve.

We all stood around, sharing a quiet warmth.  Five brown uniformed slaves standing around waiting to be told what to do. And I felt, for a moment, like some benign master.  I began to wonder if I could `make’ them do stuff, but my musings were shattered when suddenly I saw Dexter and Beamer arriving from the guest holding area.

They both walked up with wide-eyed country boy grins on their faces, and Christopher seeing them just kept his head down and stood still.  Dexter dug right in, “Well look at you.  It’s the family slave!”  He and Beamer laughed out loud, but getting no reaction from anyone, didn’t stop Dexter.  “Look at yourself, Licker!  What a total dork loser you are, bro!  All dressed up in your new wardrobe and ready for your new life long job!”

As we all stared at one another, the intercom blared the usual message on the half hour, “Slaves, whether you are exercising on the treadmill, engaged in shipping room detail, general cleanup duty, or waiting for transport and delivery, there is to be NO idling whatsoever on the premises of SBGF.  Be and look alert at all times. Slaves, we repeat, NO IDLING PERMITTED, WHATSOEVER.”

Dexter then repeated the mantra with a broad grin, “You hear that bro?  There will be no idling for you, whatsoever!”

“Dude!” Beamer chimed in, “I’m sure fuckin glad they got your hard labor slave clothes on you, cause I sure in the hell don’t want see any more of your ugly pierced dick and ball sack.  It was disgusting seeing you swinging on that hook.”

Dexter rejoined, “Fuck man, you should have seen the look on your face when you came rolling into that processing room on the hook.  Total fucking hardwire panic!”

Beamer continued, “Hell, I liked the look on his face when they were branding him a lot better!”  As they both started to laugh it up, I was relieved for the first time that day to see two guards heading towards us.

The transport guards were two young men employed by the SBGF.  Their uniform was similar to that of the local police, the only difference being that they had ID tags rather than badges pinned to their shirt pockets, and the large service belts they wore about their waists were heavy with `implements’.  And although their presence silenced Dexter and Beamer, I soon realized that they were all made of the same stuff.

The officer with the name tag of Philip Ilsley, who seemed only slightly older than Christopher and me, looked at the five slaves and shouted, “Ok, look smart, slaves!  Come on, stand tall!” The four slaves quickly stood tall and firm, while Christopher just raised his head slightly.  Noticing Christopher, he shouted at him, “What’s your name, boy?”  “I’m Christopher.”  Officer Ilsley shook his head and looked at his partner with a smirk.  He then walked up to me, took the leash from me, and asked, “Who is the slave at the end of this leash?”

“Sir, his name was Christopher.  He is now Licker.” I answered in an attempt to defuse the tension.

Officer Ilsley went up to Christopher, removed the leash from his collar, and gave it to me.  As he removed the leash he looked Christopher up and down, accompanied by parted lips and a half leering, half hungry, smile.  He clearly relished the authority he had over slaves.  He then established rapport with me by asking, “How are you doing?  You holding up through all of this?”  “Oh yes sir, I am fine, thank you.” I replied, touched at his concern.  And while he was standing next to me as though he was my buddy, he shouted out, “Ok slaves, line up and look smart!  Stand nice and tall for me.  While we’re waiting for the transport bus to arrive there will be no idling.  An idling slave is of no use to anyone.”  As he shouted this out all the slaves stood at attention and looked at us.  And then I saw Christopher, with the others, looking at me and the guard, doubtless considering me to be no better than the guard who was standing next to me.

“I want you to get lined up and face towards that wall, and start an even in sync service gait march to that wall and back. Now move it!  And keep it up until I tell you to stop.”

We stood around in the sun watching the slaves do a useless march, as the two guards chatted, and Dexter and Beamer talked and laughed liked idiots among themselves.

After a bit the bored Officer Ilsley decided to pick up the pace.  “Alright, it’s time to pick up the gait you bald cunts, or you’re going to get a pre-delivery paddling!”  Why I should have had nothing but contempt for Officer Ilsley and did not, and why my cock hardened as I saw those five slaves attempt to shuffle even faster, I do not know.

After about 10 minutes of service gaiting, Officer Ilsley shouted to the slaves to halt.  He then ordered them to squat down on their haunches, join their hands in back of their heads, and to start duck walking in a row.  So the five slaves started duck walking back and forth across the dock.

The sight of five waddling guys duck walking was kind of funny.  It made them look like cartoon characters.  Suddenly even Dexter somehow seemed more respectable to me than those five slaves.

Christopher was having a hard time duck walking, so Ilsley ordered the line to stop and went up to him.  Christopher was in a squat position on his haunches with his hands behind his head, like the other drudges.  Ilsley then took a thin night stick from his service belt and stuck it into Christopher’s nose ring.  He then starting pulling up on the ring so that Christopher had to turn his head straight up.  As Ilsley kept pulling up on the nose ring Christopher was forced to break his teetering squat and stand up. Once he was standing up tall Ilsley kept forcing the nose ring up, causing Christopher to have to stand on the tips of his toes.  Ilsley then taunted, “You aren’t too bright, are you Licker?  No wonder your daddy had to go and have you enslaved.  You probably wouldn’t have been able to even earn a living for yourself.”

Dexter chimed in, “Man, you sure got that right!”

“There’s only one way to teach a slave to duck walk, and that’s through his ass.  Since your name is Licker, how about I give you a licking?”  Loud laughter from Dexter and Beamer.  “Get your pants down to your ankles, now!”  Ilsley pulled his stick out of Christopher’s nose ring and stuck it back in his service belt, and Christopher looked like he was going to break down in tears again as he unbuttoned his trousers and took them down to his ankles.  Ilsley walked to the side of Christopher and pinned his hands behind his back with his left hand, and with his right hand he took a paddle from his service belt and gave him one hard smack on the ass. “Are you going to start behaving?” He asked. Christopher screamed and shouted, “Yes sir!”  Ilsley then laid on another fierce smack, and Christopher howled, “YESSS!”  “You going to start being a good slave?”  A whack and a howl.  “Are you going to start duck walking with enthusiasm when I let you down?”  Christopher screamed that he would, and Ilsley ordered him to pull up his trousers and get back in line.  Then he shouted, “Ok ducks, start marching!  Get a move on! I want to see some serious moving!  Waddle!”   As the slaves resumed their duck walking with new vigor, I noticed Christopher was now duck walking as firm and secure as the other five waddling slaves.

We stood there almost another ten more minutes, watching the slaves debase themselves.  We were all hard as rocks.  As we watched the slaves do their duck march a car pulled up and the door opened. A young processing guard got out of the car and leaned back down to kiss the female driver.  From inside the car blared loud California surfing music.  Dexter and Beamer, who had been leaning back against the wall watching the slaves get humiliated, looked at the car, and started to react to the music.  There, in front of the duck walking slaves, Dexter and Beamer started dancing.  Beamer took off his baseball cap and waved it in the air as he wiggled his hips and knees in opposite motion.  Dexter meanwhile started bobbing up and down to the music, shaking his shoulders to the beat.  Both boys glided happily about, relishing showing off to the slaves that they were free.  As they danced crazily with wide happy smiles, Dexter grabbed Beamer’s arms and swung him around in Tango style.

Christopher could see the dancing and the smiles, as Officer Ilsley called out to the dancers, “Nice moves!”

The boys looked up from their dancing to acknowledge Ilsley’s compliment, just as the processing guard parted from kissing his girl and slammed the car door shut.  Suddenly the music was silenced.

Boarding the Transport Bus

The boys stopped dancing as the car drove away, and soon afterwards a medium sized yellow and black bus turned the corner and pulled into the spot by our loading dock.  It looked like a school bus.  Two casually dressed gentleman got out and came up on the dock to where we were.  The young man, probably younger than Christopher and me, had a name and ID tag of Kevin Cornell, and was wearing Levi’s and a  flannel shirt.  He was clean and handsome looking, but conveyed the sense of being a two dimensional person.  Like a catalogue model.  The other man appeared to be late middle aged, fit, smart in demeanor, and attractive. He also wore Levi’s, but his shirt and boots appeared to be finer than Kevin’s.  His hair was short, emphasizing both a sense of youth and military correctness.  He bore no ID or name tag.  He carried two large folders.  He snapped his fingers at Ilsley, and Ilsley immediately commanded the slaves to stop their duck walk, stand up and approach the loading platform.

As the slaves approached, the older gentleman asked the tall, thin, but handsome faced, slave of about 30 years how things went.

“Oh just great!  All I needed was a change of my ear ring, and a nipple ring removed, and for that I had to hang on the goddamn hook for almost three hours!”

“You know how Retcher is.  He likes to do everything through SBGF”, the older gentleman replied.

“Well he can suck out my asshole!”

“I thought he already had”, chirped the youngest and hairiest of the slaves.  This was greeted with smiles from all, including both Kevin and the older gentleman.  All except for Licker.

Ilsley then came forward and called out, “OK, for transport to the Baldwin/Fletcher estate we have five slaves, each with a separate job classification.  When I call your name, step forward. Rooster, classified as a General Purpose Utility Slave; Buckles, classified as an Infibulated Proctor Slave; Possum, classified as a Cinched Garden Rooter Slave; Tits, classified as a Cannery Slave; and Licker, classified as a Ringed Naked Field Slave.” After the slaves stepped forward, Ilsley ordered them in a rough voice to move toward the bus.  Tits and Licker fell slightly behind and Ilsley shouted out at them in a most demeaning fashion.

Ilsley looked at Kevin and said, “Boy, I’ve never seen a group of slaves so in need of a billy-scrubbing.”  Dexter, intrigued, asked what a `billy-scrubbing’ was.  Kevin explained, “Out at Baldwin/Fletcher we scrub our slaves the same way we do the billy goats.  We have em get down on all fours in the barn, and we hose the whole lot of em down at once.”

“Wow, can I watch my brother get billy-scrubbed?”

The older gentleman came over and introduced himself to Dexter and me. “Hello, I’m Joshua Holder, head of the slave compound at Baldwin/Fletcher.  Our acquisition officer, Trevor Humphries, told me you three boys would be coming.  Since he’s your brother, Dexter, then you and your friend may join Todd in observing some aspects and areas of life out at Baldwin/Fletcher not normally available to visitors.”

“Cool!” Replied Dexter.

The slaves by this time were gathered outside the door of the bus, and Kevin told them to get in and take seats near the back. Joshua, Christopher, and I, however, got on the bus together, and Joshua indicated that Christopher and I should take a seat together in the middle of the bus, with Christopher at the window and Joshua sitting in the seat across the aisle from me.  I was frightened getting on that bus, though I hid it from everyone, and I was even more afraid of having to sit next to a living slab of processed meat.  In some ways it was hard for me even to look at Christopher.

Kevin took a seat a few seats in back of us, but in front of the other slaves.  He then took out a book and started to read.  He read for most of the trip out to Baldwin/Fletcher.  Dexter and Beamer took seats about three seats ahead of Christopher and me.

Off and On the Way to Baldwin/Fletcher

Joshua signaled to the bus driver, and we pulled away from the slave processing center almost as soon as we were seated. I was feeling kind of awkward sitting alone next to Christopher after the strapping I had given him, and he just stared out the window in silence.  After only a couple of minutes into our journey Joshua’s cell phone rang and he answered it.  “Hello Arnold.  Yes, we just boarded the bus and are starting our way back.”  After a pause, he continued.  “He seems to be holding up… I see… You want him ready when we arrive? …. Ok, that will be no problem.  We’ll see you in a bit.”

When Joshua got off the phone, he explained, “Licker, the boys are concerned about you, and feel that if you are able to spend some time out in the fields today observing the teams at work it will have a calming effect on you after your hectic day today.  So Arnold just told me that he wants you field presentable when we get there. That means we’ll have to get all of your clothes off, get you slave- naked, so we can get you oiled, harnessed, and field ready.”

He then picked up a large duffle bag from the front of the bus and placed it on the two seats in front of him.  “Here Licker, I have some things for you.”  He unzipped the duffle and took out a blue satchel.  “Here is your lifeline packet.  It contains all the info you need to get by in your new life.  I know it sort of looks like a school boy satchel.  But in one important way you are just like a school boy; from now on you have to obey and do just what you’re told.  Just like a schoolboy.  We can keep the satchel in your duffle bag for now.  The duffle bag is for your supplies. When you are naked you are to keep your uniform in the duffle.  The duffle bag also contains some supplies you will regularly need.  You will find in it a toilet kit that includes slave oil, a mixture of mineral oil and sunblock, which all naked field workers must apply to their entire body, including the face and head.   The boys insist that all naked field slaves be heavily oiled and glistening.  There are also several vials of various slave colognes which are to be applied on the orders of your overseers, as well as various body coloring and painting supplies.  You will also find in your duffle bag a kit containing many and varied harness adornments for attachment to your body harness.  You are free to decorate your harness however you like on most days.

“Well, you can take your cone cap, uniform and sandals off now and put them in the duffle.”  Christopher removed the cone hat and let it drop on the floor, but otherwise he didn’t move. He stayed hunched in his seat looking out the window.  “Come on Licker.” Christopher then said quietly, almost to himself, “No”.  Joshua didn’t get processor apprentice-like demanding, but went over to Christopher and gently stood him up and brought him out into the aisle.  “Let’s get your clothes off right now.  It isn’t as bad here as in the processing center.  Here you are with other Baldwin/Fletcher slaves, your owners’ chief overseers, and family and friends.”  As he talked Joshua reached over and started to unbutton Christopher’s shirt.

When it was unbuttoned, Christopher then resignedly removed it, folded it, and placed it in the duffle bag.  As he did so the watching Dexter felt a need to remonstrate, “Christopher, you should be ashamed of yourself not doing what Joshua asks.  He seems like a real nice guy.”

Christopher had had enough of Dexter, and he shouted out, “Shut the fuck up, you loser creep!  Why don’t you get the hell off this bus, because I don’t want to be anywhere near you!”

Joshua put his arm on Christopher’s shoulder.  The slaves started shaking their heads, in commiseration with Christopher’s predicament.  Joshua spoke calmly. “Licker, you never talk back to or answer a free man with disrespect.  I am sorry, Licker, but such behavior calls for mandatory punishment in the state of California.” Joshua then went to the front of the bus behind the driver and opened up a cupboard hanging on the wall that separated the driver from the passengers.  He took from it what looked like two red colored cylinders about the size of large soup cans, connected by leather straps.  He came back to Christopher and pushed him gently down by the shoulders into the seat ahead of me.  A frown of apprehension covered Christopher’s face as Joshua sat in the seat next to him and took one of the cylinders and put it over Christopher’s left tit.  On the back end of the cylinder was a plunger knob, which Joshua pulled out and locked into place.  The cylinder had sucked in Christopher’s tit and the surrounding folds of tissue and forced them against sharp ridged raised plastic spikes inside the cylinder.  The cylinder stayed in place from vacuum pressure.  Christopher yelled out in pain. Joshua quickly applied the right tit cylinder and pulled its plunger and locked it.  Two broad straps crisscrossing connected the two cylinders.  Christopher cried and squirmed, as Joshua gathered and held both of Christopher’s arms behind his back.

As Christopher moaned and cried and pleaded, “They hurt, please take them off!” Joshua looked intently into Christopher’s suffering face.  “I want you to spend a little time in the ‘punishment bra’ to consider what it means to be a good boy.” Christopher struggled and yelped out loud, “Please take em off!”

Holding him firmly in place, Joshua asked, “Licker, I want you to tell me what being a good boy means.”

Christopher, crying, answered, “It means doing what I’m told.”

“Are you going to start doing what you are told when I remove your bra?” asked Joshua.

“YESSS!” Screamed Christopher.

“Will you apologize to Dexter when I remove your bra?”

“I promise.  I promise, sir”, said Christopher as he wiggled to get free of Joshua’s hold.

“OK then.  I just want you to sit here and feel the punishment bra a little bit longer.”  As Joshua said that his eyes went intently to the face of the suffering Christopher.  His lips parted slightly, his gaze intensified, as he observed the facial contortions.

Joshua waited, one second, two seconds, perhaps no more than twenty seconds in all, but it seemed like forever.  Finally he reached up and pushed a button on each cylinder, which released the plungers.  The punishment bra fell off into Joshua’s hand.  “Now apologize to Dexter.”

“I am very sorry, Dexter, really man”, said sniffling Christopher as he looked at his sore breasts, rubbing them with both hands.

“That’s OK bro.  That’s why I think this could be a good thing for you.  If you can get with the program, I think it will put some structure in your life, dude,” advised Dexter.  As Dexter said that he looked at Beamer and both of them smiled hugely.

Joshua then put his arm around Licker and said, “I’m really sorry I had to do that, I want you to know that.  But you have to behave from now on.  Will you promise me that?”  Christopher could not answer, but rather just nodded his head up and down, and then he started to cry, sitting on the bus seat, bald and snotty nosed.  His crying grew in intensity and soon he was bawling like a baby. Finally he turned toward Joshua and threw his arms around his neck.

After a while, Joshua spoke quietly. “It is really very easy to avoid punishment.  Just do what you’re told to do, as soon as you are told.  My job is to teach you how to do that.  I want you to know I care about you, and all of the slaves very much.  You can ask them.  It pains me, as well as the Baldwin boys, to see any of the slaves punished.”

Getting Slave-Naked and Field Ready

“Now let’s get you ready for field display.  We need you to get slave-naked, so let’s get the rest of your clothes and your sandals off and put them into your duffle bag.”  Christopher’s instinctive modesty made him turn his back to us as he stood and removed his clothing.  When he was bare, Joshua handed him a bottle of slave body oil and told him to start applying it, first to his arms and shoulders.  As Christopher, standing in front of us, awkwardly and self consciously started to apply the slave oil to his naked body, all eyes were on the sniffling, awkward, self conscious new slave, who was finally starting to do what he was told.

Dexter was impressed.  “Wow, Joshua, could I get some of that sunblock body oil?  My dad and I are going to Maui next week.  I’ll be hanging out on the beach for two weeks, and I’m gonna need some sunblock.”  Suddenly remembering something, Dexter turned to Beamer excitedly. “Wow dude.  I just remembered.  Christopher was supposed to be going with us to Hawaii, but because he now has other commitments, dad told me I could bring anyone along I wanted to, to take his place.  You wanna go to Hawaii, dude?”

“Fuck man, would I ever!”

“Then you’re on dude!  It’s gonna be two weeks of hangin at the beach!  I bet gettin our bodies all shiny like that sure will attract the chicks!”

“Neat! Let’s get us some of that slave oil!”

Joshua then instructed Christopher to apply the oil a little more thickly than he had been, and explained that at the farms the slaves help each other out in applying the oil.  “Todd”, he asked, “would you like to help oil up your friend’s backside?”

I was happy to have the opportunity to actually help out, so I stood in back of Christopher and applied the oil to his backside and buttocks.  As I rubbed the oil into my enslaved friend’s backside, he felt like a docile animal.  He felt like a slave.  When I had coated his backside I stood over him as he stooped down to oil his feet, legs, and thighs.  His buttocks were sticking out and the thought came to me that he was a slave now and those buttocks were for spanking, and I had an almost irresistible urge to smack him.

When Christopher had finished his legs he stood up straight and Joshua explained, “Arnold and Retcher really like to see super polished slave domes, so Todd, if you would care to help some more, please oil up Licker’s head.  Do everything; the dome, the face, the ears, the nose, and the chin.   The boys like to see very shiny slave heads.”  So I took the bottle of slave oil and squeezed a bunch onto the top of Christopher’s head, while he stood still with his arms extended slightly from his sides, and I rubbed it in all over with both hands.  Christopher’s head felt good as I rubbed the oil in.  I know he enjoyed the sensation too.  I very gently rubbed it all over his face.  He closed his eyes, and he felt warm.  I got his ears, nose, eyes, lips, cheeks, and chin.  Christopher stood still, accepting his oiling.  I had never helped get a slave ready for field labor before, but it was feeling good to me.

When I had finished I backed away slightly so I could look Christopher over.  It was obvious that he was oiled everywhere except for his genitals.  A single word from Joshua that they had to be oiled also got the shy Christopher polishing up every part of his newly shaved slave sex unit, in front of us all.  I could see that my friend was learning how to obey.

As Joshua went to the front of the bus to get a harness, Dexter whispered, “Hey Chris, who’s the loser creep now?  Huh, bro?” Christopher said nothing. I gave a disgusted frown to Dexter, and Christopher, seeing that, smiled slightly at me.

Joshua came back with some harness gear.  He took the biggest piece and slipped it over Christopher’s head.  It consisted of a two inch wide leather tear drop shaped strap hung about the neck.  From the base of the tear drop strap, about midway between Christopher’s tits, a single strap ran down to his belly button, and from there two straps ran off and connected in the back, encircling his waist.  At both sides of the back of the waist a strap ran down and encircled Christopher’s thighs, and these straps came up around the front of each leg and fastened to each side of the waist belt.  All along the length of the harness were little fastening points for the decorations in Christopher’s duffle bag.  Joshua then gave Christopher eight garters, and these he was instructed to put on above and below both elbows and knees.

When he got the garters on, Joshua took out a strange looking head piece and placed it on Christopher.  It was awesome, but also kind of funny.  It was a half-inch blue band that went about his head.  Affixed to the back of the band were three large brightly colored foot high plumes that went up and flared out.  They were parrot colored and made me think of a cockatiel.  I looked over at Dexter and Beamer and saw them almost doubling over with laughter. Joshua looked at them and asked, “Could you two please try to keep it down?”, as he reached down to Christopher’s penis and removed the cock bell.  He took the miniature bell and attached it instead to Christopher’s left nipple ring.  He took out another, similar sized bell and attached it to his right nipple ring.  He then took out Christopher’s `adornment’ kit from his duffle bag and opened it. There on top of all the other various decorative pieces was a large bell.  This he took out and attached to Christopher’s penis ring.  It hung from a little chain about two inches in length.  The bell itself was an almost three-inch cylindrical metal object, so it hung rather low between his legs.  It must have been quite heavy, for it tugged down Christopher’s penis.  And it could be heard.  It didn’t tinkle, it clanged!

Dexter and Beamer could not control themselves, so they went up to the front of the bus and sat down, giggling and snickering.

Joshua then asked Christopher to see how creative he could be.  He told him to select ornaments from his kit and to decorate himself and his harness.  Christopher, who was almost rigid from embarrassment and shame, just looked down at the large adornment kit. Understanding his predicament, Joshua knelt down and took several ornaments and attached them at various points along the harness.  He hung some slender silver wind chimes from both of Christopher’s ear rings, and put various metal stars and designs on the harness.   When he had finished he closed and packed everything away into the duffle bag, got up, stood back, looked at Christopher, and said, “You look fantastic!  The boys will be pleased.  Very pleased!  What do you think, Todd?”

“I think he looks great, Joshua.”  I was not kidding.  It was overwhelming.  A heavily oiled, harnessed, collared, gartered, plumed, ringed, belled, and tinseled slave ready for labor in the fields!  He was more like an animal.  Shiny and naked.  A naked animal in front of us clothed humans.  Standing dumbly in the bus like a beast of burden, waiting to be told what to do next.

And Joshua told him.  “OK, Licker.  You do look fantastic. Now let’s train you so you walk as fantastic as you look.  I want you to refine your service gait.  Usually the apprentices at SBGF try to get in a little gait training with new slaves, but they are so disorganized there.”  From the back of the bus Buckles shouted, “You’re telling us!”  Joshua laughed, and then continued his instructions.  “All right, Licker, put your arms akimbo, and bring your elbows slightly forward.  Good.  You keep your arms in that position at all times.  Now slide one foot forward, and stop it. When your foot is stopped, you slide your next foot forward.  You move only one foot at a time!  Best to slide your feet, but never bring your foot higher than an inch off the ground.  Now I want you to practice the service gait here in the bus.  Go up and down the aisle and let’s see if you can develop some speed.”

Christopher faced forward.  His head was down, looking at his feet, and he began to walk the service gait.  The halting movement of the steps caused his penis to wiggle, his bell to clang, his smaller bells and chimes to tinkle, and his head plumes to sway.  As he shuffled forward towards Dexter and Beamer they were looking back at him with broad grins.  Dexter got out of his seat, took out a small camera, and knelt down in the aisle on one knee.  He looked through the finder and started clicking away as Christopher approached him doing the slave service gait.

Joshua called out, “OK, Licker.  Your head has to be raised proudly, looking forward.”   Christopher raised his head and kept walking.  Dexter rose to get back into his seat just before Christopher reached the front of the bus.  As he sat down, Dexter said to his brother, “Cool, you look dog perfect, bro!”  Christopher ignored the remark, and when he reached the front of the bus he turned around and started his gait back down the aisle, still holding his head high.  Joshua said to me, “It’s really great to see him obeying, isn’t it?  And look.  He actually looks proud as he does the service gait.”  I had to agree.  “Yes, I’m very happy to see that”, I said.

 It was fascinating to me, almost beyond belief, to see my friend thus transformed.  Only yesterday I was mildly envious of Christopher, of his superior good looks, his body being trimmer than mine, his easy going personality that won him many friends.  And I had never gotten a really good look at his cock.  We were able to compare each other’s equipment only in brief glances at the gym shower.  We both were modest.  Now he could not be modest.  All of his privacy and modesty through the years had been undone.  Nothing left to hide, nothing left to protect.  Now everything about him was on display.  Not only on display but oiled and decorated.  And of what use would his great charm be to him now?  Does a parade animal need a winning personality?

There was my friend marching naked up and down the aisle of the bus, obeying orders.  Turned into a docile animal dumbly doing what he was told.  On display for all the gawkers.  And he had accepted it now.  There he was obeying.  Marching up and down with his arms akimbo, sliding his feet instead of walking.  Doing what he was told.  He obviously was an animal.  Why else would he be doing what he was doing, oiled up and decorated like a fool?

Joshua broke my thoughts, “Good Licker, just smooth that gait out and you’ll make a very nice presentation for the boys.  Very nice indeed.  Now keep your elbows pointing slightly more forward, stick your chest out a little more, and raise your head just a little higher!  Good boy, that’s the way!  Todd and I are both glad to see you readily obeying.  We’re proud of you, and we want you to know that.”  Christopher kept doing the gait, not looking at Joshua as he spoke.

Joshua then called out to Kevin Cornell, who was seated in back of us, and asked him what he thought.  Kevin put down his book and stood up from his seat, stretching out a bit as he did so, and leaned into the seat ahead of him.  “He looks real good.  And I’m glad to see he learns quickly.  If there was any more trouble from him on the bus I was going to recommend fitting him with a choke halter and screws, and then having him spend the night in alligator braces.”

“Good suggestion, Kevin.  But look at him going to town!  He is already doing the service gait like he aims to please!”  A pained look of shame accompanied by tears ran down Christopher’s face as he listened to their exchange.  Whether or not Christopher knew what choke halters, screws, and alligator braces were, he at least knew there were enough bad things with bad names that were done to slaves and that it would be best to avoid them.  As he continued to do his slave walk up and down the aisle of the bus, he did so with renewed vigor, despite the tears.

Kevin kept his eye on the marching Christopher for some time, and then called out, “Step bright and lively, boy.  Let’s see a smile now.  Atta boy!”  After a bit. “In an ideal service gait the feet are kept apart 13 inches.  Let’s see you try that.  Get em apart a little wider.  OK.  A little wider still.  Atta boy!  Now you’re learning!  OK, chest out a little more, belly in, and groin thrust out a bit.  And keep standing tall.  But don’t upset the smoothness of your gait.  Keep the legs pistoning at a constant even pace. That’s better.  Keep it bright.  Keep it lively.  Come on, give me a bigger smile.  Atta boy!”

The very thought of someone like Kevin, younger and doubtless half as smart or gifted as Christopher, having such control over my friend bothered me at the same time as it firmed my dick.

Kevin offered an appraisal. “He’s going to be a real ‘quick stepper’, and that kind of product is always a producer for its owners.”  Dexter and Beamer had turned around and had been watching the proceedings from the front of the bus. Dexter asked Kevin what a `quick stepper’ was.

Kevin answered, as Christopher walked back and forth past them.  “Well, imagine if your dad instructed you to pick up that scrap of paper from the aisle.  You might or might not pick it up, depending on your mood.  But before this evening is over, if I were to ask Licker to pick that paper up, he would not only pick it up but he would scramble as fast as he could to pick it up.  That’s the difference between you and a slave.  We’re going to be turning Licker into what we call a ‘quick stepping’ slave, one that’s eager to please.  He’s going to be like a little puppy dog, looking up at his master or overseer to make sure they’re happy.”

“Cool” came from both Dexter and Beamer.

Hearing a kid younger than I am talk about Christopher as though he was merchandise to be used was terribly embarrassing to me, and humiliating to Christopher.  It was even more so when Kevin gave his next command. “Licker, you see that scrap of paper in the aisle at the front of the bus?”  Christopher replied, “Yes sir.”  “Well, pick it up and bring it back here and hand it to Todd.”

Christopher made his way to the front of the bus, picked up the scrap of paper, service gaited back to my seat, and handed it to me.  I took it, and Kevin continued his assessment.  “Not bad.  But not quite right either, not for a lifer hard labor product. Licker, we’re going to have you try that again.”  With that Kevin took the paper from my hand, crumpled it up, and threw it to the front of the bus, like a man tossing something for a dog to fetch.

“All right, dude!” Celebrated Dexter. “Licker; Joshua, Todd, and I want you to go pick that piece of paper up again, only this time when I give the command you are to service gait as quickly as possible, keeping your elbows forward, your chest proudly out, and your head held high. And we want to see you do that as though your only goal in the world were to pick up that piece of paper with as much speed and energy as possible, because you wanted to please us.  You do want to please us.  You want to make us happy.  And we will be happy if we can see that you are happy yourself and truly eager to please us.  When I give the command, we all want to see you scrambling to pick up the paper and return it to us.  We want to see a bright, eager to please, quick stepping, and smiling slave.”

“But before you go pick that piece of paper up, let me show you something.”  Kevin took an object from his kit on the floor.  The object looked like a little hand-held enema, only it had a very long, thin nozzle on it, and one inch down from the tip was a concave flange about an inch and a quarter in diameter.  “See this device? We call it the ‘energizer’.  This low-tech little tool gets high-tech performance out of any slave I have to use it on.  It’s sort of an enema for the penis.  It flushes laziness out of a slave’s piss slit.  Licker, if you bring that paper scrap back here, and Joshua or Todd or I think that you didn’t do it with enough enthusiasm and a nice enough smile, then I am going to have to place the flange of this device over your penis knob, and it will guide the nozzle nicely into your piss slit.  I will then squeeze the bulb, and voila!  Your slit will be rinsed out with pure alcohol.  And let me tell you, once I squeeze that plunger you will have no choice but to move.  You will be tearing up and down these aisles like Superman.  You will have no choice but to move with the greatest of speed.  And without a rinsing, you will be in pure agony for at least half an hour.”

“Licker, you have a choice.  Either pick up that piece of paper like a proud slave, or else I’m going to have to ‘energize’ you.  OK boy, go pick that scrap of paper up and get it back to Todd as fast as you can.  Go to it, boy!”

With that Christopher tore into his task.  The sawing motion of his legs as he tried to speed up the service gait was comical, especially as it really got his cock swinging, his bell clanging, and his plumes swaying.  He snatched the paper up in an instant, and as he turned around to return it to us I noticed that indeed his head was held high, he had a smile on his face that was only slightly defiant, and his chest was proudly out.  He stopped in front of us and handed me the paper.

Joshua and Kevin both complimented Licker with genuine pleasure. “Good boy!” “Nice work, Licker!”  And Christopher actually seemed pleased.  I felt that I should help support him, so I said, “That was great! Really good work.”  And Dexter joined in too. “The family slave is doing dad and me proud!”, though his remarks were ignored by all of us, except Christopher, who bowed his head as he heard Dexter’s voice.

As young Kevin rubbed his chin, acting like some well seasoned veteran of slave dealing, he looked Christopher up and down appraisingly.  “Yes, I like it.  I really like it.  I suspect once we actually get him out and field-test him, he’ll need some tweaking. He’ll probably need some endurance motivating, perhaps a few sessions with the ‘ambassador’.  Maybe I’ll need to emplace a couple of spurs on his inner thighs for a few days.  Or maybe just a day or two in the ‘field corset’ is all he’ll need.  It’s hard to say.  But I definitely like this product.  It’s precisely the kind of product Baldwin expects when paying top dollar.”

“What is most amazing is that Licker has only been off the hook for a couple of hours, and we’ve only had to apply minimal corrective.”  Then turning to Christopher, Kevin continued, “So as you can see, Licker, it is quite easy to avoid punishment.  Take the slaves in back, for instance.  I don’t think any one of them has had a serious punishment in years.  Maybe one or two have had a face slapping for back talk, and Possum had to get his crotch fitted with the ‘groin tickler’ for a few hours a couple of months ago (laughter from the slaves in back) for wetting his pants, but nothing serious.”

“I have, of course, many options out at Baldwin/Fletcher for motivating product such as Licker.  But my preferred method is through this department.”  As Kevin said that, he grabbed Christopher’s sex unit with his left hand, deftly separating the cock from the balls, all the while hefting Christopher’s equipment like he was some dumb farm animal as he continued with his explanation. Christopher could only stand there and let young Kevin treat him and talk about him like he was a prize steer on display at the county fair.  “Dealing with a slave through this department I find the most direct way to ‘talk’ to him.  It’s a language they all understand. And because I keep most of the young field bucks like Licker slave- naked, this department is always easily available.”

“Most drudges at Baldwin/Fletcher, in fact, think of this part of their bodies as their master’s service and control center. In fact, you will notice out at the farms that when an overseer is around a slave, the bucks that have the least to fear, who know they have been on good behavior, will proudly thrust their hips even more forward in salute than required as an overseer passes.  It’s sort of the slave saying, ‘I know I am pleasing you, master, and have nothing to fear’.”

“The other good thing about my preferred methods of chastisement is that because of our enforced chastity policy out at Baldwin/Fletcher; because a chaste slave is a purposeful slave and any slave in need of corrective measures is easily erectable.  An erect penis is a lot easier to work with, providing a greater workable surface.  Getting any of the various punishment devices delivered or emplaced is relatively simple.  So a young oiled buck like Licker, when slave-naked and field-ready, can be easily and fully controlled by me.”

“I mainly stay with my preferred methods because I deal with so much product out at Baldwin/Fletcher that I just don’t have the time to use a lot of the other, more traditional methods.  But simple devices such as the ‘energizer’ and the ‘excruciator’ really save me a lot of time and make my work out at the farm a lot easier.  And I think the slaves really appreciate my no nonsense approach.”

He then let go of Christopher’s unit, but he continued to fill us in on policy matters. “For less serious offenses there are other methods, of course, although I hate having to chain a slave to the ‘hamster wheel’ in the evening during what should be his time of rest and relaxation.  But an orderly estate demands such things as slaves keeping their sleeping areas spotless, keeping their slave diaries and punishment books up to date, maintaining cheerful dispositions, thrusting their pelvises out in a proper salute every time an overseer gets within eight feet of them, keeping their bodies well polished and oiled,  keeping their nipples properly rouged for all display events, and making sure that solid erections are maintained during the ‘Changing of the Slave Team Ceremony’ out in the fields, especially since it’s a major tourist attraction and such an important part of the Baldwin/Fletcher image.”

Then, addressing everyone, Kevin continued, “It’s Joshua’s and my job to help make sure that Licker doesn’t earn the nickname ‘Spank Boy’ around the compound.  It’s our job to ensure, really, that he avoids punishment through good behavior.  As you can already see, he’s well on his way toward being a ‘quick stepper’. Well, I hope I answered any questions you may have been thinking of, boys.”

“Yes sir.  Thank you, sir,” Dexter and Beamer replied.

Kevin commanded Licker to get back to practicing his service gait, took out his book, and sat back down to read, but Dexter and Beamer immediately came to ask for a closer look at the `energizer’. Kevin showed it to them, and they examined it wide-eyed.  He told them that the same thing was called an ‘excruciator’ when it was filled with bleach, and was used on slaves who couldn’t take whippings.  Both boys winced and grabbed their crotches; then they went to their seats at the front of the bus and were a little quieter from that point on, at least until a few moments later, when Joshua called out, “Tits, I have to take a piss.”

Tits, a slave dressed in brown shorts and sandals only, and displaying a fine developed chest with dark large nipples, came up to Joshua’s seat and knelt down, gathered his hands behind his back, tilted his head way back, looking almost straight up, and opened his mouth very wide.  Joshua got up and unzipped his slacks.  He stood in front of Tits, took his cock out, and dropped it into Tits’ open mouth.  Tits’ lips sealed around Joshua’s dick, and after a moment Joshua let it rip. Tits was skilled; I could hear a steady swallowing as Joshua peed.

I was stunned and so was Christopher, who stopped his service gait to watch. Dexter and Beamer stood up at their seats in front and turned around to watch, open mouthed.  We all stared at Joshua as he peed into the slave’s mouth in front of us.  Joshua noticed our curiosity, but it didn’t seem to embarrass him. He simply explained in a casual voice as he continued to pee into Tits’ mouth, “When slaves are away from Baldwin/Fletcher, whether on errands or in transport, they serve as urinals for each other and their overseers.  Fresh piss is not only sterile, it is healthy.  We call it ‘slave mouthwash’.”

Joshua had finished peeing, and Tits did a noisy sucking of Joshua’s prick to get the last piss out of the slit.  Joshua then nodded ‘OK’, Tits opened his mouth, and Joshua took his cock and stuffed it back into his pants.  He sat back down, and Tits went happily back to his fellow slaves.

Kevin saw that Christopher was transfixed by this spectacle, so he called out, “Licker, I need to take a piss too.  Come back here and kneel down.  I’ll show you how we do this.”  Dexter and Beamer couldn’t believe how good the show was getting; their eyes widened even more.

Christopher looked like he would cry at any second as he made his way to Kevin and knelt in the aisle beside him.  Kevin got up and instructed him. “OK, hands in back.  Now look straight up at me. Atta boy!  Open your mouth, nice and wide. Wider. Come on, wider than that!”  Christopher looked absolutely terrified as Kevin unzipped his slacks and reached his hands inside.  He pulled out a large, sweaty looking, uncut cock.  It wasn’t completely flaccid, but neither was it even half erect.  He lowered the tip into Christopher’s mouth and told him to gently seal it with his lips. Christopher did so, starting to cry a little.  Kevin joked, “Hey, there’s nothing to cry about when you’re taking this thing in your mouth.  Just ask Rooster.”  Laughter erupted from the slaves in back, which did nothing to ease the devastated Christopher.

“OK, I’m just going to let out a few spurts so you can get the feel of it.  We don’t want to soil the bus here, so take it all and make sure you keep it in your mouth and swallow.”  Christopher backed his head away, and Kevin’s cock came out of his mouth.  Kevin picked up a tawse from his seat, gently put it to Christopher’s back, and with it guided him back to an upright kneeling position.  Keeping the tawse on Christopher’s back, he instructed, “Let’s try it again. Look up at me now.  Good boy.  Now I want you to look right at the eye of my cock.  Come on, look right into my piss slit.  See, it’s not going to bite you.  Now smile at it.  I want to see a big smile. I want to see a happy urinal boy sucking my juice.  I want you looking real pretty and inviting.  Give me a big smile now.  There you go!  That wasn’t so hard, was it?  Now smile as you look at my dick staring at you.”  Kevin had his hands on his pecker and was making swirling motions with it above Christopher’s face. Christopher’s eyes dutifully followed the piss slit.

Kevin continued the lesson. “One of the mantras in your slave mantra book is, ‘It is a joy to drink the urine of my betters’.  And that’s what I am, your better.  Now open your pretty mouth nice and wide.” Christopher opened, and Kevin stuck his dick back into it.  “Now seal it.  Good boy.  Feels good, too.  Now I’m just going to let out a few spurts.  Ok, take it!”  I could see that Kevin was discharging piss in spurts, as he watched Christopher gag slightly. But Christopher managed to swallow the first dose.  “Good boy.  I’m going to send you a little more now, so let’s see how you do.”  Kevin peed what looked like a good load, and Christopher was wolfing it down, doing fast gulping swallows, as his eyes stayed wide open, looking into the face of his pisser.  Kevin let him swallow completely what he had before sending more down his throat.  Kevin seemed to be a benign pisser.  As Christopher swallowed the last of his piss it seemed that he and Kevin had made very intense eye contact, which was not broken when Dexter shouted, “Yeah, take it all, bro!”

“OK, Licker, now I want you to suck it dry.”  Christopher made a few quiet sucks on Kevin’s dick, but it obviously wasn’t the correct method. “Licker, when you suck I want to hear a real heavy sucking slurping sound.  Now try it.  Good start. Make it noisy, now, so everyone can hear you sucking.” Christopher made obscene sucking slurping sounds as Kevin’s tawse rested on his back.  “Good.  Now make it even louder, so Dexter and Beamer can you hear you sucking out my juice, way at the front of the bus.” Christopher’s sucking grew even louder and slurpier. Dexter shouted out, “We can hear it, dude!”

Kevin complimented Christopher on his suck action. “Good work!  Real good work, boy! And feels real good, too. Arnold and Retcher are going to like that!” Then he pulled out his dick, which had hardened to half mast, gave Christopher a tissue, and ordered him to wipe it dry. Christopher did so, and when he was finished Kevin stuffed his rod back into his pants. Kevin seemed completely unconcerned that using the urinal had made him hard.  He sat back down and said to Licker, “That little snack you just had should put a little finesse into your service gait, so get back to it boy, and let’s see if we can notice an improvement.”  Kevin sat back down with his book, and as Christopher got up, our eyes made contact.  We both knew then that he was truly a slave, and would be doing such slave things for the rest of his life.  When our eye contact broke, Christopher resumed his service gait up and down the aisle of the bus.

A New Slave and A New Slaver

For the most part, the other slaves seated in the back of the bus weren’t paying very much attention to the proceedings, but were absorbed with their own reading or quiet chatting.

As Christopher continued to practice his service gait, one step at a time, the sound of his bell ringing and his trinkets tinkling was interspersed only with his sniffles.

The bus rolled on through the countryside, and after about 10 minutes Joshua called out, “Licker, you have the service gait down very nicely.  I’m proud of you.  I know the boys will enjoy it.  So why don’t you come and sit next to your friend for the rest of the trip.”

So Licker came and sat next to me, and at first he didn’t seem to be any happier doing that than practicing his service gait. I didn’t want to get slave oil on my clothes, but I also didn’t want to pull away like I was afraid him, so I sat still.  It was awkward. I didn’t know what to say, and he apparently didn’t either, or else he had nothing he wanted to say to me.  So we sat in silence for a long while.  I could look sideways and see his lap, and his shaved and oiled pubes, and his belled dick that lay on the seat between his legs.  I could see his slave piss slit, which if the stories were true, would be used only for emitting piss from now on.  Just a few weeks ago we had shared jack off stories, and Christopher had emailed me his top ten jerk off sites on the internet.  There would be no internet sex sites for Christopher out at Baldwin/Fletcher.

It was hard to believe that this parade-ready beast of burden sitting next to me just last week was asking how to fend off the advances of some girl he had met at a bar and had had an affair with behind the back of his girlfriend, Katherine. When I heard him sniffle again, I realized that whatever strange things were happening to me regarding this slave thing, he was my beloved friend, and finally I spoke.  “Christopher…” Joshua heard that from across the aisle, and spoke to me. “Pardon me, Todd, but his name is Licker.”

“Licker”, I said, “I have not been helpful.  I was awful. I am, maybe, a coward.”

“No, you aren’t, Todd”, he said through the tears.

That brought peace to my heart.  It brought quiet to my churning insides to hear Licker say that he did not think I was a monster.  Then I started, “Licker, I am so sorry for what has…” but in mid sentence I broke down.  In a rush I embraced my friend, and started to cry as I had never cried before in my life.  I didn’t care that I got oil on my clothes, that I was crying like a baby, or that I was feeling so warm towards my friend that I almost wanted to fondle his slave dick.

We remained embraced for a long time, and for most of that time we both were crying.  After a while, still embracing, I told him of my concern, speaking quietly in his ear.  “Licker, I don’t want to see them hurting you anymore.  It hurts me very much to see them do that shit to you.  Dude, will you promise me you’re going to do what they say, and behave?  Please!  I care about you, man.” Licker could only sniffle like a schoolboy and nod his head up and down.  “Just start behaving and do whatever they tell you, whatever they want. When I come back to visit you I want to see you as content and carefree as those slaves in the back of the bus.  OK?  Will you promise me you’re going to be good and do what you’re told?”  Licker shook his head up and down some more, still sniffling.  “Just do whatever they say.  Just follow Joshua and Kevin’s orders.  They seem like two real nice guys.  They know what’s best for you.  Do whatever they tell you.  If they want your bed area clean, make sure it is. That doesn’t sound too difficult.  Keep a cheerful disposition for your masters, and learn that pelvis salute.  Keep your nipples rouged or whatever just the way they want you to.  You’ve got to start obeying your masters for your own good, Licker.  Will you do that for me?”  Licker nodded and sniffled some more.

It felt good holding him.  He felt like a naughty wayward brother who was now promising to obey.  But as I remained locked in an embrace with the naked Licker, his plumes bobbing above us, his ear ring chimes against my cheek, the odor of antiseptic still on him from the processing center, his tit bells occasionally jingling, his dick subtly changing size, shape and position, a feeling I had felt on and off throughout this strange day was coming back to me, only this time stronger than ever before.  Fearfully strong.  It was a feeling that I wanted to slap him, to reinforce what I had just whispered in his ear, to make sure that he had truly learned to obey.

He was, after all, a slave and needed punishment, and I wanted to do it.  I wanted to slap the face of my friend, whom I truly loved and cared for, slap it hard and make him cry.  I wanted to order him around.  I wanted to humiliate him.  I looked down his back from our embrace and saw the curve of his ass.  I wanted to spank his slave ass.  I wanted to push him around.  I wanted to make him do my work while I sat back and drank iced tea.  I wanted to put him to some demeaning task.  I wanted to punish him for his own good.  My dick was hard as a rock as I comforted Licker with my embrace.  My naked, ringed and harnessed, parade ready, slave oiled, drudge friend had just promised me he was going to obey, but you can’t believe a slave.  They need bossing around full time, and I wanted to do it!

My thoughts continued, so new to me, and yet so wild.  I wanted him to know that I could go out at will and pick up chicks, bring them home, and fuck them, and he could not.  And he never would be able to do that ever again.  I wanted to rub it in, that I was free, and he was not.  For the rest of his life, he had to do whatever he was told to do.  And while he was slaving away Saturday mornings in the field, I would be checking out his favorite internet porn sites.  For him there would be no juicing off.  No more rocking himself off.  Slave boys at Baldwin/Fletcher don’t get to do that kind of shit.  My dick will be giving me lots of pleasure; your dick is now nothing but an attachment for your bell to alert your overseers if you are working hard enough.

My friend, whom I loved, was a shaved and oiled, cockatiel plumed, trinket adorned, harnessed, sniffling slave.  He would find his pleasure from now on not in academics and the flesh, but in proudly displaying a glistening body, a thrust-out chest, and a head held high, for the pleasure of his owners.

And if Kevin was correct, he was going to be a real `quick stepper’ in no time.  Yes, Licker, make sure you keep your masters happy.  Smile, let them see your cock swinging happily in the fields, and keep your baby sniffling to yourself at night in your slave quarters.  You don’t want to displease your masters, do you?

Get up early and decorate your harness real nice for your masters and all the tourists who will come by to watch you toil. Practice that service gait when you have free time.  You need to make Joshua and Kevin and the Baldwin boys happy.  And never mind that Kevin is even younger than you are, and able to boss you around with total control.  Remember, you have to do what you’re told to do from now on, like a school boy forever.  You are a slave now.

Finally, we broke from our embrace and sat back in our seats, and he took my hand just as I was reaching for his.  As we sat quietly, holding hands, watching the fields roll by, I thought of all the discussions Licker and I had had about slavery.  How we used to wonder how it ever happened that slavery returned.  As I sat there holding the hand of my beloved slave friend, whom I wanted to slap, I finally realized how it had been possible.  I realized this as my erection, safely hidden from view in my trousers and by my free arm in my lap, pulsed with a life of its own.  Pulsed like an asp wanting to jump up and bite Licker by surprise.

And if earlier throughout the day I had been both repelled and mystified by my own fascination with the world of slavery, my repulsion was overcome when I noticed Dexter and Beamer at the front of the bus yapping away like two beer guzzling red necks at a football game.  It was now clear to me why I had to pursue my budding interest in slavery.

It was justice itself calling me to pursue it, calling me to go and do volunteer spankings on young adult night at the slave processing center.  It was justice calling out that the likes of Dexter and Beamer, sadists and misfits, who were attracted to slavery for evil reasons, should be balanced out with the likes of me, sober and fair, who would pursue slavery out of love.  The unspoken voice of the slaves was calling for beneficent masters whose first regard was truly the welfare of the slaves.  I may want to whip a slave like Licker, but if I were to do so, it would be out of love.  The slaves needed me.  On that day I vowed that I would be there for them.  I would become a slaver, so that the ranks of slavers might be infiltrated with ones such as me, men who saw slaves through the eyes of holy love, and cared with rare ferocity that justice and fairness find a voice in the encampments of slaves.

I vowed, also, that day, that when I obtained my first whip I would carry it proudly, for it would be a whip that lashed out love, and any slave who felt it would know for certain that he was cared for, that he was loved, and that all was well with the world.

My first visit out to the Baldwin/Fletcher Farms since Christopher had been enslaved could only be arranged two months later, in June.   I was busy with final exams in college, and the days when I happened to be available turned out to be, according to Joshua Holder, head of the slave compound at Baldwin/Fletcher, days when Licker (the former Christopher) was not free for visits.

Finally a date was set for the second week of my summer vacation.  I drove out to Baldwin/Fletcher in my dad’s graduation present to me, a new Jeep Wrangler.  I was allowed to visit at 11 AM on a Tuesday.  For the visit they were letting Licker off from field duty an hour early, and they were going to let us have lunch together before Christopher had to return to the fields at 1 PM.  I arrived at quarter to 11 and Trevor Humphries, the Baldwin boys’ chief overseer and advisor, met me.  He was very friendly to me and inquired about my studies and my plans for the summer.  I told him that after my visit I was going to be spending the rest of the day at the beach with my buddies.

Right at 11 I saw Licker arriving, escorted by Joshua Holder.  Joshua came up and shook my hand, and he, Trevor, and I chatted briefly, while Licker stood silently at attention, in back of Joshua.

Licker was naked, and wearing a fancy harness, different from the one they had put him in on his first day as a slave.  He later told me that he had eight different harnesses.  He looked as though he had been freshly shaved that morning, and his body was shiny and glistening with oil and sweat, though his legs were grimy with dirt.  He wore sandals with straps that came up about six inches on the leg.  He had a white velvet ribbon cinching his cock and balls, which made them stick up and out, a ribbon tied in a bow that dangled beneath his balls.  From his cock hung a large silver bell that tinkled with his every move.   He wore a headdress of feathers and beads. His lips were colored red, and his cheeks and nipples were rouged.  I could tell he was very embarrassed at having me see him decked out like a parade boy in his field display get-up.  He looked almost like something from a tawdry Las Vegas male review, especially since his costume contrasted so much with my casual summer clothes of shorts, gold and black t-shirt, and sneakers.

Trevor took his leave and Joshua escorted Licker and me to a bench by a tree where we could sit and visit. Joshua then reached down to Licker’s penis and removed his bell, saying, “I’ll take this off so you two can chat in peace.”  When Joshua left, I embraced Licker, and he responded with a long hug.  We parted from our embrace and sat down.  It was then I noticed he had an erection.  He was very embarrassed and put his arms in his lap to cover it, but I said, “Hey, that’s no big deal.  I saw a bunch of you field slaves working as I drove up here.  A lot of people probably get to see your goods.”

It was well intended, but it was the wrong thing to say.  It made Licker look down in shame, and I apologized.  He said it was nothing, and asked how I was; but no sooner had we started a conversation than I saw Trevor returning.  He came up to us and Licker immediately hopped to attention, sticking his chest and his pelvis out as far as he could in slave salute.  His cock was bobbing, still erect.   On seeing Licker’s dick, Trevor asked, “Slave, where is your bell?”  And Licker, shouting, replied, “Sir, Mr. Ryan removed it so Todd and I could converse, Sir!”  Trevor explained the reason for his interruption.  “Licker, Retcher has a chore he wants to use you for after dinner, so go right now to the nearest scrub station, get hosed down, and change into your uniform.  I want to make sure you don’t keep Retcher waiting after dinner.  Go change, then come back here to Todd.” “Sir, yes sir!” With that, Licker went off.  As he hurried off, doubtless to please Trevor, I could see some bruises on his buttocks.

Alone with Trevor, I asked how Licker was doing.  “Licker”, he said, “has been doing pretty much everything he is told to do.  He has been on very good behavior, because he is very fearful of punishment.  He has not accepted his enslavement. He pretends to, for us; but he hasn’t.  On the outside, he obeys.  On the inside, he is seething with resentment.  He is humiliated by almost everything he has to do.  If he could get over that useless pride of his, accept the fact that he’s a slave, that he will be a slave for the rest of his life,  he would be content.  If you have any influence with him, if you really care about him, you might want to have a ‘talk’ with him about this.”

“But if you are asking how he is doing on a more personal level, you would have to ask Joshua or Retcher that question.  I really don’t pay too much attention to slaves from that standpoint of how they are adjusting and so on.  My job is simply to provide the Baldwin’s with the best business advice available to keep things running.  If a slave is slacking, I’ll suggest that it’s time to replace it.  Joshua and the Baldwin boys can then weigh in with any personal matters regarding the slave.  When you see as many slaves as I do, one slave begins to look exactly like another.”

Trevor’s answer made me nervous.  I knew him to be someone who treated free people, all free people, even the homeless, with great respect.  Slaves were another matter.  To him, they were nothing but business products, like office machines.

After a little more chatting Licker returned in his brown slave fatigues and plain sandals.  When he arrived,  he had to acknowledge Trevor with the slave salute of standing tall with his pelvis and chest thrust out and his arms at his side.  Trevor completely ignored Licker, but as he left he said to me,  “Take care, Todd.  And have a super time at the beach.  It’s a fantastic day to be hanging out.  And I hope you have a great summer vacation.”  “I certainly plan on it”, I said. “The very start of the summer vacation”, he replied, “was the part I always liked.  Knowing you had three months ahead of you to just hang out and kick back at the beach, and do nothing, it was great!” As he walked off we nodded good-bye.  Then Licker and I sat back down on the bench under the shade tree.

He seemed a lot more comfortable, now that he was clothed, but in a way it made me more uncomfortable. It made him look like a standard issue slave.  And that’s what he was, and what he would always be.  A common slave.

I had a lot of questions I wanted to ask him, but I was hesitant to ask because I was sure that any answer he gave would embarrass him. I knew Trevor was right.  Licker hated being a slave, and more than anything he found the humiliation of it the most unbearable part.  Since he was, after all, just a product now, at the bottom of the totem pole, he was doubtless treated like crap on a regular basis.  In fact, in society’s eyes, one couldn’t get much lower.  But I wanted to know about the things that humiliated him.  How often was he punished and chastised, and by what methods? Was he spanked like a little boy, and how often was he spanked?  Were any of the overseers’ kind?  Did he have slave friends? What did they do for fun, if anything? Was there really no opportunity to masturbate, and what would happen if you got caught doing it? I had no idea about any of it, actually.

As I pondered how to form the questions so as to spare him further humiliation, I noticed there were a lot of free men walking along a path not far from us, a path leading to the parking lot.  They looked like laborers dressed in Levis and work shirts.  They obviously were not slaves.  So I asked Licker who they were.

“They are cannery workers.  They are getting off their shift at the cannery.  About a fourth of the workers in the cannery are free men.  They use them to help oversee and keep the slaves in line.”

“They all look like thugs and low life’s.” I said. “I sure wouldn’t want them bossing me around.” And I knew that once again I had said the wrong thing.  It was getting awfully hard to say the right thing around Licker.

Two of the cannery workers passed by, each carrying lunch pails.  One of them looked at us, and I heard him say to his partner, “There’s a slave.”  Then they both turned and approached us.  The taller of the two, a curly haired Italian jock, said, “Slave, I need to piss.”  Licker immediately hopped up, got in front of the jock, knelt down, gathered his arms behind his back, turned his head straight up, and opened his mouth as wide as he could. The jock unzipped, pulled his large cut dick out, and carefully placed the tip into Licker’s mouth. Licker’s lips immediately enclosed it, and the guy started peeing full force, with Licker performing a continual on/off swallowing.  Licker had obviously done well in slave urinal class, because he was able to swallow every drop of it.  The jock’s friend, who was waiting nearby, looked at me and said, “Nice day, huh?”  “It’s a great day”, I replied, aimlessly.  The jock finished peeing, and I could hear Licker sucking out the piss slit.  Then the workman pulled his dick out of Licker’s mouth, put it away, zipped up, and walked off with his friend without acknowledging Licker’s existence any more than you acknowledge the existence of a restroom toilet, once you’ve relieved yourself.

Licker got up and came back and sat next to me on the bench.  There was a faint smell of piss.  I wanted to ask him about that.  But how?  Finally I just let it out.  “Man, that was unbelievable!  Would you ever believe you’d be out in public every day, drinking the piss of any blue collar worker who happens to come along?”

“It isn’t bad.  It is good to provide a service,” Licker said quietly, looking at the ground.

“Fuck man!” I said. “I can smell that guy’s piss on your breath, and you’re telling me it isn’t bad?”

“We all do it.  It’s normal here.  People have always done that as a sign of service”, Licker offered somewhat feebly.

“So you don’t mind doing it?”

“No.”

I was getting angry.  “Licker, you are not being honest with me.  You are only drinking piss because you have to do it.  Yet you are trying to tell yourself and me that you are doing it because you want to do it and enjoy doing it.  Isn’t dishonesty to a free man a punishable offense for slaves?  And you are a slave!  So tell the truth!  You were totally humiliated by having that guy piss in your mouth. Just admit it to me!”

Licker kept looking down, and tears started falling down his face.  He said nothing.

“Just admit that things have changed, that you’re a slave now and you’ll always be a slave, that you hate it, you hate your slavery!  Admit that this is your life, and it shames you and humiliates you, and you hate every minute of it!”  Licker was crying.  “You can’t admit it? Does that mean you like being a slave?” Still no reaction except the tears, so I continued.” Do you want me to call one of those tawse-bearing overseers over here and report you for failing to answer my question? For lying to me? For lying to a free man?  That’s two infractions… Will two infractions get your punishment doubled?  Answer my questions! Or does your silence mean you want me to call that overseer over here?”

He kept crying, and I was more mystified than ever.  I also felt sorry for him.  Maybe he really was unclear, undecided about certain things, certain aspects of his new life and status.  Maybe it was all a nightmare to him, a nightmare from which he hoped to awake.  Maybe he expected to wake up in the slave barracks one morning and discover that it was not the slave barracks, that it was his old room back home, and that the clothes he had to put on that day were not his coarse, ugly, brown slave fatigues but the soft, casual sports clothes that once made him look so attractive.  Of course, that morning would never come.  Poor, miserable, slave Licker! I put my arm around him and said, “I love you, Licker.” Then he smiled, his crying stopped, and I saw his erection stir in his uniform. I wanted to ask him about that, but I decided there would be no more questions for today.  I looked into his beautiful teary slave eyes, and thought, “I wouldn’t mind pissing in his mouth.”

After some quiet time, I said, “I like being around you now even more than I did before.”  We relaxed then, and just sat together under the shade tree.

The dinner bell called us to lunch, and we ate outside, like a giant picnic.  Everybody stood in line to get food, slaves in one line and overseers and guests in another line.  The meal was served by slaves, with almost all of the slaves wearing their brown uniforms, except for the decorated and naked field slaves, a relatively small percentage of the total.  The slaves were served rice, mixed beans and legumes, and vegetables, and I noticed that most slaves could have as much as they wanted.  A few were restricted, Licker told me, for diet, health, or punishment reasons.

When we had each gotten our food and joined up again, Licker led me to a bench that was populated with other naked, ringed and harnessed field slaves.  I noticed that they were all very handsome slaves, like Licker, and they all had on a variety of headdresses and ornaments and makeup. It was a very colorful sight.  One of them immediately asked what kind of job they had for Licker this afternoon, since he was in uniform.  Licker said he did not know what Retcher wanted to use him for.

I soon relaxed and found the slave banter very interesting.  They all seemed content, and even happy. They talked about things like harness fits, getting new adornments, making headdresses, who had helped them get oiled this morning, their pecs and abs, things like that.  One talked about how he’d lost an erection during the changing of the display slave’s ceremony and how he was glad that no overseer noticed it.  Another one said he wanted a new copy of the slave mantra book because his original copy was so worn out.

When the ‘back to work’ bell sounded at ten to one, all the slaves took their plates over to a wash station and washed them off.  Licker took mine for me, and I sat and watched the activity.  I noticed that as part of the after-dinner ritual, slaves everywhere were kneeling and serving as urinals for each other and their overseers.   I saw Licker peeing into the mouth of a uniformed slave.  When he finished peeing he returned and asked me to accompany him to the guest plaza.  We walked over to a little green rest area by the parking lot and he told me that he was instructed to wait there for Retcher.  I let him know I was glad to see that he had nice friends among the field slaves, and he agreed that he did.  He said he liked all of them very much.  I did not believe him.  Then I saw Joshua coming towards us, and walking with him was Retcher Baldwin.

They were talking to each other as they approached. I was afraid, perhaps thinking in the back of my mind, “Is Retcher going to get me enslaved, too?” After all, Licker hadn’t been much different from me when his life was changed.  Then I wondered, if I was enslaved like Licker, how would I be adapting?  How would I react to the prospect of spending the rest of my life in that brown uniform or naked and on display?  It was something I couldn’t dwell on.  Not then.  With Retcher coming closer, I didn’t want to reveal any weakness.

I had never seen him up close before.  He was tall, almost 6′ 2″.  He is 29 years old, almost as fit as a hard labor slave, with dirty-blond, luxuriously combed hair and expensive casual clothes. He was sleek, comfortable, and confident.  He seemed friendly as he extended his hand in greeting. “Hi Todd. I’m glad to finally meet you.  I’ve seen you around town before, usually with Licker here.  You two were best buddies, right?” I replied, “Yes, sir”, and the `sir’ immediately made me think I was acting scared, scared like a slave.  He continued, “That’s why I’m glad you are keeping in touch with Licker.  I think it will be good for the both of you.”  Letting me wonder what I thought of that.

He then walked over and stood on the left side of Licker.  “You have probably heard how happy we are with our purchase here”, he said, putting his right hand on top of Licker’s bald head and starting to rub it gently the way one would a dog.  “Licker has turned out to be one of the most ‘eager to please’ purchases we’ve ever made.”  Licker did a happy smile that seemed absolutely genuine, like he was pleased that his master was happy.   I could not be certain if it was a trained smile, one simply designed to please, although the Licker that I knew had not been an actor. Retcher took no notice.  He continued to rub Licker’s head. “And look at the cute smile on him. Isn’t he adorable?  And he is so well behaved, aintcha boy? He is doing a truly outstanding job out in the field.  And he’s also so nicely knobbed, one of the thickest cock heads I’ve ever seen, and that’s always an asset in a display slave.  It was an outstanding purchase overall, and I haven’t thanked you yet, Todd, for helping to make it happen.”

I murmured that it was no big deal, I was happy to help.  I realized that what I said could have been taken by Licker as indicating that I was in on some conspiracy, but I was just too nervous around Retcher to try to clarify that fact to Licker at the moment.

Retcher continued, “I want you to know that Licker is to be one of our featured performers at our 4th of July carnival.  All friends and family members of slaves are invited.  Licker is going to be performing tricks.  He’ll be jumping through hoops and dancing, and he’s going to be the jack in the box for our big final celebration.  Make sure you come, and be sure that you invite all of Licker’s friends.”  It sounded colorful and fun to me, but Licker looked downcast, so I asked him, “Would you like me to do that?”  Licker hesitated a bit as he tried to find words, and Retcher, seeing my own uncertainty, answered for him. “Ah, he’s just too modest!  Of course he wants you to see him perform!  He’s been working on his act for almost a week now.”  Joshua, with no encouragement, then seconded Retcher. “You have to come!  It really is a lot of fun.  Bring all his friends.  They’ll have a great party time, and it will be good for Licker to see his old friends.”

I instinctively trusted Joshua, so I agreed.  “OK, I’ll do that.  It does sound like fun.  Licker, it will be a great chance for you to see the gang again! Peter, Tom, Ian, Sarah, Mark, Julius, and Barbara.”

Just as it looked like Licker was about to say something, Retcher started in, “I hate to interrupt, but I have to get Licker over to my friend Jason’s place.  Jason is having this huge rock garden built on a part of his yard, and the trucks delivering the boulders couldn’t dump them anywhere near the site. So there are two truckloads of boulders that need to be carried from where the trucks dumped them, over to the perimeter of the rock garden site.  I promised Jason that I’d bring him a slave and give him free labor until about 8 or 9 o’clock tonight. I think I’m being pretty generous to my friend in letting him have a hard labor product for that much time.”  Then addressing Licker, and giving him a little friendly rub on the head again, he added, “So, Licker, you’re going to be our little boulder boy for the rest of the day.”  Licker smiled as Retcher looked him in the eye, with his hand on his head.

Finally, Retcher removed his hand from Licker’s head and addressed me.  “Hey Todd, if you’d care to, you are welcome to follow me out to Jason’s.  It would give you a chance to spend more time with Licker, see what kind of laborer he is, and see him in action, so to speak. Or if you want, you could hang with Jason and me. While Licker is hauling boulders, Jason and I are just going to laze around chatting, maybe catch a few rounds of tennis, and later a few drinks.  Or, if you’d like, you could serve as Licker’s overseer for a while.  Get to see how that shoe fits.  You might like it.”

The very thought of Licker engaged in hard labor and boulder-carrying for the next seven hours, while I sat around watching him with his owner, all the while sipping wine underneath the California sun, it was a huge temptation!  My dick was on fire.

Unfortunately, I felt I had to tell Retcher that I was supposed to meet friends at Red Ray Beach. “Hey”, he said, “you’ve got the whole summer to hang at the beach with your friends, doing nothing.  Of course, I’m not trying to twist your arm, since we really don’t need an overseer.  But it’s better to have one. And I KNOW you’d enjoy it.”

But I was curious, why didn’t Licker need to be watched?

“He’ll be working alone”, Retcher replied, “and we can tell how hard he’s been working by just looking at how many boulders have been transported to the garden site. And of course once we get out there I’m going to attach an extra large dong bell, so we can hear it even when we’re somewhat far removed as we play on Jason’s tennis court. The extra large wiener bell will let us hear from a good distance if Licker’s slacking. Isn’t that right, Licker? There’s no slacking with that slave wiener bell clanging away between your legs. Ding-dong, ding-dong. Anyway, if I go and check on him and feel he’s been slacking, well, then the appropriate action will be taken.” Seeing the curious look still on my face, Retcher commanded, “Licker, tell Todd here what happens if I catch you slacking.” Licker turned red with embarrassment as he answered, “Sir, I get a spanking, sir.” “What kind of spanking?” “Sir, I have to take off my clothes and go over your knee, sir.” “And why don’t you like to do that, Licker?” “Sir, because it hurts, sir, especially if you use the paddle, sir.”

“Having an overseer”, Retcher explained, “is really a kindness to the slave.  An overseer insures that a slave works up to speed, thus avoiding any need for discipline.”  As he said that he took out a leash and attached it to Licker’s slave collar. “Todd, I assume you’re parked here in the lot.”  I answered that I was, and then asked him if he knew the way to Red Ray Beach from here.

“Yes, just follow me and Licker in the pickup truck until we get to Highway 16.  Then turn right and go straight for eight miles, and you’ll find yourself at Red Ray.  If that’s where you really want to be.” I thanked him and we walked to the parking lot, with him pulling Licker by the leash.  The master was leading his slave.  Yes, Licker made a good slave. And Retcher was a born master.  Man, would I love to see Licker get disciplined by such a master, to see his pride removed, the way a slave’s pride should be removed!  When we got to the lot I pointed out my new Jeep to Retcher.  It turned out that it was parked near his pickup truck.  “Great wheels!” he said. I told him it was my dad’s graduation present to me, and he responded, “A Wrangler is a great vehicle for graduate school.  It can hold a lot of babes!”   We both laughed as if we were fast friends already.

Retcher’s pickup had the tailgate removed, and he instructed Licker to hop up on the back of the truck and sit on the steel bench in the middle, with his face toward the back. Then Retcher hopped in and started chaining him down. I put my arms on the back of the truck and watched slave Licker get chained by his owner.  First Retcher got hold of the seated Licker’s legs and spread them; then he slapped the chains on and secured them to bolts in the floor.  He did something similar with the hands, chaining them to the bench so that the closest they could get to the thighs was ten inches away.  Licker could grasp the bench for traction, but he couldn’t move his limbs far in any direction.

There was a 7 foot pole with a stiff flag attached, lying in the back of the truck, and Retcher took it out and stuck it into a flagpole holder in the floor.  It was tall and the flag was large and it drew attention. The sign said, `SLAVES IN TRANSPORT TO WORK DETAIL’.

Then, without pausing, Retcher stooped down in front of Licker, opened the zipper in the crotch of his fatigues, pulled out Licker’s half erect cock and balls, made sure they were hanging fully out of his pants, and started lightly jacking Licker.  The slave’s dick erected immediately.  It was long and hard. It must have been waiting for a long time for something like this to happen. “Licker, let’s get your own little flag pole sticking out and up, and flying proudly. You’ve got a nice big purple dick knob, and I think you shouldn’t be selfish about it.  Remember one of your slave mantras, ‘always share’.”

Retcher knew his slave well.  Exposing Licker’s dick for the passing cars could be the act of humiliation that would finally push Licker into acceptance of his lifetime status as a hard-labor slave.

Leaving Licker erect and sweating and chained in the back of the truck, with the flag flying above as advertising, Retcher hopped off the back and said to me, “So, we’ll see you again at the 4th of July Celebration.  Have a great time at the beach, dude!” “OK man!” I answered.  “Thanks a lot for the invitation.”

As Retcher was getting into the cab of his pickup and starting his engine, I leaned in and looked at Licker.  He was red with shame, and sweat was pouring off his body and dripping onto the steel bench and floor.  His prick was sticking up like a lever, like a huge hard lever crying out to be grabbed and pulled and made to do its business.  But that business was now permanently off-limits. It was pathetic to see any guy go through what Licker was going through.  But maybe it would help, I thought.  Maybe it would put him on the road to acceptance of what he was and would always have to be. I had to believe that the slavers knew what was best for him. “Take care, Licker”, I said. “It was nice seeing you.  You look good, man!” Licker’s head nodded up and down.  Then he sort of gasped out, “Thanks for coming, Todd.”

I waved to him cheerfully and went for my Jeep.  Retcher was waiting for me to pull out behind him.  When I did, and we finally started rolling down the driveway out of the estate I could see a large sign on the back of the truck.  It was hanging just below deck level: `HONK AND SAY HELLO TO THE HAPPY BALDWIN/FLETCHER SLAVE(S) ON BOARD! If Our Slave Fails to Acknowledge With a Wave And Smile, PLEASE SIGNAL THE DRIVER!’

Retcher drove along slowly, because of the chained slave on board, and another car caught up with us and passed.  As it did, the occupants, mainly teenagers, male and female, stuck their heads out and shouted obscenities at Licker, while the driver honked his horn.  Licker did a big smile and waved at them. His prick, still as hard as ever, waved at them too.

When they had passed, Licker looked at me to see how I was reacting.  I doubt if he could see anything on my face, but my straining erection was telling me what a good time I was having.  My friend’s total humiliation flushed me with euphoria.   Suddenly, I wanted to see Licker hauling boulders while I drank and partied with his owner.  Suddenly Licker’s dick, so obscenely exposed, was catching my eye.  His large bobbing penis head was like a beacon, drawing me on. I wouldn’t mind seeing that knob swinging and its bell ringing as he trudged along carrying the boulders. Maybe as his overseer for the day, I would even be allowed some say in how he was dressed.

Hell, Retcher was right, I had the whole summer ahead of me to hang out with my friends.  So when we arrived at Highway 16 and stopped at the light, Retcher signaled me and pointed out the way I should turn.  But I signaled him by pointing straight ahead.  Retcher smiled.  The light turned green, he started driving straight ahead, and I followed him.  Seeing me following, he shot his left arm out the window and pumped his fist up and down.  I tooted my horn in agreement, and Licker smiled at me and waved.  I waved back at Licker.  This was fun.  I tooted again.  Licker re-smiled and waved again.  I waved back.  I could see Retcher smiling broadly in the rear view mirror, as he gave me the thumbs up signal.

Yes, it was already a beautiful day, and suddenly it got a lot more beautiful.  My old friend was looking real good to me, chained up on a bench in the back of a slave delivery truck, with his legs spread out, the way a slave’s legs should be spread, and his erected fat knobbed cock exposed, the way a slave’s cock should be exposed, a slave being transported in real style to a real hard labor detail.

So, I thought, I’m on my college break, free to do nothing but swim, play ball, and party for the next three months.  The least I can do is spend a little time with Licker on this beautiful summer day to help keep him in line, offer constructive criticism, give him pointers on behavior, keep him looking smart and quick stepping, point out which boulders I would like to see him move, test his urinal skills, and, if need be, deliver any needed corrective.  And get to know my new pal, Retcher, just a little bit better.

As soon as we arrived at Jason’s place Retcher hopped up on the pickup and started unchaining Licker.  As he did so Jason arrived and greeted us.  Jason, not familiar with slaves and slavery, couldn’t take his eyes off Licker.  He looked at him like he was some exotic creature. “Man, he said, “what a fucking ugly bulb head!  Where in the hell did you pick that thing up?  I knew that a lot of really dumb dudes end up getting enslaved, but I didn’t know that ugly ones were fair game, too.”  Retcher and I laughed at Jason’s layman’s comment.

Retcher finally got Licker free, and the slaveboy hopped off the truck.  He appeared as if he was about to stuff his unit back into his trousers.  Retcher spoke up. “Leave your hose and sack outside your uniform. I’m gonna bell you.”  He found a large bell in the truck and attached it to the slave’s penis ring.  “There won’t be any slacking on your part, now that you’ve got this bell dangling between your legs, will there boy?”

“No sir”, answered Licker, like a polite schoolboy.

“Fuck”, Jason asked, “is it safe to have that thing unleashed?” Despite his air of casualness, he was obviously frightened about being in the presence of a slave.

“Nothing to worry about”, Retcher replied.  He reached into the cab of the truck and took out three formidable looking tawses.  One for each of the three of us.  Then he explained. “What you hold, gentlemen, is the Flexi-tawse, the state of the art tawse designed by the California State prison system.  It’s a light weight composite, designed to deliver maximal pain with minimal damage.  It can be used on any part of the body except the genitals and head with almost no risk of damage to either the skin or the underlying organs.  They are expensive at $300 apiece.”  Then, putting his arm on Licker’s shoulder, he added, “But nothing is too good for my slaves.”  All of us started laughing it up, except for Licker, who looked apprehensive, at best.

Jason asked what kind of work Licker usually did at the compound and Retcher told him he was one of his field display slaves.  Now Jason was curious. “Oh yeah”, he said, “those naked guys I hear so much about.  I’d come and check the show out if you had a few girls on display too.  How come you don’t have any naked women field slaves?” Retcher agreed it would be great for business, and yet. “There’s this societal thing that it’s OK for male slaves to be nude in public, but not female slaves.  It shows our society’s warped values.  I do use some naked female slaves as couriers and such throughout the cannery.  One of the best ideas my dad ever had.”

“How so?” Jason asked.  Retcher smiled. “Because naked female couriers run through the cannery anywhere from twice to eight times a day, that allows me to pay the free men cannery workers, who are about a fourth of the cannery force, minimum wage.”  He chuckled to himself. “Our personnel department has so many applications for cannery jobs, you would not believe it.  The hicks who work there are the envy of their friends, and no doubt they regale them with stories about all the naked dames running around in there.  They also probably tell their friends how they get to boss the slaves around. My chief foreman at the cannery has been there for over four years, and I pay him $7.50 an hour!”

“Holy fuckin hillbilly!”  Jason roared with laughter. “Hey, can I get a job there?”  Even Licker smiled at that.

When the laughter died, Retcher turned to Licker, “Well, look at YOU, Licker.  A fine proud slave.  Are you ready for a little boulder action, Licker?”

“Yes sir”, Licker replied.  Then Jason gave us a very quick tour of the work site.  A huge pile of boulders sat at the base of a gradual 150 foot inclined slope. The top of the slope was to be the site of the rock garden.  To haul all the boulders to the perimeter of the site looked like a job that would take 10 men about four days.  Jason showed us that there was a hose and water supply for Licker’s use. The area where Licker would be working and hauling rocks was without shade from any source, though I quickly noticed that there were nice trees just off the path, where an overseer could sit and relax.

Jason was very eager to show Retcher his new swimming pool and remodeled tennis courts, and Retcher insisted that I go along with them.  He said that he felt Licker could start hauling boulders on his own, and that we could check on him later.  Retcher then looked at me and asked, “Don’t you think your friend will be OK by himself?”  Naturally, I agreed, so he turned to the slave and said, “All right, boy, start haulin rocks!”  Licker was bending to pick up the first one when Jason led us off.  We could hear the jingle jangle of his dong bell as we walked away.  It was very funny!  Of course, we were still within earshot when we laughed, and I knew that Licker could hear us.  I felt bad, but it was still really funny to think of this beast of burden being monitored by a bell on his dick.  Jason joked that he should get bells like that for the employees in his investment firm.  We laughed even harder then, and we knew Licker could still hear us laughing at his expense.  It felt good.

Jason showed us his place, his remodeling projects, and all his fancy stuff: new pool, tennis court, and music room.  After he was through, we all slouched down in some lounge chairs by the pool, and he served us white wine and fruit.  We sipped away and talked, and the time flew by.  After about two and a half hours, however, Retcher said we had better check on the slave, so we all picked up our wine glasses and trooped out to the rock garden site.

Licker saw us approaching, and I’ll bet, at that moment, he was wishing he could hang out with us big shots, with our important discussions, fancy clothes, and expensive wines.  But Licker won’t be hanging out with big shots ever again.  His role was lower now than even the lowest entry level shit job imaginable. He’d be lucky now if the big shots that controlled his life so much as bothered to spit on him.

When we got there the slave was all sweaty and grimy.  He looked like he’d been working hard, all right, but the work didn’t show in the amount of boulders moved, and Jason looked really angry. “Fuck dude, what have you been doing?” He demanded. “Weren’t you supposed to be working on my rock garden?”  Licker looked like he was about to break down in tears, but Retcher ordered him to answer. “Sir”, he responded, with a catch in his voice, “the boulders are very heavy. I have to rest after carrying each one. And it’s very hot in the sun.”

“Well, you are permitted to take rests, within moderation”, Retcher replied, “but apparently these rests have been going on just a little bit longer than they should have.”

Licker looked down at the ground, ashamed, and even I felt embarrassed.  Licker, this guy who’d once been my friend, was obviously letting Retcher down.  So I said, “Licker, what have you been doing here?  Dude, I told Retch I thought you’d be all right all by yourself, and now you’ve let Retcher down, and me too, man! These boulders aren’t going to get moved with you hanging out at the water pump all day long!”

“That’s all right”, Retcher said kindly.  “I can handle this.”  He then ordered Licker to take off his clothes and approach him, but as soon as the slave started unbuttoning his shirt he started to cry. We stood with our wine glasses, watching him undress for punishment, and the crying just kept getting worse. By the time the trousers were off he was bawling and looking pleadingly at Retcher. “Please don’t tawse me, sir.  Please!”  I didn’t know Licker was such a sniveling, cowed, little slave.

Jason was also annoyed, and disappointed. “Fuck man”, he exclaimed, “when you told me you were bringing me a hard labor product I was expecting one helluva mean working machine.  Instead you send me this little bald crybaby faggot!  I can see why you had to pass out tawses to all of us.  Can we finally use ’em now?  Can’t we whip him or something so he starts doing some work?  I thought slaves were supposed to be good at working the shit jobs!  At least make him stop his fucking bawling, or else put him in diapers like he belongs. And by the way… what the fuck’s with the shaved puss and tits and nads and ass?  What is he, some kind of dancer, prancer, show boy?  I hope he whores better for you than he works.  Anyway Retch; is there some way to make him work?  Can’t I get some use out of him?”

“Well, Licker” Retcher said, “You see that you’ve let my friend Jason down.  I thought I could trust you to work alone.  But I see now you aren’t ready for that.  You clearly need an overseer to monitor your every move.  Fortunately, Todd already graciously agreed to supply supervision in the event it was needed, and you should be ashamed of yourself for taking him away from the fun he was having. I won’t tawse you now, but I am warning you; I want to see you moving at top speed for the next half hour to make up for all this wasted time.  And mind you, you are to do everything Todd tells you to do, is that clear?”

“Yes sir, thank you sir!” replied an almost smiling Licker.  Retcher then commanded Licker to get back to work nude except for his sandals.  We all stood around for half hour or so watching the chastened slave getting back into his labor.  The way he was moving as fast as he could was refreshing, but also comical.  It was a good combination, a chilled Riesling and a goofy, frightened, slave as entertainment.  Jason called out, “Look at knob dick; he’s finally goin to town!”  But Retcher had some serious advice to give me. “Don’t be afraid to be firm.  I know he was once your friend, but new slaves often learn best and most quickly from people like you, especially if those people show a very firm hand.  Besides, you need to practice your tawsing action.  And it’s fun, too!”  We all laughed heartily at that last comment, so I rejoined, “The cost of having fun these days is exorbitant.  It’s good to know that some pleasures in life are still free.”  My comment was a hit with those guys, who were rich, after all, and we all laughed it up as Licker kept doing what he was supposed to be doing.  (But how long will that last? I wondered.)  Licker knew we were making fun of him.  Every time we free guys laughed he looked humiliated, jealous, and tearful.

Retcher pointed out a lounge chair and table underneath a nearby tree, and told me it would give me an excellent vantage point of the work area.  As he and Jason took their leave, and as I stretched out in the comfortable shaded lounge chair, Licker was still keeping up his `grateful to have gotten out of punishment’ speed.

Could life get any more delicious, I wondered, as I sipped my wine and watched Licker working, his cock and balls flopping around, sweat pouring off of him, his rings glinting in the sun.  There was my friend hauling boulders in the blazing sun, and he wasn’t even getting paid for it.  He was doing it for free!  And he would be working that way for the rest of his life, so that Arthur Baldwin can drive his silver Mercedes, Arnold Baldwin can drive his Carrera, and Retcher, your chief owner and controller, can drive his Jaguar Silverstone, wear fancy clothes, hop on any plane and vacation anywhere in the world at the drop of a hat, tip his hairdresser and every other service worker really big, eat the finest foods, and drink the finest wines.  In short, Licker Boy, you will be hauling ass all day for the rest of your life so your owners can live in luxury.  Real nice of you.

Welcome to your world, slave, and to a typical slave day; first work 4 hours in the fields, then, after lunch, get delivered in a slave transport truck, chained and on display, to a job hauling boulders for 7 more hours for some jerk who hates your guts.  And maybe get tawsed along the way by anybody who happens to want to tawse a slave, see a slave suffer, hear a slave scream.  Poor fellow.  And now, incredibly, I was the one calling the shots in my slave friend’s life.  Should I be a kindly overseer?  Or should I apply the same rigor as the guards at the SBGF, to help mould my pal into the obedient slave I know he wants to be?

I took out a book I had brought along. `Essays on Love, Humanity, Enlightenment, and Divinity’, by Ricardo D’Antonio.  The time flew by as I shared in D’Antonio’s noble vision of a world free of evil.  The next time I looked up, however, I noticed that Licker looked like he was about to start crying again.  I decided that this was the time to shout at him.  “Slave”, I told him, “you need to get over that self pity of yours.  While you are hauling the next boulder, and I want you to take THAT one”, from my reclining position on the lawn I used my Flexi-tawse to point out a very large boulder near the base of the pile, “and as you haul it up I want you to ponder the fact that self- pity does you no good, it does Retcher no good, and it does Jason no good.  Your job is to help Jason achieve a beautiful garden, and that is all you should be concentrating on. Your mantra is, I WILL NOT PITY MYSELF.”  Good wisdom for a slave, and I noticed that the drudge’s muscles strained harder as he concentrated on those words.

When he got back for another boulder, though, I really thought he was going to start bawling.  So I told him to get a drink and come and lie down next to me in the grass for a rest.  Of course, he did that happily.  When he had finally sprawled out next to me I sat up on the side of my lounge chair and looked over his sweaty naked body.  I told him how truly happy I was.  I never thought that we’d be able to have happy times together again under the summer sun, but now we were.  I then jumped down on him unexpectedly and tickled him in the arm pits.  He giggled!  I did it some more and I noticed that he erected too, and we both laughed.

We both sat up on the grass, Indian style, and ate a couple of apples and some plums. I thought about how this was the way we always sat together in the past, on the beach, in my yard, on his bedroom floor, having fun together.  The only difference now was that he was naked and I was clothed.  And he was decorated up just the way his owner wanted him to be.   He was an owned product who had to conform to his owner’s wishes.  He had to look and act the way his owner wanted him to.  He had a big ring in his nose, and smaller rings in his ears, nipples, scrotum, and cock.  He had a big funny bell attached to his cock ring.  He was tattooed with the name of his owner, Baldwin/Fletcher, front and back.  He was branded as a US slave for life.   He was completely hairless.   He had no choice about revealing his constantly erecting and deflating cock.  He was now a hard labor lifer slave, and I certainly was not.  And for the rest of his life he would have to do as he was told.  But there we were laughing and sitting Indian style together just like so many times in the past.

I asked him how he and the other slaves spent their evenings, and he said they often sat in the large common bath area and shaved themselves and each other, compared muscle development, made headdresses for field display, listened to `Slave Radio’, a station he told me was very inspiring, and talked about their overseers and masters.

I told Licker I thought he must really like Retcher, especially having him as his owner, since he seemed so happy whenever Retcher complimented him.  I told him it appeared that Retcher liked him, too.  He was taken aback at my comment, and didn’t know how to answer it, or perhaps was being cautious.  But his pride came into play as he said, “Retcher doesn’t know me.  He doesn’t know anything about me.”

I didn’t understand that, and was, frankly, a little too high from the wine by that time to grasp his meaning, so I surprised him by suddenly jumping back on him and tickling him all over again.  We laughed and frolicked in a silly way for several minutes.  Licker was in some strange way transformed into a child again, taking childlike pleasure in simple things.  And that can only be a good thing, I thought.

Once we stopped our rough-housing and were reclining together on the grass, I recalled to him all the things we did last summer; hanging out with the gang at the cotillion, dancing, drinking California wines, surfing, skinny dipping, and pissing in the wind.  “Man, those were great times.  I’m going to miss you this year and all that stuff we used to do, and so will the rest of the gang.” Perhaps it was the wine, but I was getting sentimental.  “Then remember how at college in the fall, how we always dressed up in our sweaters and hung out in the pub, and how the chicks loved us in our sweaters?  Remember how we never could decide if it was the sweaters or our great hair that brought the babes around?  And the holidays, the caroling, and all the parties.  Fuck man, it’s not going to be the same without you.”

All the old memories were suddenly flooding by me.  “Remember how when we were young all of us guys used to laugh at Tommy Martin because he still got spankings from his parents at the age of 12, and how we would make fun of him, and called him ‘spank boy’.  Wow, did you ever think you’d ever be getting another spanking?  Now you have to get em all the time.”  Seeing Licker look down with embarrassment, I explained, “I’m sorry Licker.  I wasn’t trying to rub it in or anything.  I’m just trying to deal with reality.  It’s not like a bad thing that you still have to get spanked all the time like a little kid.  It’s just a tool your owner uses to direct you into acceptance of your new position.  He does it because he really cares about you. I got to know Retcher really well the last couple of hours, and he’s a great guy.  Spankings are just one of the ways he ‘talks’ with you. I think it’s totally cool.”

“Wow.  Those school days were so great.  Remember the senior class yearbook prediction for you, ‘First San Carlito High School graduate of ’06 to become a millionaire his first year out of college’.  Boy, they sure got that one wrong!  Who would ever have guessed that the yearbook should have said of the senior prom king; ‘First classmate to be enslaved for life’.” We, or rather I, spent another ten minutes just reminiscing.  But it’s not wise to have too much of a good thing, so after I felt he had rested enough, I said, “OK dude, I think you’d better get back on it.”  He got up and seemed in much better spirits, and had a livelier step as he began.  Of course, for starters he picked up one of the smallest boulders in the pile.  I could see it was going to be a real chore for me to make sure he did a mix of boulder sizes.  I really wanted to go and jack off just about that time, just lay back and slowly stroke my rod while I tugged on my ball sack.  But it also was a lot of fun to watch Licker labor and shout out orders to him, so I thought I could hold off on my jackin session till I got home that night.

Strange thoughts passed through my mind as I watched him working.  I looked at his cock and wondered if his girlfriend, Katherine, liked it.  Licker has a very thick and sensual cock knob, and since I had been kind of planning on making the move on Katherine now that he was out of the picture, I was wondering how she would assess me in comparison to him.

It was strange too, the way Licker was hairless now.  He used to spend so much time and money on his hair, visiting salons, and buying products.  And he was so much into fancy clothes.  Looking good, and smelling good too.  I got most of his colognes, clothes, and other shit from his dad the day after he was enslaved. I’d never mentioned it to him. I wonder if he had noticed I was wearing his scent.  Oh well, at least he had 22 years to be vain, to look and smell the way he wanted to.

But I liked the new Licker even better than the old hot shot Christopher.  I liked the slaving, sweating, frustrated, crying, confused, bald, and ringed Licker.  He somehow seemed so slave-right to me.

I returned to my book of essays and time passed quickly.  Just as I started to think that I had better make Licker start working a little faster now so that he wouldn’t make me look bad in front of Retcher, I heard Retcher and Jason coming towards us.

Retcher called out, “Hey, things are looking good here.  I like it. You’re doing a great job, Todd.”  Jason agreed and said things were looking MUCH better than before.  He thanked me for all I’d been doing.  It was nothing, I told them.

Retcher, smiling and friendly, put his arm around my shoulders and said, “I knew Licker would come around eventually.  I know him very well.”  “That’s interesting”, I responded, “That isn’t what Licker says.  He says you don’t know anything about him.”  Retcher seemed concerned.  “Now wait a minute, there seems to be a problem here.” Then looking at Licker; “You talked unfavorably about me behind my back?”

Licker suddenly seemed very afraid.  “No sir, not unfavorably.  I just said you don’t know me real well, that was all, sir.”

I felt I had to clarify; “That isn’t quite what you said, Licker. You said, ‘He doesn’t know anything about me’. And you know you did.”

Retcher took his arm off my shoulders, walked up to Licker and put his arm around his shoulders.  “I’m just surprised you would say that.  What do your tattoos say?  They say I own you.  Property of Baldwin/Fletcher.  Let me tell you something that will surprise you. When I had heard that your father was nearing bankruptcy, it was I who made first contact with him with an offer to purchase you.  He hung up on my secretary, but he later contacted me himself when the reality of his situation hit him.  I saw you around town.  I knew what you were.  I am a slaver.  I know a slave.  I’ve got a good eye.  And now what are you?  You’re a slave, right?  Was I not right in my assessment of you?  Of course I was right, and now you’re saying I don’t know you?”

“I own you.  I am now more to you than your father ever was.  I not only own you, I control your every move and whim.  Your father never had anywhere near that kind of control over you.  You think I don’t know you?  On top of all I do know about you, Kevin Cornell tells me everything about you.  He tells me what slaves you like to be around, how you’re eating and sleeping, how you behave in the fields.  And we are going to be together for a long, long time.  For the next twenty years you will be earning me money.  You are very important to me, and I want to know everything about you.  For all the years ahead your only job is to please me.  Because you are mine, everything about you is mine to use in any way I please.”  As Retcher said that, Licker’s cock shot up hard against his belly.

“I know that you’ve blushed and cried when you’ve had to go over my knee, but I know that those weren’t tears of shame, they were really tears of shock as you realized that not only were you now a slave for life, but you were born to be a slave.  And I also know that when I made you dress up like a girl the other night to have you serve drinks to my friends and me, you enjoyed it.”  Licker blushed as he saw me looking at him.

“My favorite moments out at Baldwin/Fletcher are when the transport bus brings me a newly enslaved drudge fresh from the processing center.  To see the terrified lads, freshly ripped from their worlds, stepping off the bus to enter my magical kingdom, those are moments I savor.  In fact, I love them so much that for the last three years I have videotaped each arriving bus.  And you, Licker, gave one of the most splendid performances I’ve preserved on tape.  Your arrival was all I had hoped it would be.  I had Joshua Holder get you oiled, harnessed and headdressed on the bus so you could make a really grand entrance.  And you did, as you hobbled down the steps, shaky and sniffling, your headdress announcing you as the new peacock in our field.  Arnold was standing next to me, and when he saw you he said, ‘This is too good to be true’. Seeing your cock for the first time, we both briefly wondered if we should rename you ‘Knobs’, but we decided to stay with ‘Licker’.   And when Joshua and Kevin started leading you towards us you did the service gait, awkward, but you did it.   Most new drudges just off the bus forget to service gait; they’re looking all around, maybe hoping to find some chance of escape, but not you.  When we were introduced, you were polite.  No spitting and swearing.  And when Arnold reached down and started jacking your dick so he could see what your knob looked like when erected, there was no protest from you, not the slightest.  And when he told you he was certain that you would overcome every difficulty you encountered in your new life, we all could see not only the relief in your eyes but also the first moment when you thought it might be possible for you to accept your new status.  Now tell us how you’ve you been able to do that.”  Licker smiled and answered, “By accepting the fact that I belong to you, sir.”

Retcher responded, “And belong to me you most certainly do!  I keep all of you young bucks naked much of the time, working and running around the farm, fields, and cannery, because I want everyone to see the brands on your asses and the tattoos on your chests and backs. Those tattoos tell the world that I own all of you, that you are my property to use in any way I see fit.  Licker, you are mine to know and use.  So why would you want to malign me?”

“Damn you, Todd”, Licker blurted out, “You snitch! I didn’t say it the way you say I did!”

“Licker!” shouted Retcher, silencing the slave. “Get over here and stand in front of Todd.”  Licker hesitated, pleading with his eyes, but Retcher snapped his fingers at him and pointed to me; “Get over here, I said!”  Finally Licker came over and stood in front of me.

Jason was excited. “Does this mean I’m finally going to get to see a slave get a whumping?”

Retcher responded, “What you are going to see is a slave getting some of his wall of resistance chipped away.  What you see before you is a naked errant slave.  A slave that looks fearful because it knows it’s done wrong.”  And boy, did Licker ever look fearful with his mouth half open in a giant frown!

“Licker”, Retcher continued, “you are being punished for three reasons.  You talked in an unfavorable way about me.  You talked back to your friend and freeman Todd and called him a snitch, when he was no snitch; he was simply reporting objective fact.  And just now you hesitated when I asked you to go and stand in front of Todd.  Your misbehavior has hurt me. Why are you trying to hurt me, Licker?  Why do you want to hurt your owner, who feeds and kennels you?  I want you to be respectful, honest, nimble, meticulous, and attentive, all good things for you to be.  And you want to hurt me because I want the best things for you?”

Licker was feeling so bad at having hurt and displeased his master that he broke down and started bawling.  “Sir, I didn’t mean too. I’m learning.  I’m sorry.  Sir, please don’t beat me.”

Retcher put his arm on Licker’s shoulder.  “I am not going to beat you.  I am going to chasten you.  Beating is bad, chastening is good.  I know you want those bad parts of you chipped away, don’t you Licker?”

“Yes sir”, he mumbled.

“Licker”, Retcher said, “I want you respectful, honest, nimble, meticulous, and attentive.  What do you want for yourself?”  Licker responded, “Sir, I want to be respectful, honest, nimble, meticulous, and attentive.”

“Then I will help you to achieve your wishes. Todd, I want you to serve as Licker’s ‘holder’ for his chastening.  Licker, bring your arms together in front of you and clasp your fists together in front of you just below your neck.  Now Todd, you hold Licker by his gathered arms, both holding him tightly in place and applying a downward pressure to the arms so that his feet are pushed into the ground.  This will prevent him from bucking around too much during his tawsing.”

There stood Licker and I face to face, with me grasping his arms and holding him secure for punishment.  Licker was totally helpless in my arms.  He was probably aware that by this time Retcher and I were close enough so that I could simply have said, “Why not let the beating pass just this one time as a favor to me?”, and he probably would have done it.  But experienced slavers like Retcher know what has to be done, that naughty slave boys like Licker need common sense and good behavior beaten into them on a regular basis, and I wasn’t about to interfere with a master slaver.  All that Licker would have had to do to avoid punishment was to behave.  It’s not as if he was being treated unjustly or anything.  Too bad for you Licker, I thought, it’s payback time for letting Retcher and me down.  Licker’s wide eyes looked into mine.  They seemed to wonder if I would be a comforter as well as a holder. My loins pulsed with delicious electricity.

Retcher took out his tawse and took his place in back of Licker. Jason stood to the side of us, with his arms folded, eager to see a slave `get it’. With no further delay, Retcher pulled back his arm and started walking swiftly towards Licker’s behind, swinging the tawse and landing it with fury into Licker’s ass.  Licker cried, “Oh God!” and screamed.

Then Jason got into it. “Alright!  Hey slave, it may hurt your ass, but think how much you hurt my pal Retcher by talking about him behind his back. After all he does for you!”

Retcher landed the next blow unexpectedly onto Licker’s right thigh. Licker flinched and yipped, but I held him firm.  This is what you get, I thought, for being a fuck up.  It was satisfying to see him suffer.  He thought he could be proud, that he was better than everyone else.  Now he was finally being taught what happens to misbehaving slaves.

The next stroke hit him on the shoulders.  I held the squirming, squirreling, quivering, wiggling, screaming, wayward slave very tightly.  Holding my beloved friend as he was getting corrected was a rare ecstasy.  It was a sacred moment, the consummation of our years of friendship.  I felt like a groom holding his trembling bride on their wedding night (back in the days when brides still trembled on their wedding nights).

The next swat was back on the slave’s ass.  He bucked wildly and his groin shot into mine.  “Easy there, fella!” I said.  “Are you ready to start behaving, Licker?” His owner asked. In a whinnying voice Licker promised that he would.  Retcher answered by advising me to hold him extra-tight now, so he could deliver some really forceful blows.  “You got it, Retch”, I said. “Lay it on!”

The following blow was another one to Licker’s ass, and his groin shot into mine again.  When I felt our erections touch through my shorts I almost came in my pants.  As I held him I said; “I want you to know, Licker, I’m with you.  Just hold up, buddy, like the proud slave I know you are.  You can do it.”  It was an amazing new experience to be comforting a slave getting whipped.

Retcher then commanded, “Spread those legs, boy.  Spread em nice and wide for me.  Wider than that, boy. I want to deliver a little inner thigh action.  Nice and wide now.  Hold him down, Todd, so he can’t close his legs.”

Jason seconded Retcher: “You heard the man, boy!  Spread those legs so we can get in there and take care of business!”

Retcher swung.  Licker yipped as the tawse landed on the right inner thigh. I held him down really tight.  I thought of how Licker had always won the spelling bee in grade school.  Lot of good that’s doing you now, eh buddy?

Licker screamed as the next stroke landed on his left inner thigh. Remember how you were class officer for 3 of our high school years? That honor isn’t saving your hide right now, is it, Mr. Vice President?

Jason was getting into it. “That’s the way Retch, work those thighs. Keep those legs spread nice and wide boy, so your owner can take care of you all over.  See what happens when you back-talk with your friend!”  I doubt if Licker heard Jason, because his own yelling was pretty intense.

Retcher’s next blow landed on his shoulders, masterfully catching the slave off guard.  Ouch, I bet that hurt.  I’m sure fucking glad I’m not in your sandals, buddy!

Retcher then went down his back with the tawse, in rapid action. Jason offered his encouragement to the tawse master. “Yeah, whip that lazy ass into shape. Make him squeal louder!”

My thoughts continued.  Licker was the first guy in class to get close to Debbie Watson and make out with her.  If only she could see you now!  Hey, she might if she ever drives down Baldwin Lane some lazy Sunday afternoon.

It was interesting to see Jason open mouthed and breathing heavy as he watched Licker get it.  As he did so, however, he deftly tried to conceal his major erection.  He obviously was new to slave culture, and didn’t know that folks like Retcher and me, who are experienced in dealing with slaves, just go with it.  Just let it pop.  And by this time Licker’s own erection couldn’t get any harder or bigger without that huge knob of his bursting.  With each slam of the tawse his cock ground against my groin.  I hadn’t known that my pal was such a randy little monkey.

Jason even commented on the fact; “That is absolutely disgusting, that slave has a hard on.”  I almost wanted to point out that he himself did as well, but this wasn’t the time for humor.  A slave was getting punished, and I wanted to savor it to the max.  Retcher’s massive cock was also clearly outlined in his khakis, and he made no attempt to conceal it as he worked the slave over.  He was one royal stud.  A true master.

My boner was on fire!  When the next blow made Licker’s groin shoot into mine, I wanted him to feel the fact that I had an erection as well as he did.  I wanted him to know that his suffering had erected me.  Cock against cock.  Nice getting to know you like this, Licker. Feels good, huh?

Retch then surprised all of us with a shot to Licker’s lower left leg.  Jason urged him on; “Come on Retch, ring that slave’s weenie bell!  Make him buck harder!”  With each blow Licker’s cock bell rang loudly, only to be muffled each time as his groin shot into mine with the force of the blow.  “Stop, stop!”, he begged.  Too bad, I thought, you should have considered the consequences before you tried to lie your way out of what you said.  Now you’re paying the price, Licker. Nevertheless, despite my feeling that justice was being fairly delivered, I attempted to comfort my friend.  “Licker”, I told him, “it will be ok.  You have to take your punishment.  We’re just trying to offer you a course of correction that we think is the right one for you.  The sooner you help us get rid of that self-pride of yours, the happier you are going to be.  Just help us mold you into what we want you to be, dude.”

“I hope that helps you concentrate on my rock garden!” Jason shouted, as the next blow landed on Licker’s arm.  It felt glorious holding a slave who was in the process of getting molded into a quickstepping lifer hard labor product.  With the following blow, which landed on the inside of his lower right leg, Licker screamed in a higher pitch.  Ah for crissake, I thought, stop your crying, you big baby!

Retcher returned to the slave’s bubble ass. Licker was trying with all his might to wiggle free, his butt cheeks clenching and unclenching a mile a minute.  After a repeated blow on the same spot, Licker squealed, and Retcher set the tawse down and walked over to him.  Jason, thinking the punishment was over, admonished the slave, “Maybe now you’ll listen to your owner when he tells you to do something!”

Retcher stood to the side of Licker, put one hand on his shoulder, and ran the other one over Licker’s back, gently massaging some areas that had received the blows. “Does this help take the sting away?” Licker answered respectfully that it did.  Retcher then knelt down on one knee beside Licker and rubbed a hand over the thighs and buttocks.  “Look at this!” he said, calling us over.  “Not so much as a sign of the tawse except for some pale red on the buttocks here where most of the blows landed.  If one kept moving the tawse to different parts of the body one could tawse a slave all day long. There would no damage whatsoever, either exteriorly or interiorly.” He started kneading Licker’s bubble butt and asked Licker if it felt good.  Licker said that it did.

Retcher stood up and pulled Licker close to him, continuing to gently knead the slave’s buttocks.  “You heard what I just said, Licker, didn’t you?  That if I had to, if it was necessary, if you seriously let me down, I could have you tawsed all day long.”  Licker nodded his head.  “The tawsing you just received lasted only a couple of minutes.  Imagine, if I had to, I could go on and on all day long with the Flexi-tawse.  I, of course, would not myself administer a tawsing of such length.  Major tawsings are done out at the compound by Terry Edwards.  He’s young, only 19.  I always use very young lads to do major punishment whippings because they do it with so much enthusiasm.  They don’t have any of the pangs of doubt that older lads acquire.  Now Licker, how would it feel to not only to be tawsed at great length, but especially by someone so young?  You wouldn’t like being tawsed by someone only 19 years old, would you?”  Licker nodded that he would not.  “I know very well you wouldn’t want that, and I wouldn’t ever want to have to do that.  But you need to know that that is one of the things that could await you if you decide to remain intransigent, give your overseers any trouble, or let yourself and us down.  Tell me, Licker, have you learned any lessons from this tawsing?”

“Yes, sir, I really have, sir”, Licker sniffled.

“Are you truly learning to behave from this?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I think we should continue the lesson a little longer.” Retcher picked up the Flexi-tawse. “With Licker’s own word that this is helping him, we’re going to start round two.  It would be foolish to stop now, since Licker is getting so much out of this.  OK, Licker, let’s get you disciplined up some more!”  Retcher commanded Licker to fold his arms in front of him again and asked me to resume my position as holder.

“All right!” Jason cheered.

Retcher returned the first blow of the tawse to Licker’s tight little bubble butt.  His buns immediately resumed their clenching unclenching action, his cock shot back up, his bell tinkled, his shouts of “Please stop!” resumed, and his tears reflowed.  And our three freeman cocks re-erected.

There were four of us gathered together under the beautiful California sun.  A sweet breeze, hardly even a breeze, kissed our skin.  There we were, all together, one slave and three free men. One naked male, three clothed.  One suffering male, three delighting.  Four cocks erected to their manly hilt, for four varied reasons.  One naked slave being punished, being taught that he had to do whatever he is told, that he had to be a good worker, that he had to work hard all day long with no say in the matter. Three free men punishing another man, a man who was unfree, but otherwise no different from them. Three happy men and one miserable slave.

As the screams of the errant slave echoed through the valley, I was dangerously close to erupting in a glorious wedding night ecstasy.  I looked into my friend’s teary eyes and felt as if our friendship had climaxed at this beautiful moment.  And as I gazed into his eyes, and he into mine, I felt closer to my best friend then I had ever felt before.  While we were locked in that gaze, the tawsing suddenly and unexpectedly stopped, and so did Licker’s crying.  The punishment was over. Retcher felt justice had been delivered, the slave had been instilled with slave wisdom, and the wrong doings had been paid for.

I didn’t know how much longer I could hold off from a jackin session.  Maybe when crybaby got back to hauling his boulders I could just go behind the bushes.  Or hell, I could just do it stretched out on the lawn chair, in front of him.

Retcher, eager to know if Licker had learned anything, asked, “Now tell me what you have to do from now on.”  “I have to do whatever I’m told to do, sir.”  Licker looked up to see if his master was pleased.  He appeared to be.  “I want you to be a good boy from now on”, he said.  “Will you promise me that?”  “Yes sir”, answered Licker quietly.  “Are you prepared to make a few resolutions now, Licker?”  Licker nodded his head, while rubbing his butt and thighs.  “Well, let’s hear them. What are your new resolutions?” Licker answered like a little school kid, sniffling, and with a giant full-face frown. “Sir, I’m going to start behaving, sir.  I’m not going to get into any trouble.  I’m going to buckle down and apply a lot more concentration and effort to my tasks, sir.”  “That’s outstanding”, Retcher replied, putting his hand on Licker’s shoulder. “Todd is going to stay here with you for the rest of the day, and he will let us know if you stick to your resolutions. I want you to know, Licker, because I own you, that I am demanding that you be a good slave.  You have to do everything you’re told from now on. I care about you.  You know that, don’t you?”  Licker nodded `yes’. It was like a father consoling a son after a spanking.  “After that whipping you’re probably thirsty. Right?” Licker nodded again.  So Retcher casually unzipped his trousers, and Licker knelt down in front of him.  Retcher pulled out his master’s cock out, and Licker looked up and opened his mouth while Retcher guided the only- partially-deflated cock into it.  Licker’s lips sealed his master’s rod, and Retcher let it rip.  It was beautiful to see my friend relieving his master.

As he was stuffing his cock back into his trousers, Retcher asked Jason and me if we had to go.  Jason said he did, and unzipped in front of Licker. “Fuck man; let me give this a try!  Let’s see if you can suck my piss out with a little more enthusiasm than you’ve shown working on my rock garden.”  Licker seemed to find it hard to close his lips around Jason’s dick, but he eventually did.  Jason liked the feel and actually complimented Licker. “Wow, you’re good at slurping out piss!  I see there’s something you do right.”

I too had to piss and I wasn’t about to appear like a little sissy shy boy by going and peeing behind a tree, so I had no choice but to get in the piss line also.  Watching Licker suck the piss out of the dicks of two of his betters was great.  When it was my turn, I stood in front of the kneeling slave and said, “Since I’ve seen so much of your dick lately, I thought you should have a chance to get to know mine a little better. Licker, I want you to meet Hercules.” Jason and Retcher roared with laughter, which made me less self conscious about being medium hard.  I remembered how Kevin Cornell used his dick on Licker and I decided to use the same tactic.  “OK urinal pal, look up into Hercules’ dick eye.  That’s the way.  Now smile at your new friend.”  I rubbed the tip across his lips, and as I did so, Retcher said, “Ooh la la!  You’ve got style there, Todd.”  Finally I jammed it down Licker’s throat.  Being somewhat hard, it poked his palate. Licker sealed my rod with his slave-red lips and I started peeing down his throat.  There’s nothing like having a freshly tawsed slave slurp out your piss; it’s done with such fervor.  I got even harder when he was sucking out the last drops from my slit.  At the end, my dick snapped out of his mouth and brushed his nose.  I wanted to slap his face with my cock, but I thought it best to hold off on that for now.

Retcher told me that Jason was taking him to dinner, in return for his help with the rock garden. In addition, Jason brought a basket of food and drinks for Licker and me.  He did say, however, that since it was only about 5:30, he expected Licker to be able to get quite a bit more done before the evening was over.  I assured him that he could count on me to see that Licker behaved and got lots done.

As Retcher and Jason left, Licker and I sat down in the grass to eat our meal.  Once settled, I said, “I love you Licker”, and he answered, “I love you Todd.”  As we were eating, I wondered what I could make him do next.  I felt the same euphoria that a kid feels with a brand new toy, it’s all mine to play with as I please. Licker was my toy, and I wanted to have fun.  What should I do with it?  But rather than be harsh, I decided to compliment the slave.  “Licker, you are Grade A slave material.  Right now you are basically a good slave, but you need to change your attitude, sharpen up a few points.  I want you to know you are doing good and I am proud of you.  I really want you to know that. Retcher asked me to pass on any insights about you that I may gain after I monitor you today.  I’ll be passing on to Retcher some of my observations and recommendations.  I will tell him I’ve observed that you are still something of a dallier, and you need to work on that.  As of yet, you don’t know how to maximize your time.  When we tell you to do something, you should just do it, not think about it. You are a good worker, but you need to be watched in order to perform at your best. You think too much.  It is somewhat embarrassing for me to see that you work well only in the presence of someone standing around with a tawse.  For now you can’t be trusted by yourself and need constant supervision.

“Licker, tell me honestly, please, you do want to be a ‘quick- stepper’, don’t you?”  When he answered that he did, I continued.  “Then I would just like to share with you some of the things I would do, if I were in your place, to help myself become a slave that Retcher could be proud of.  These are tips, and I hope you find them helpful, dude.”  “Thanks.” said Licker, appearing eager to hear advice.

“If I were hauling boulders I would resolve to always select a boulder that was just a bit larger than a size I would prefer to carry.  Then while hauling it up the incline I would always try to lead myself to walk at a slightly faster clip then I feel as if I want to.  By constantly pushing myself to up what I want to do, if only by a bit, I would become a better person, and a better worker. Always go for the gold, if you know what I mean.  Set higher goals for yourself than your owner sets for you, and he will always be pleased with you.

“And you know what?  It works, dude!  When I’m having a really shitty day in school, I always think about what awaits me at day’s end.  I just think, it may be a pain to be in class right now, but I know that when I get home in the evening the first thing Sarah and I are going to do is hop in the sack and fuck each other’s lights out.  And you should be thinking with that same attitude, looking forward to whatever the fun stuff is that you slaves do when you get unchained from your labor station and get back to your kennel.  It may not be fucking broads, but stuff like making headdresses and decorations for your harnesses, and so on.”

“Or like when Joe and Sam and I swim laps.  I just keep thinking that the losers have to buy all the beer that night for the winner.  That forces me to give my all, to put forth my best effort, knowing I’ll be getting free beer.  You may not be getting any free beer at day’s end, but doing well will keep you free of a whipping.”

“Licker, you always used to do so well at school.  Why in the hell are you doing such a miserable job at this?  I mean, it doesn’t take any brains to haul boulders, man.  Why in the hell are you giving Retch such a bad time, dude?”  Licker didn’t answer.  “Well, anyway, that’s my advice.  I’m just trying to be helpful.  I hope you can use it.”

“Thanks, Todd.” he said politely.

“It’s my pleasure to help.  Don’t hesitate to ask me for work tips any time.  But now it’s time for you to get back to work.  I want you to know that just because I’m your friend, that doesn’t mean I won’t hesitate to tawse your ass or your back if you don’t do what I say, or if you give me any back talk.  I love you, you know that, but I want Retcher to be proud of you. There’s a real attitude thing going on with you, and I would love to help chip some of that away for Retcher.  Retcher told me he thinks that just because you’re one of his pretty-boy naked field slaves you think you’re special because so many girls driving by want to take pictures of you.  You may be the hit of the naked field team, but that doesn’t mean you can slouch.  You’re a sloucher and I want to see you get over that stubborn streak in you.  Now I want you to get back to work and show me what a good worker you can be.  It’s six o’clock, so you’ve got another 3 hours to prove yourself, and make me proud of you.  So go to it, boy!  Now!”

As he started in hauling boulders, I kept talking at him, “I’m responsible for you now, and I intend to make sure you deliver the goods.  I want to see you haul some major ass for these last three hours.  I know you can do it.  Like Retcher said, you just do what I tell you if you don’t want me laying on the tawse some more.  We want Jason to have a beautiful rock garden.” I hated Jason doubtless as much as Licker did, but saying that to Licker got me super hard.

“I hope to help get you on the road toward being a labor-keen slave; I too want you nimble, meticulous, and attentive.  You need to focus on what you can do to be the most labor intensive product you can be for your owner.  You need to learn to tackle the job at hand with enthusiasm, to buckle down and focus on what a chore requires in order to be completed in the shortest amount of time.  Licker, I want you to be all you can be for Retcher and me.  It’s going to be difficult at first, but you are cut out for it.  Let’s turn you into a prime, grade-A, working machine.”

“We can get you headed in that direction by having you take longer strides than you are currently taking.  Let’s see if you can do it now.  Atta boy!  Now hold that head up nice and high and show the world you are proud to be a quick stepping, whip smart, toil-keen, hard-labor lifer product!  That’s the way!  Look at you go!   Now you’re looking smart!  Carry that boulder with enthusiasm!  Come on Licker.  Make me proud!   You can do it.  I know you can.   That’s the way!  Come on, it’s time to haul some ass now!  Get to it. That’s the way! What a good boy you are!”

The three hours went by without much incident.  Every half hour or so I would have him stand and I would hose him off.  He enjoyed that, and I enjoyed doing it.  There was only one problem that evening.  At one point I pointed out a particular boulder I wanted him to haul, and by mistake he took the one next to it.  When I told him it was the wrong one he said he would get it next time and kept walking up the incline.  I then ordered him to come back with the boulder he was carrying and get the one I wanted him to carry.  It was a real test of wills.  After a few more steps he finally brought it back and set it down.  But I couldn’t let that act of defiance go unpunished, so before I let him continue I ordered him to get down on the grass and lie on his belly.  I gathered his arms behind his back, set my left knee into it, and tawsed his ass with about six of my fiercest swats.  He was howling and yipping and crying, and every stroke was giving me this wild tingling feeling in my groin.  I felt that if I had kept tawsing his butt I would eventually have cum.  I wanted to go on but didn’t, because I’m not like those sadist overseers who treat slaves any way they want just for their own pleasure.  My first concern was for the welfare and well being of the slave.  The tawsing may have been painful to him, but it was a good thing, it was directing him toward a higher goal.  And I definitely knew it was a good thing when I let him get up, because he just fell back to his knees, hugged me around the thighs, and said, “I’m sorry I let you down, Todd.  It will never happen again.  Man, I’m such a fuck up. I’m so sorry.”  I was so touched that I had earned his respect that I hugged him in return and told him his apology was a sign to me that he was a good slave and should be proud.

When he resumed work after the tawsing he seemed to have a much improved attitude, as well as an erection even stiffer than the one he had when he got branded at SBGF.  I knew the tawsing I gave to my slave friend’s ass was the right thing to do because he did his work after the tawsing without a lot of attitude.  He seemed more content.  I mean, all he was asked to do was haul boulders.  It’s not like he was responsible for making sure laws were fairly administered, a space ship remained on course, vital scientific research was conducted, books were balanced, or a brain tumor was properly removed.  There are good responsible people who do the important work of society.  All he had to do was haul boulders.  He doesn’t have to worry about making ends meet.  All his meals are provided free of charge, and will be for the rest of his life.  As will be his housing and medical and dental care, and every other one of life’s necessities.  Seems, in fact, like slaves don’t have a right to complain about anything, really, given all that society does for them.  Let the good, capable members of society run the world, and all you have to do is what you are told to do, without asking questions or thinking about it.

At the conclusion of the work day Licker was totally exhausted; sweaty, smelly, dirty, and grimy.  He plopped on the grass on his back and sprawled out.  When Retcher and Jason arrived, he was still too exhausted to move.  Retcher made a dismissive gesture, as if to say, “Let him lie.  What can you expect, anyway, from a slave?”  But on surveying the work, the two of them were amazed.  “Fantastic. Look at that!  I can’t believe this much managed to get done.”  On hearing that, Licker stirred and sat up.  A smile broke across his face, and he came up behind us and stood at slave salute, with his pelvis very proudly thrust out.  He was the dog, waiting for a pat on the head from its master.  Then the compliments began.  Retcher went first; “Todd, you did an absolutely amazing job.  Man, I am proud of you.  That you insured this kind and amount of work got done means you have a true gift in this field.”  Jason added his own praise; “Man, I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for me. I’m grateful not only for Retcher’s kind offer but for your volunteering your time when you could have been out at the pool with us.  You did one fantastic job!  Take my hand, buddy, I thank you.”

As Jason shook my hand I noticed Licker’s defeated look.  He was like a little kid who looked like he was about to cry because he’d been snubbed.  Retcher then walked towards Licker, took out a leash, and snapped it on his collar.  As he did so, he continued to address me.  “Most people would go easy on a former friend, but you managed to keep him primed and motivated throughout the day.  You know Todd, if you are seriously interested, I could find work for you out at the compound.  You have proven yourself.”  He instructed Licker to bring his uniform along, but not put it on because he didn’t want it getting soiled.  He then yanked on the chain and indicated for us to make our way towards the vehicles.

When we arrived at the parking lot, he told Licker to hop back on board the pickup and sit down on the bench, face backwards again. Then he hopped on board and started chaining him up.  Jason and I leaned over the sides of the pickup to watch.  “Fucking high maintenance on that thing,” exclaimed Jason.  “It’s like any machine, Retcher answered. It requires some basic care and upkeep.” Jason, indicating the slave, inquired, “How much does one of these things go for?”  Retcher smiled; “You don’t want to know!  But you can pick up some models pretty cheap.  Something like ole’ Licker here is really going to cost you, though.”

As Retcher finished securing the slave I decided to assert my new found authority.  “On the way over here, Licker, you were somewhat slumping in your seat.  I want you sitting up nice and tall for the ride home.”  “That’s the way, Todd!” encouraged Retcher. “Very helpful pointers.”  Once Retcher had Licker chained down with his legs and arms spread out, he hopped off the truck.  It was 9:05, and it was still light out, so Licker would have to endure a naked, `on full-display’, ride home.  The only consolation for him was that the country roads were not heavy with traffic, especially at this hour.

Retcher came back over to me, where I was standing beside the chained slave.  “So, Todd, do you want to come out to the house and talk some business?”

“Retch, it’s such a major offer and change, I just need to think about it some more.”

“What better way than hanging out a bit once we get back.  You could even spend some time with Licker.”

I then asked what was going to happen to Licker when we got back. Retcher looked at him and said, “He really stinks, doesn’t he?”  I nodded in agreement, and we smiled and laughed.  A slight smile came from Licker too.  “When he returns to the kennels he must first report to his slave captain, who will doubtless order a couple of his kennel mates to bathe him.  He will then be taken to the commissary and fed.  After he eats he will report to an assembly of slave captains who will question him on his work day, assess how he has profited from today’s work detail, and grade and evaluate his performance and attitude.  If he receives a favorable grade he will be allowed to recreate for an hour before bed time, all under constant supervision, of course.  If he is found wanting in his review, he will be ordered to report to an overseer, and instead of an hour’s recreation he will receive an hour’s training focusing on the parts of his review which received an inadequate grade.  If you’d like to come out and watch the whole process you are certainly welcome. Normally he would have part of tomorrow morning off, having worked this late, but a friend of mine is an amateur photographer and he wanted a slave to practice shooting nudes, so I’m making Licker available for that.  He’ll basically still have a work-free morning, he’ll just have to get naked and look pretty.  My friend said he wanted a sultry looking male.  Licker doesn’t look too sultry right now, but I’m going to let Buddy fix him up any way he wants him.”

“Nice”, I said. “Licker should make a good model.”

“You’ll be able to check out what he does with Licker for yourself. He maintains a cool web site called, ‘Naked Slave’.  He’s used some of my slaves before, and all I ask is that he attaches a discrete credit to each photo saying, ‘This slave the property of Baldwin/Fletcher’.   I basically see it as a little free advertising.  But anyway, if you do join me tonight, we could go to the female compound and pick out some entertainment.”

“Fuck man!” interjected Jason. “You slavers have got it made!”

“Yeah, we’ll go down to the girlie barn and check out the fillies, see what’s looking good.  We’ll find you a nice bald-cunted drudge bitch to fuck.  You deserve it, Todd.  Once you soak that rod of yours in puss juice for an hour or two you are going to be feeling mighty fine.   And if you’re interested, after Licker gets bathed, and before we hit the bitch barn, we could have him prime our pumps.”

My mouth opened and smiled, and I looked at Licker.  The look on the poor slave’s face couldn’t have been more wretched with shame.  I was flushed myself.  “Sounds to-tal-ly cooool”, I said with a lascivious drawl.  I kept my eyes on Licker.  So, was the former high school prom king `on call’ in the evenings? Naughty homo boy. I was so hard that I ached.

Retcher upped the ante.  “If you want, you could spend the night, because I’m going to need some help with a task tomorrow that you might find interesting.  My vet’s got a special on slave castrations this week, and I’m planning on taking some of the problem boys out to have Doc Waller take the spit out of them.  You’re more than welcome to come along.”

It was getting hard to resist Retcher’s offer. Jason was interested.  “Fuck man, you actually de-ball guys like Licker here?”

“Oh yes.  It’s only a very small percentage though.  What often happens to guys like Licker who are enslaved in their teens or early twenties is that after about 10 years or so of enslavement, usually around the age of 30 to 35, they enter a defiant mode.  They begin to wonder, “What in the hell am I putting up with this for?  Why can’t I go and do what I want, just like my owner does?  Why can’t I lay around all day and jack off whenever I want to, just like everyone else? It’s all textbook behavior for slaves, a common phase they go through.  I see it all the time in my bucks.”

“Well, the smarter ones, after a period of readjustment usually lasting several months, and brought about by some very healthy doses of discipline, finally realize that they put up with it simply because they have absolutely no fucking say in the matter whatsoever!”  With that Jason and I both just started laughing out loud at the ridiculousness of the idea of a slave thinking he had a right to the same privileges as free men.  When our laughter died down, Retcher continued. “But, incredibly, some of them just don’t get it.  Once we get the defiant ones ‘fixed’, however, they soon calm down and realize that being a slave isn’t all bad.”

Then, as if to drive the lesson home, Retcher engaged the naked slave chained down in the back of the pickup.  “Licker, tell my friends here why you can’t go off right now and have fun at the beach anytime you want to, just like your pal Todd can.  Why can’t you go off with him in his brand new Jeep and go party at the beach, and spend all day looking at the girls?”  Licker answered with immediate assurance, “Because sir, it is not for me to decide what I am to do. It is for you, sir, my owner, to decide.”

Retcher continued the exam.  “And why is it, Licker, that I call the shots in your life?”

Licker, so earnest and trying to please, answered, “Because you own me, sir.”

“Then tell your owner, when are you going to be free to go off on your own free will and go to the beach and have fun.  Will it be next year?”

“No, sir.”

“Will it be in five years?”

“No, sir.”

“Will it be in ten years?”

“No, sir.”

“Will it be in 15 years?”

I gazed intently on my friend as his totally abject status in life was forcefully inculcated on his mind.  Never another day in his life to have the kind of fun he pleases! It was super-satisfying to see Licker put in his place, and in such dramatic terms by his owner.

“When will you be able, say, at 2 in the afternoon, to wander off beside the stream and relax and read a book, even for half an hour?”

“Never sir, never.”  Rather than looking defeated, Licker looked up like a child who was eager to please.  His eagerness manifested itself in a face that offered more of a smile than a frown, and in a groin that offered a literally tingling erection.

“When you are hungry, can you go off when you want and eat whatever you want, just like Todd here can?”

“No, sir.”

“Can you watch TV in the evening like Todd here can?”

“No, sir.”

“Can you listen to what you want on the radio whenever you want, like Todd here can?”

“No, sir.”

“Can you chat and converse with your slave friends whenever you want?”

“No, sir.”

“Can you use the telephone to connect with old friends, the way Todd here does?”

“No, sir.”

“Can you lay back and think about things, whenever you want, the way Todd and I can?”

“No, sir.”

“Can you look at pictures of naked women, the way we can?”

“No, sir.”

“If you do have thoughts about naked women, can you do anything about it, the way Todd, Jason and I can, anytime we want?”

“No, sir.”

“Will you ever be able to feel a woman’s breast again?”

“No, sir.”

“Will you ever be able to put your dick into a nice juicy cunt, the way we do all the time?”

“No, sir.”

“What will you be doing for the rest of your life?”

“Laboring, sir.”

“What kind of labor?”

“Hard labor, sir.”

“Do you get a weekly paycheck for your hard labor?”

“No, sir.”

“Who are you earning money for, Licker?”

“For you, sir.”

“Do you want to earn lots of money for me, Licker?”

“Yes sir.”

“How can you be sure you will be earning lots of money for me?”

“By working as hard as I can, sir.”

“And no matter how hard the work, or how tired you may be, you will still keep on working to earn me lots of money?”

“Yes sir.  I want to earn lots of money for you no matter how hard the work or how tired I may be.”

“Do you sweat when you labor?”

“Yes sir.”

“When you are finished laboring after your 8 to 12 hour day, can you soak off for a long time in a nice soothing bath?”

“Usually not, sir.”

“How are you bathed after work, Licker?”

“We kneel on the ground like billygoats and get hosed down.”

“Do you like being herded like a goat and hosed down like an animal?”

“Yes sir, very much so, sir.”

“Why are you happy being a slave?”

“Because I get to serve you, sir, for the rest of my life.”

“Is there anything else you like about being a slave?”

“I get to work in the fields and show off my body to the tourists, sir.”

“How does that make you feel, Licker?”

“It makes me very proud to be a Baldwin/Fletcher naked, ringed, hard- labor field slave, sir.”

After Licker’s exam, I felt I would be remiss if I didn’t show some serious interest in Retcher’s kind offer of a job.  So I agreed to follow him back out to the Baldwin estate.  The thought of being able to spend my summer lording it over hundreds of slaves was too good to be true.  The very idea of me as a Baldwin/Fletcher overseer, walking around in crisp fancy clothes and overseer boots, with my hair slicked up like the Baldwin boys, a tawse in my service belt, slaves looking up at me and saluting with their thrust-out hips every time I got near them, correcting the wayward slave; it was all too heady.

Jason came up to me and thanked me again for my `hard work’, and told me he hoped Retcher would reward me in a satisfactory way.  Then as Jason and Retcher bade their farewells, I said to Licker, “As you heard, I’m going back to the compound with you, so we’ll be able to spend some more time together.  Retcher said I could help bathe you. That sounds like a lot of fun.  In fact, if I take Retcher up on his job offer we’ll be able to spend lots of time together.  Won’t that be cool?”  Licker agreed with me.

I was feeling frisky so I leaned over and reached in between Licker’s legs and grabbed his belled cock.  I shook it to make his bell ring. Retcher and Jason looked back at us, and I waved hello to them with Licker’s cock.  Their faces erupted into smiles, followed by laughter.  I kept ringing the cock in a silly fashion, and as Licker’s dick got harder and harder he started smiling too. Soon he joined us in crazy laughter.  What an evening!  What a day!!  What a life!!!   And the fun was only just beginning.

For my summer training job at Baldwin/Fletcher I worked under the chief overseer of the female barns (what Baldwin/Fletcher calls their female slave quarters).  While that job was super rewarding; what guy on college break wouldn’t love to have a job where he’s in charge of a barn full of ladies, making sure they bathe, are shaved smooth all over, and kept up to the stringent Baldwin/Fletcher behavior codes? I found, interestingly, the days I had to replace some co-overseer of the male slaves to be equally, if not more, satisfying.  I mean, looking at naked shaved pussy all day is one super treat, but something about having control over hundreds of men who have to do what you say, and stand at attention and display when you pass within 10 feet of them, presents a super charged atmosphere like no other.

As a reward for what he called `outstanding’ service, Retcher gave me a gift.  I had told him I was moving into a house on campus, but it was a mess, it needed painting, junk removed, and cleaning.  Retcher told me he wanted me to come back to Baldwin/Fletcher next summer. And even expressed hopes I would work for him after I had completed graduate school.  He told me how it was inevitable in the near future that chief overseers of slaves would need degrees in either slave maintenance or slave psychology.  Needless to say, I was flattered that he wanted me working for him.  I was even more flattered when he offered me as a bonus a slave for a couple of weeks to help clean and paint my place; a slave by the name of Licker!

I was so excited by the offer that I hugged Retcher on the spot.  He told me he hoped that Licker and I would have fun, but that I should not be lax with Christopher.  He said that I should be careful about maintaining the slave/master relationship.  He said he didn’t care how liberal I was with Licker; he considered anything that happened would be a good education for me in slave handling, but for Licker’s benefit he urged me not go too easy on him.  I assured him that I had no intention of going easy on Licker, especially since I had a lot of work that needed to get done.

Retcher also told me to make use of the police if any problems arose with Licker that I felt were awkward or unsure about how to handle. He reminded me that when it comes to putting a slave in its place even a liberal police force like our California police are pretty effective.  Taming a defiant slave is something the police have no trouble doing, for two reasons.  First, because it is a legal requirement to admonish and punish unruly slaves, and second, handling slaves does not require the same kind of care and the kid gloves needed when handling freemen suspects, where lawsuits lurk around every corner.  Therefore our usually sensitive California police are typical cops, fortunately, when it comes to handling slaves.  And slaves know this, as well.  A threat to call the police given to a lazy house slave toying with your better nature is usually all it takes to make an uppity slave do what he’s told.

Certainly I intended to have good times with Licker, watch some movies, play cards, swim, reminisce, but I also intended to maintain clear boundaries.  It must always be remembered that a slave is a slave, and laxity is always a disaster.  It is useless to try and have it any other way.  In my slave handling training we were given guidelines on handling enslaved friends and family members, and the advice I was given seemed good to me and I intended to follow it.  For handling slave `friends’ effectively it is recommended that you let the slave be familiar and follow routines from the past, but insist that all slave duties be performed on schedule.  If the slave is lax or in other ways incurs demerits, then punishments should be carried out summarily.   If the slave `friend’ incurs a demerit, the best course of action is to handle it objectively; “Oops brother, it looks like you didn’t do that quite the way I had asked you to.  No hard feelings, but that is one demerit point.  Just remember if you get three more demerit points you are going to have to disrobe and get strapped down to the punishment cot, and I will deliver 20 strokes of the service whip across your back, buttocks, thighs and upper legs.”

It is also recommended to set two times a week aside for discipline discussion sessions, where the overseer can freely express his frustrations with the friend/family-member slave and any changes he would like to see implemented in its behavior.

Being firm is paramount in controlling slaves and being firm without going overboard is what makes an effective overseer.  Most experienced slave handlers have a story or two to tell about things they did to a slave they are not proud of; maybe going too far with a punishment session, using the slave inappropriately, taking public humiliation one step too far. However, one thing most counselors do advise; if you have overstepped yourself with a slave, possibly abused it, the important thing is to not waste too much time feeling bad about it. Mistakes happen.  Being an effective master/overseer/caretaker means getting back in control and not being hindered in that goal by misgivings.

I did ask Retcher if it would be ok to let Licker grow his hair out in the next few weeks before he went into my service.  At first he balked and asked me why I wanted him to have hair.  When I told him it was because I wanted to give Licker a funny haircut, he okayed the idea.

The first thing I did when I got Licker to my house on campus was to show him around the place.  It was the house we were supposed to be sharing this term.  One of the first things he noticed was that I had almost all of his things.  I told him I was so crushed at losing him as a friend that when his dad offered me a chance to come and pick through his belongings, I took him up on it because I wanted as many mementos of him as I could get my hands on.  I think he was touched.

I also showed him some other things.  Things Retcher had kindly loaned me.  In the center of the living room I had placed the slave `high chair’, a large steel chair similar in design to a baby’s high chair, only much larger and heavier, with coiled straps to restrain legs, arms, chest and waist, and with a large removable table tray.  The `slave chair’ was all the rage with domestic slave owners.  A slave could be diapered, parked and secured into the chair, a bowl of kibbles and water and an emergency cell phone placed on the table tray, and one wouldn’t have to worry about the slave for hours, even a day or two.  It could save a fortune on kenneling, and could also be used as a punishment chair as well. Threaten to diaper and park a slave for a day or two in the `chair’, and you’ll probably have a very obedient slave on your hands.  But mainly it was just a great convenience for those times when you didn’t want to deal with a slave, or wanted it safely out of the way.

And right next to his high chair was the classic American coffee table, on which I had left all items of control and discipline openly on display.  I told Licker that they were just deterrence items and that I certainly didn’t expect to have to use any of them.  In addition to the standard paddle, tawse, service whip, plastic chains, and cuffs, I had a couple of howlers, penis weights, a state of the art `slave taser’, an `energizer’, a twelve pack of slave punishment mouth wash lollipops, and a set of knee knockers, used for `brass balling’ a slave.

I showed him his room.  He was excited, I could tell, to have a room of his own.  The first chore I gave him was to remove the door to his room.

After he removed the door from its frame I could tell Licker wanted to kick back, but just then wasn’t the time for it.  I had things to do, I had a lot of chores for Licker, and I had to get him oriented. First on the agenda, it was time for Licker to get a shave and a haircut.  With his hair having grown out a bit Licker was beginning to look like Christopher again.  I pulled a bar stool out and ordered him to take off his shirt and hop on the stool so I could get to work on him.  He balked.  I asked him, “Does that mean you want a spanking after your haircut and shave?”  He made a sneer like he was stifling a reaction, so I clarified my determination; “Just because you’re my friend, that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you take advantage of me. I can have the police here within two minutes, and I will call them if you don’t get that shirt off and sit on the stool right now.”

He took off his shirt and sat on the stool.  I buzzed the old war orphan cross into his head, a strip of hair an inch thick running across the crown of the head from the middle brow to the back of the head, and a strip crossing that one running from ear to ear.  I then shaved it clean and trim.  He looked nice and slavely.  He sat very still for his shave and haircut, thereby proving to me he wasn’t a bad slave at all, just one, like all slaves, that had to be monitored and prodded 24 hours a day to bring out his best.  And I told him so.

The really amazing thing about having my old friend spend time with me was the intense realization that he now no longer owned or controlled his body.  I once said to him, “You no longer belong to yourself.  You are owned.  The Baldwin’s call all the shots in your life.  It’s not like it’s a bad thing, just a very different thing from the way things were before.  I bet it must feel very freeing to know that you don’t have to worry about making decisions, to know that you are owned and totally controlled by someone else; that your arms and legs no longer belong to you, that your very body no longer is yours, but belongs to and is owned by someone else, that you are now the property of the Baldwin’s and that your food and water are there each day only out of the good graces of your owner.  It’s a totally new and totally awesome dimension.”  I suspect he didn’t grasp the cosmic dimensions of what I was trying to say because he didn’t respond to my comments.

After three full days of work, Licker pretty much had my campus house looking good.  And I soon found out that having my own slave made me a hot man on campus.  Whenever I would take Licker out I always had him wear a slave smock and belt, like the Canadian slaves wear.  Sometimes I would lift the back of his smock and tuck it into his belt, to show off Licker’s cute butt.  The girls on campus seemed to love it.  It surprised me just how helpful it is having a slave on such outings. Having Licker in tow meant I could outfit him with a large back pack and really do a lot of shopping.  It was great being able to stock up on items.  By the end of our shopping trips I always had Licker packed down like a little mule. Once when we were getting our groceries checked out at the super market the boy packing the groceries called to Licker and told him to get over there and help him.  Licker just stood there, so I took my hand, lifted up his slave smock, and in front of all the people in line in back of us I gave a hard swat to his butt, and told him to get over there and obey the bag boy.  He was super red in the face as he did what the spike haired bag boy told him what to do.  I thought it was cute.  Licker was not amused.

Our time together was mostly pleasant and passed quickly.  There was only one unpleasant incident.  I have a cell phone, but Licker is not allowed to use it except for emergency purposes.  He knows it shows every call that is made, so he doesn’t try to use it.  My neighbors are six students crammed into a small house.  We got to talking one time, and they asked me about my slave.  They thought it was neat that I had a slave.  In a gesture of generosity I told them Licker would be happy to clean out their basement.  When I told Licker he had a job to do, surprisingly, he didn’t reveal any body language that suggested he was annoyed that I had made him available.

So the kids put Licker to work down in the basement.  I went over there a couple of times during the course of the half day that it took him to do what they wanted.  The last time I went down I didn’t see Licker immediately.  I looked, and found him in a store room, with the door closed, using one of the student’s cell phone.  When he saw me he showed no great panic, and I heard him say, “Oops, Todd is here.”  He laughed as the person on the other end said something, and then said. “It’s ok.  You know I can remember that.”  I was pissed.  I took the phone from him and started checking the phones record of calls. It appeared he had made about six calls, and was on the phone for almost an hour total.  A couple of the students came down when they heard the commotion, and took the cell phone from me when I asked them for a piece of paper because I wanted to write the numbers down.  So I simply took Licker home, and told them they would have to finish cleaning their basement themselves.

When I got home I asked Licker what the phone calls were about and he wouldn’t answer me.  I actually would have left it at that, but at one point he said, “Todd, just for once bug off!”

Such language is against protocol and all my training had taught me that you cannot let a slave get away with it.  So I ordered Licker into the slave high chair and strapped him in securely, at the chest, waist, legs, elbows and arms.  I took out a slave punishment lollipop, pinched Licker’s nose, stuck it in his mouth, and took the elastic band attached to the stick and secured it around the back of his head. I let him sit there and I watched him writhe until almost the entire lollipop had dissolved.  As I watched Licker writhe and gag and cough and choke I pondered how much comfort and safety modern science has added to slave’s lives.  The punishment lollipop is a non toxic mixture of astringent and bitter herbs and roots, described as having a mouth taste and feel of rotting garbage covered in nettles, but once removed, the slave needs only a drink of water to rinse the taste away.   No rinsing out of the mouth for hours was required as in the days when floor soap was used to wash out the mouths of foul mouthed slaves.  When I removed it and gave him water to drink, I asked him if he was going to behave from now on, or if he wanted another lollipop. He said he would behave.

Licker was on good behavior for most of the time after that cell phone incident, and as a reward I told Licker I had a surprise for him.  On the last weekend of his stay with me I was throwing a big party in his honor for all of our old friends.  He came up to me and in the most honest and direct way he ever spoke to me since he had been enslaved (actually talking to me the way Christopher used to talk to me, not like some sneaky slave who really could no longer stand my guts), and begged me not to have the party.  I reassured him.  I told him that I was not planning on using him to serve the guests or humiliating him in any way.  This was to be a party, a happy time, and he was to be a guest like everyone else.  I explained that while he was no longer one of the gang anymore in the old sense, he was still our friend and pal. True, he had a different status now, but we all did.  Some of the guys were no longer in school, some were now working full time, and some were unemployed.  “I’m now in graduate school, and you’re with Baldwin/Fletcher.  None of us has to be ashamed of where we are in life.”  He seemed to buy it.

For the party I wanted to dress Licker up so everyone could see that he was a very stylish slave.  I gave him instructions in preparing himself.  I wanted him to bathe, shave his pubes, shave his head very neatly around his dome cross, and to oil and powder himself.  When he presented himself to me after he had done all of this I led him to my room and asked him to select one of his colognes.  He told me he didn’t want to wear any cologne, so I selected the one I knew was his favorite and had him lift his arms.  I sprayed the cologne into both of his arm pits, squirted some on the area just below his belly button, shot some on his inner thighs, and turned him around and sprayed a healthy dose into his ass crack.  I wanted him perfumed slightly more than would be in good taste both to give him a slightly whorey top note, and also to humiliate him.  For clothes I had him wear one of those slave skirts and belt that one sees a lot in the slave catalogues, but doesn’t see too often in actual use.  I figured it would make him stand out somewhat in the crowd, keep his torso nicely exposed, and any guest who wanted to see what a slave’s shaved up sex organs look like would have easy access.

I gelled and pomaded the hair on his head, stylishly highlighting his slave cross hair cut.  I was going to put a bow tie on him, but when I looked through his assortment of ties which I got from his dad, along with all of his other stuff, I found a very nice long green and yellow silk full length wide tie with a subtle floral pattern.  It hung very nicely between his ringed nipples, and went very well with his green slave skirt. I had him put on his fancy slave sandals, with straps going seven inches up the leg.  I put slave garters above his knees and on his wrists.   From his slave duffle I had him get his slave paint and paint his lips and cheeks red.  Slave paint is very soft, not high gloss, so it looks like he was eating berries.  But it made him look so good that I also had him paint his dick tip, the glans, just the way he has to do every day out at Baldwin/Fletcher as a field display slave.

As I worked on him in front of the full length mirror I told him he was a beautiful slave.  I know he was proud, because he kept looking at himself in the mirror.  When it came to jewelry I asked him if he wanted to put any on from his duffle, and to my pleasant surprise he wanted to.  He hung a silver porpoise from his right tit ring, and selected three rings, one for the ring finger of his right hand, and one for the index and little finger of his left hand.  As he was about to close his jewelry box I noticed an elegant silver mouse.  I took it, lifted his skirt, and attached it to his penis ring.  I looked up at him, and we both smiled at each other.

But Licker’s quiet, pliant, and submissive way did not fool me for a minute.  He was preparing to play the slave for our former classmates, even going to extremes of presenting himself as a spectacle to make a statement, and doubtless hoping to win sympathy.  What poor Licker didn’t understand was that his act probably wouldn’t work.  Sympathy for slaves was dwindling fast, and slavery was gradually becoming more and more acceptable, even in liberal California. Things had already changed dramatically since he had been enslaved over half a year ago.

The party started out as I expected.  Everyone was happy to see old school chums.  What everyone really wanted to see was Christopher, but they all put on a good act.   No one expressed so much as the mildest astonishment when they met their old classmate Christopher, now drudged to the hilt.  And when everyone shook Licker’s hand, they all acted as if, `Great to see you, you’re looking great, no big deal that you are now a lifer slave’.  I knew that whole show couldn’t last for long, and once things got under way and the alcohol started flowing, questions finally started to get asked and concerns voiced. And that was soon followed, with the help of plenty of party beer, with stronger, less sober reactions.  I soon knew I had a party with `balls’ going.

Licker behaved himself, only talking to answer questions.  A few times throughout the party I caught him talking eagerly with Quentin Santos and his buddies, but always out of earshot. Quentin was an anti slave activist, and I invited him not only because he and Christopher were rather close friends, but also to sort of shove Licker and the advancements slavery had made in California in his face.

Peter Burrell and Ivan Ologochev were two of mine and Christopher’s best friends during our high school days.  We were four idealistic antislavery young men.  But by now they had positioned themselves with Quentin and his pals.  That judgmental group did not look to be in a very partying mood, hanging around the fringes, doubtless disgusted with the happy laughing party goers. One of my goals in this little gathering was to educate, to proselytize a bit for slavery, to let everyone see that Christopher, rather than being some abject slave, was still my happy friend.  There were always going to be Quentin types in the world, no use in letting them get the best of you.

Beth Middleton, a sweet compassionate former classmate, whose father owned a couple of slaves, arrived in high and bubbly spirits.  She went right up to Licker and gave him a big warm hug and told him she was happy to see him and how great he looked.  And she brought a present.  “This is for you Christopher.”  Christopher looked at me, and I indicated for him to open the present.  It was a set of three of those popular `Slave Signs’ for hanging around a slave’s neck, that have some slogan or question designed to make slaves endearing.  The three Beth gave us were, `I feel like dancing!’, `No chore too big or too small!’ and `Have you given me enough spankings today?’  We all laughed and tried to decide which one we should hang on Licker.  We all agreed it should be `Have you given me enough spankings today?’ Beth took the sign from Licker’s hands and hung it around his neck.

Seeing the sign, Claire Boldstrom remarked, “Now make sure you behave Christopher, or else you’re going to have to go over Todd’s knee.”

During the laughter that followed Cooper Davis asked if Christopher had ever been bad and if I ever had to actually punish our old classmate.  I explained, “It’s not that Christopher is a bad person, but it is the case that sometimes he is not the best slave.  A slave is always going to try to get away with stuff.  I mean, if you had to do what you were told to do all day long, wouldn’t you start thinking, `What in the fuck am I doing this shit for?’, and look for those times when you could get out of doing it.  It’s not that Christopher is bad.  No way. He’s my best pal and I love him.  But he’s a slave and I know how slaves think, how they’re always trying to get out of things.  I simply want him to be the best slave he can be, and to that end I have had to discipline him a few times.”

“It’s amazing, really.  Licker has been through some of the most rigorous professional obedience training out there, and he still messes up occasionally.  He’s already rounded up three demerits since he’s been here, and out at Baldwin/Fletcher that means he would be due for what they call a `reformatory strapping’.”

Quentin interrupted, feeling the need to show his moral superiority, “Todd, I hope you’re just talking that way because of all the booze. Because if that’s the way you talk in real life, you have some pretty messed up values.”  There was now tension in the air, and I wasn’t going to let it win out, “Quentin, how would you like it if I were to send Licker over to your place for a day so he can do all those odd shit jobs you have been putting off?  Get all that crap work out of the way once and for all, what do you say?”  Quentin gave a really nasty sneer and shake of the head, but the laughter that followed my remark won back the party mood.

Cooper Davis handed Licker a beer, and I had to stop him. “No beer for the slave, please.  He’s drinking tomato juice.”  “Oh come on, let him have a beer!”, insisted Cooper.

Mike Draker put some sense into Cooper’s head, “Oh yea, great, that’s all we need is a fucking drunken slave on our hands!”

George Sillmore was a neighbor and friend of Licker’s dad. We both used to caddy for him when we were young, so I invited him for old time’s sake.  He looked Licker over approvingly.  “Well, well, Christopher, good to see you!  Are you behaving yourself?”  Licker nodded `Yes’.  “Good. You make a real cute little slave pup.  When you’re dad was wondering about getting you enslaved I assured him it wasn’t such a bad thing, that slaves lead a carefree life and all. Now I can assure him that I was right and he did the right thing. Slavery is a real good fit for you.”  Not surprisingly George left the party soon after getting a look at Christopher.

Oswald Stoddard was our old friend and classmate, and a long time vocal proponent of slavery.  I knew he would relish, more than anyone else, seeing an old classmate enslaved.  He and his friend Bill Abbey came up to me and shook my hand.  Oswald greeted Licker, but did not extend a hand.  “Well, Well, Mr. Christopher Worthington, look at you!  How have you been holding up buddy?”  Without waiting to hear an answer he asked me what Christopher’s CSSR (California State Slave Rating) rating was?  He was intent on showing the group how much he knew of slave lore and culture.  When I answered “140, 30, 10”, Oswald pursed his lips and squinted, “Whew, he must of had some damn good training.  I bet he comes with a pretty hefty price tag.”  Then looking at Licker, “That means you must do an awful lot of hard work, kiddo.  Someone’s gotta make a lot of money back on that kind of investment.”

Oswald took hold of Licker’s smock by the hem and turned it up, exposing his private parts.  For the majority of my guests this was a dramatic move, one they just were not used to seeing.  Oswald grabbed Licker’s flesh by the lower abdomen and squeezed samples.  “They keep him nice and firm.  I see he’s on KLC rations.”  Oswald dropped the hem and said to Bill, “There’s something satisfying about seeing a slave with this kind of CSSR rating.  You can bet this one hops to orders on a dime.”

Quentin spoke up.  “It’s obscene.”  Oswald was up to the unexpected remark.  “Talk is cheap.  Everything is obscene today.  Are all of the slave protection laws obscene?  The fact is that…”  He was interrupted by Quentin’s friend, Miles, “The fact is that this man is a human being.”

“Did I say he wasn’t human?”  Oswald had been in one too many of these circular arguments, and he seemed almost weary of going on in defense of slavery.  “We free boys need to stick together right now, what with the legislature considering more strictures on the Slave Handling Act. Hey, I know what would change all of your minds.  Let’s fit Christopher with a sucker’s muzzle and have him get to work on all of us.”  The loud raucous laughter that followed that brazen remark put everyone back into the party mood, and the booze started flowing again at a good pace.

Cindy, beer in hand, not the brightest bulb in the chandelier, asked what was so bad about slavery.  “He looks more fit than any of us. And he doesn’t have any whip marks or scars on his back.”

Quentin responded, “They’ve got state of the art punishment, Cindy, designed not to mark.”

“You mean Christopher really gets punished?”, giggled Cindy as Matthew Koerner put his arm around her and pulled her close to protect her from the harsh reality doubtless about to hit our ears.

David Sorenson answered for me, “Is the pope Catholic?  Duhhhhh? Whaddya think?”  Everyone laughed, but now everyone was curious.  But surprisingly, no one offered any layman stories they had overheard on the matter of slave punishment, so I decided to be the decisive voice of authority on the matter.  “One thing you will never hear Licker’s owners, the Baldwin’s, saying is, “There are going to be some changes made around here.  Things are going to tighten up around here.” Resolves like that don’t need to be voiced because they go by the rules out there.  We keep the slaves on their feet and towing the line 24 hours a day.”

I then got a brilliant party idea. I decided to read from Licker’s punishment book.  I excused myself saying it was show and tell time. When I came back into the living room with the book, I saw Licker put his head down.  His face turned red.  “What I have here is the slave’s punishment book.  Here Licker records his shortcomings and his feelings about them.  Let me read you a few entries from just this past summer.”

My guests gathered around closer to me as I made a show of opening Licker’s punishment book and looking for an interesting entry to read. Licker leaned against a wall in back of most of the guests, and it was clear to me he would have preferred that I not go ahead with the reading. But by now everyone was curious, so I decided to continue. “Here, let me give you a few samples.  This one from June 7. Today at 11 in the morning overseer Hans Hilbig called out to me as I was mulching orchard 114 and asked what I was smiling about.  I told him I had remembered something funny.  He told me that day dreaming and living in the past are shortcomings for a slave, and that they lessen productivity for the Baldwin’s. He told me to put such thoughts out of my head and concentrate on what I was doing.  Overseer Hilbig was correct.  Such a lapse can impact both my team and my determination to be a good slave.”

Jim Stilers interrupted.  “He can’t be serious.  He must write that stuff to please whoever it is reviews his punishment book.”

I explained, “No.  That would have been the case early on in his enslavement.  But I assure you Licker is a slave now.  He thinks and acts like a slave.  That’s what slave training is all about.  Here, let me give you another example.  This is from June 27.  Overseer Kevin Cornell pulled me roughly out of the field service line and gave me a face slapping at 2:30 this afternoon.  He told me the way I was holding the stem knife was not the way I had been taught, as holding it sideways one can risk damaging parts of the plant.  I was grateful for Overseer Cornell’s discipline as he was correct.  I feel especially bad about my transgression because there were many tourists in the far distance and for the public to see a field display slave in need of correction reflects poorly on my entire team.  I feel very bad about and humiliated by my experience, and I will review my pruning manual before returning to field service in the morning.”

Quentin was furious.  He had nothing but contempt for me.  I could tell by just looking at his flared nostrils, even though he spoke rather calmly.  “Todd, this truly IS obscene.  Not only that Christopher has to keep such a book, but that you would read it in public and make sport of it.”

“Quentin, I am not making sport of Licker, I assure you.  I am just trying to inform all of you of what things are like for Licker.  What you don’t understand is that Licker really IS trying to be a good slave.”

Quentin’s nostrils did not unflare, and he continued,  “Well obviously what some of you do not grasp or can’t seem to figure out is that if Christopher doesn’t write this kind of self deprecating crap he probably gets his ass whipped until he does.”

I had to straighten such a fallacy out.  “Whips are almost never used for punishment delivered exclusively to the buttocks.  The paddle or strap are preferred for buttocks only treatment.  And as for the suggestion that Licker writes because he is made to, I don’t know how anyone could doubt the sincerity of these words, from July 18.  Today at breakfast an employee of the Baldwin/Fletcher cannery saw me dispose of a supplement drink I am supposed to drink every morning. He reported my act to overseer Joshua Holder.  Joshua took me into his field office.  He told me that the drink I had dumped costs 94 cents when purchased in bulk.  He said that he was surprised and hurt that I would waste food that was good for me.  Because I was on field display service I was already naked except for my harness, headdress, and rings.  Joshua ordered me to remove my headdress and to get over his lap.  This was especially humiliating to me because Joshua is a very dear and kind man, and I think of him almost as my father.  I was very ashamed that I had let him down.  He took a belt and gave me a severe beating on my buttocks and thighs.  When it was over I was crying more from the shame of my situation than from the awful pain.  I told Joshua that I was sorry, and that it would never happen again.  I could not stop crying.  Joshua hugged me and told me that he forgave me and that I should go back to the field and behave myself.  When I got back to the field I felt depressed for a long time that I had let Joshua down. But eventually I recalled my hard labor inspiration guide, which said that all slaves, through no fault of their own, have a potential for malfeasance, and that correction, chastisement, and discipline are tools by which any malfeasance in our nature can be driven out.  So finally I was able to be happy again knowing that the strapping I had received was Joshua’s sincere and loving way of helping me.”

Oswald interrupted, “You see, Christopher, we free boys aren’t so bad after all.  We’re only trying to help you.”  The laughter that followed his remark broke the somewhat somber mood and got everyone slurping up their beer again.

Matthew Koerner was still standing, listening, and holding Cindy in his arms.  He snaked his right hand into her blouse and cupped her left tit.  I noticed Licker had been watching them as I continued, “Fletcher/Baldwin has a visitors center, and one of the attractions is the punishment center, where visitors can watch a slave get punished. Licker was put on punishment display on August 9.  Go ahead, Licker, tell everyone what you did, and what the experience was like.”  Licker remained silent.  “Never mind, you’ve put it in words very nicely in your punishment book.  I’ll read your own words.  This entry is from August 4.  At 9 this evening overseer Hans Hilbig caught me and slave Juniper sitting close to each other and fondling one another.  He secured us into alligator clamps for the evening and announced that he would schedule both of us for public punishment at the Visitor’s Center.  Our punishment is scheduled for this coming Friday the 9th of August at noon, which is a popular time for tourists and the amphitheater is usually full at that time.  I am very embarrassed at what I have done.  Such a lapse deserves punishment.  It is very painful to have to receive public punishment, because so many people will see you for what you are, a guilty slave.  I am glad I will be getting the punishment I deserve.”

The room was dead silent.  I continued.  “Now let me skip ahead and read you Licker’s entry from the evening of August 9. Today at noon I received public punishment for my transgressions of August 4.  This past week I was trained in protocol for my public punishment, and I had to memorize a brief apology and speech I would present to the audience after my punishment.  The seating for the spectators in the punishment arena is in the round.  I was led up stairs on to the stage, and it was embarrassing to find myself suddenly on stage surrounded by rows and rows of seated spectators looking down at me on the stage. The audience consisted of hundreds of visitors from all parts of the globe, men, women, and children of all ages.  A lot of them were eating lunches or snacks as they viewed the guilty slaves being punished, as it is a popular thing to do.  As I stood there, accompanied by Joshua Holder, I noticed a large sign that all the visitors could see.  `All slaves receiving punishment have been deodorized and scented for your spectator comfort’, and indeed I had been bathed, deodorized, and cologned, and made to look my best just before being led into the arena.  As the slave just punished was being released from the holding bench Joshua told me to remove my slave fatigues.  It was hard to do that, but when I forced myself to realize that I was just a slave now, it suddenly didn’t matter to me that I had to strip down to a humiliating neon orange punishment jock strap, in front of an auditorium full of people.”

“Joshua led me to the punishment frame, and I was bent over a long bench with my arms stretched out above my head and my legs stretched widely out.  My waist, arms and legs were secured, and I realized my back was a clear target for the tawse, and my rump for the paddle.  I was to receive 10 of each by disciplinarian Kelley Partridge. Baldwin/Fletcher’s disciplinarians are always young, usually from 18 to 20 years old, because it is believed that they have none of the qualms about laying punishment on long and hard, which older men acquire.  Kelley was dressed in the elegant disciplinarian’s display uniform of black boots, slacks and chaps, white shirt, black vest, yellow bow tie, and a black leather peaked cap.  It was a consolation to me to see that my disciplinarian took obvious pride in his duty of helping me become a better slave.”

“The paddling was first, and when on the fifth blow I finally howled and started crying, the audience roared its approval.  The tawsing was even more painful and made me loudly scream and cry. When it was over and I was being set free from the restraints, the audience applauded Kelley long and hard.  He took a bow.  I then had to stand at the podium and make my prepared speech. `Ladies and gentleman, thank you for coming and witnessing this slave’s deserved punishment session.  Punishment fairly and swiftly delivered to errant slaves helps insure the success of the slave system for this great country of ours.  I was not criminally enslaved, and I want you all to know that I am happy here in my service at Baldwin/Fletcher Farms.  I lead a happy existence and am treated fairly.  What you saw me get today has been well deserved, I assure you.  To all of you children out there, I would like you to remember what you saw today, and to mind your parents and teachers.  For if you were ever to be criminally enslaved you can expect a lot worse existence than the one we slaves here at Baldwin/Fletcher Farms are fortunate to enjoy’.”

“Please remember to drop by our gift shop and produce market before you leave.  There you will find the freshest quality Baldwin/Fletcher produce, all of which has been lovingly tended from seed to fruition by the Baldwin/Fletcher field teams, of which I am a proud member.”

“I am now going to resume the punishment position and I would like to invite all of you who are interested to come down on stage and help give me the spanking I deserve.  Please line up in back of the punishment frame. You are each invited to give me two of your best spanks on the buttocks.  Our photographer will provide each of you with a color souvenir snapshot of you delivering my spanking, courtesy of Baldwin/Fletcher.  Thank you all for observing and participating today.”

“By the time I was strapped back into position, about 40 people had lined up to spank me.  Most were adults with children.  Most of the parents just had their children spank me, but several delivered spanks along with their children.  When it was over a medic rubbed lotion into my buttocks, I was released, got back into my fatigues and Joshua Holder accompanied me back to my quarters where I had lunch, and afterwards got back into my field display outfit.  When I was back working in the fields after lunch I had time to reflect that that punishment was not only fair, but it could have easily been avoided if I had been more diligent in studying the materials provided to us slaves which offered methods on avoiding sexual thoughts, situations, and temptations, as well as tips on overcoming desires to masturbate. As a control measure, Juniper and I have been forbidden to associate with each other until my chief overseer, Joshua Holder Okays it.”

When I had finished reading more than half of our friends had smiles on their faces, having found the slave’s self deprecating memoirs more amusing than anything.  Along with the self satisfaction, most of the guys were doubtless experiencing a new found appreciation of their freedom.

Matthew Koerner had noticed Licker observing him feeling up Cindy’s tit. He undid a couple of her blouse buttons, turned Cindy towards Licker, extracted her left bare tit, and cupped it up making the nipple peak out, and kind of wiggled the whole tit obscenely in Licker’s direction, while the whole time lewdly smiling at him. Licker turned his head, as if disinterested.

When Terry asked me how I managed to `tame’ Christopher, the laughter that followed brought the room back to full party mode.

I told Terry that I did not help `tame’ Christopher.  “Baldwin/ Fletcher is a large enough organization that they have their own slave training program on the compound.  Since their strategy is to buy freshly enslaved product they have a slave training facility on site almost as large as any commercial outfit.  Training is done by professionals whose chief job is to turn the freshly purchased livestock into slaves.  My job as an apprentice overseer is simply to make sure that guys like Licker do what they’re told.”

“Slave training employs pretty much the same techniques as those used to train dogs at obedience school.  Initial training for new slaves is a five week program, 16 hours a day, seven days a week. All new slaves are trained in the nude.  And training is nothing fancy or complicated.  It just basically consists of giving them orders over and over until they learn to respond immediately, and whipping them if they do anything wrong.  They had Christopher jumping through hoops, duck walking, hopping, doing jumping jacks, pushups, and dancing. He was taught to serve and answer his masters in proper form, all aspects of slave manners and protocol, the nature of obedience in all things, bowing, obeying, and moving quickly.  Licker graduated successfully from the reformatory stages of his training.  They chipped away his rebellious attitude, and replaced it with the polished, obedient, whip smart attitude you see here today.  Our little puppy passed his obedience training with flying colors, and Christopher was successfully transformed into Licker.”

Good natured laughter followed that remark, so I continued. “Licker’s chief overseers at Baldwin/Fletcher told me all about Licker’s initial training.  He behaved pretty much the same way any newly enslaved guy his age behaved, and had to be treated accordingly.”

“Like any new slave he had a hard time concentrating when they told him how things were to be done.  He would just break down and start bawling.  And that’s where the trainers come in.  Trained professionals, they are able to help slaves focus on what needs to be focused on, and stop daydreaming.  They use the Flexitawse on slaves, a state of the art thing that hurts like hell, but does almost no damage to the body.  Thanks to the Flexitawse, Licker’s and most other slaves’ bodies are not covered in whip marks and scars.  But anyway, they’d be showing him how to hold the pruning knife, and he’d suddenly just break down crying.  Then Kevin would come up and gently take him by the arm, offer a few encouraging words.  But if he didn’t snap out of it, the tawse came out, and WHAP, WHAP, WHAP, and then usually he’d start concentrating on holding that pruning knife in the right way. And after about three tawsings, the overseer would then warn; one more time, and you’re getting a paddling.  So next time he’d start getting all crying and bawling, they would pull him out of line for a reformatory style paddling.  One guy holds him upright by his arms gathered in front, facing him, and another overseer paddles the slave’s ass in a standing position.  So through such a series of corrective tawsings, interspersed with formal paddlings and whippings, the newly enslaved eventually get over their sobbing fits.”

“That is the basic regimen for the first few weeks.  And that is interspersed a couple of times for sessions with the energizer. That’s where, if it seems a slave needs too many reformatory paddlings, then something more severe is used to wake him up.  That’s when a slave gets `rinsed out’, as Kevin Cornell calls it.  They shoot a load of pure alcohol up the slave’s piss slit.  Believe me, that not only rinses out the slit, it rinses the slave’s mind as well. Boy, you should see a slave scramble once he gets a rinsing.  Actually, doing it to one slave gets the entire herd attentive.  It’s quite a comical sight actually, watching all the slaves suddenly act busy. One good thing though, when you get your pecker rinsed out with alcohol, at least you are not going to be wasting your owner’s time thinking about your old life laying around in your room jerking off.”

Oswald commented, “Yes, Licker has to do pretty much whatever he’s told to do now.  Not like when he was living with his dad up on Ocean View Plaza.”

Marty Samms had brought his family slave, Dobbins, to the party.  A nice touch of status and it also let us know that slavery is joining the mainstream.  Marty was all smiles as he spoke, “Speaking of your dad, Christopher, I see him around town occasionally.  He looks like he’s doing well.” Christopher’s lips were tightly drawn and an impassive expression came over his face.  I could not discern whether he was at all curious.  But Marty soon realized he couldn’t bait Licker on the issue of his father, if that was what he was trying to do, and took a different approach, “When I heard that Christopher had managed to get himself drudged, I couldn’t believe it.  I thought he was too smart to end up like Dobbins, here.”  He then introduced his slave, Dobbins.  It was interesting to see Licker and Dobbins eyeing each other up.  Dobbins was a very handsome slave, about 35 years old, which Marty had costumed in black shoes and slacks, white shirt, black bow tie and vest, and over the slacks a white jock strap with black polka dots.  This demeaning slave `touch’ Dobbins bore without the slightest hint of indignity.  I could see he was a well trained slave.  I complimented Dobbins on how fine he looked and he thanked me very politely.

Mike Draker, seeing Dobbins and Licker together, offered a terrific party idea, “Hey, we should make the slaves fight.”  Good natured laughter followed that remark.

Corky was all fun and games too, “Yeah, let’s get the slaves naked and oiled, and whip the shit out of the loser.”  Kenneth the good hearted but not savvy liberal responded, “Fuck you, you fucker.”

“No, fuck you, you fucking bleeding heart!”, responded Corky.

“Fuck you, asshole!”, retorted Kenneth.

“Fucking A!”

“FUCK YOU, MAN!!”

“NO, FUCK YOU!!!!”

The exchanges, rather than dampening the party mood only brought smiles to most of the faces of the partying crowd.  Draker had a suggestion on what to do with Kenneth, “Fuck, let’s get this moron enslaved!  Oswald, how do we go about it?”

Oswald had pondered the issue and was ready with an answer, “I have studied the law hard and long. Unfortunately, there’s no easy way to get your enemies enslaved unless they happen to be felons or fall under California’s `lex talionis’ restrictions.  Believe me, I have researched this.”  It was an assertion I found very easy to believe.

“Fuck, that sucks!”, bemoaned Corky.

“Well tell me this; that may suck, but does this slave suck as well?”, asked Draker.  The laughter that followed the crude remarked revealed to me that by now pretty much the entire room was feeling in a very party mood from the alcohol.  I didn’t answer immediately, but Terry really wanted an answer, “Seriously, what about it Todd, do overseers really get to do stuff to slaves?  You know what I mean.”

“Well, why don’t you stick your thing in his face and find out.  Order him to do whatever you want.  Do a little slave research.  Licker is well trained and whip smart.  He’ll do whatever you tell him to do!” Drunken and lascivious laughter, “oohs” and “ahhhs”, and “Holy fuckin shits” followed my answer.  And Corky then made a very good point, “What’s he gonna do if you stick your prick in his face, say `no thank you’?”  The laughter was now at fever pitch.

Already my party was a major success.

Bill Abbey was in heaven.  He couldn’t take his eyes off of Licker. Bill, who so wanted to be an `A’ student like Christopher, but could never get above a `C’ average,  was always envious of Christopher.  “So, Christopher, Todd here tells me you do what you’re told to do.  You’ve turned out to be a real regular little work boy.”

Christopher said nothing, so I explained, “He has to, he doesn’t have any say in the matter.  But you should know that, actually, the herds are, by and large, quite content out at Baldwin/Fletcher.”

Jimmy was mad.  “Fuck man, there you go again, talking so demeaning about slaves.  Referring to them as the `herds’.”

“All I can say, Jimmy, is that yes, I did use the term `herd’, as is common in our business.  But it is strange that you are reacting to something that really does no harm to a slave.  My using the term `herd’ doesn’t hurt Licker here in any way.  His ass isn’t stinging and bleeding.  Yet you think it is.  So I would simply say that you are a good example of an uninformed layman, railing on and on about how bad things are for slaves.  Untruths really do not help better the lot of either slaves or freeman.  Your energy would be better spent volunteering at the local Slave Services Center.”

Matt spoke plainly, “What the fuck’s wrong with the term `herd’ anyway?  I mean, what is Christopher now but a cow, a cash cow, for the Baldwin’s.  And everyone knows the Baldwin’s have lots of cash cows toiling away in the fields.  A whole herd of cash cows, just raking it in for the Baldwin’s, all day long.  I mean, Christopher is nothing but a cash cow, the Baldwin’s own a lot of cash cows.  So it really is a herd of cash cows. What’s the big deal?”

Jimmy was really mad now, and he grabbed another beer.  He was joined by Josh Dawson and Joseph Beyer, whom we used to refer to as `homo Joe’.  Everyone knew Joe was gay, and had a crush on Christopher throughout high school and college.  Joe was a cool guy, but his reason for being at the party was no less voyeuristic than anyone else’s.  When he arrived and first saw Licker in his slave skirt, I knew he liked what he saw.

Matt was standing next to Licker, so I shouted across the room to Matt, “Matt, would you check Licker’s glass, make sure no one has spiked his tomato juice.”  Matt pulled Licker’s glass from his hand, put it to his nose, and sniffed hard.  “The slave’s drink is clean.” One simply has to do this sort of monitoring if one is to be ahead of a wily slave.

Justin, curious, asked what slaves are fed. “He eats some of our food plus we feed him special high energy slave ration.  That reminds me, it’s feeding time.  Joe would you feed the slave?”  I told Licker to sit at the table.  As he seated himself the gang kind of moved around the table to watch the slave feeding.

Homo Joe was happy to get the food.   He seemed like a little kid eager to feed his new puppy.  I told him there was a bag of slave kibble under the kitchen sink, and to put a half cupful into Licker’s feeding cup. Joe saw the large plastic kibble cup on the counter with Licker’s name on it, and filled it with kibbles, and brought it over and gave it to Licker.  He sat down next to Licker, and said, “Here you go, Licker.  Some good food for you.”  All eyes were on Licker.  Licker grabbed a few and started eating.  Joe then asked if he could try one, and Licker said he could.  So Joe said, “Thanks, have some of my eggplant”, and set the hor’deuvres on a napkin for Licker.  Licker ate it, so I called out to Joe, “Please don’t feed the slave.  If they eat human food they can get all kinds of illnesses.”  Then coming over, I asked Licker why he ate Joe’s food.  He answered by saying he was trying to be polite by accepting Joe’s food.

“That’s ok for now, this is a party.  But Licker you need to remember that normally your first concern should be trying to be unobtrusive, not polite.  If you stayed at your proper distance in the background there would be no reason for you having to show `politeness’.  You should never be interacting on that intimate a level with free men.” The room was silent.  I realized that the alcohol had gotten to me and I was probably a tad more firm than I had to be.

Licker was somewhat dawdling, but Joe encouraged him to keep eating his kibbles.  Everyone just kept watching him eat.  Matt offered encouragement, “Good boy, Christopher.  Eat those kibbles up dude, so you stay nice and fit, and can be a real productive work boy for your owner.”

Cooper reflected, “It’s hard to believe Christopher Worthington has been turned into like a total robot.”

“He’s not a robot at all”, I answered.  “He is a trained labor-keen slave, who knows how to obey and do what he’s told.  He doesn’t sleep in, in the morning the way you guys do.  Let me tell you what his day is like.  It isn’t as bad as you’re probably thinking it is.  The field slaves, the earliest to wake up, are up every morning at 5 am. The entire herd, about two hundred and fifty, is then marched naked to the bath house, and there overseers hose the entire lot down.  Even the somewhat cool water used to hose them down doesn’t bring down their erections.  Usually the entire herd is erect.  The field slaves are aged 20 to 30, and if the overseers notice that one of them is not erect on a regular basis, they know there’s some hanky panky going on and they’ll monitor that particular slave more actively, to make sure he isn’t jerking on the sly.  That’s the way the Baldwin’s want them, hard.  Really red knobbed hard. As Arnold always says, “An erect slave is a slave with energy to spare.”  And he wants that energy put to work lining the Baldwin’s pockets.  I mean, why not?  They belong to them, they own them.  Then the herd is marched to the commissary and they eat breakfast in the nude.  It’s a happy time for them, the slaves enjoy it, and they are fed well.”

“Then the slaves are herded back to their barracks and there they get dressed as their duty demands.  The field display slaves, like Licker, work in the nude, and they have to don their harnesses, headdress, and ornaments for their duty as the display slaves.  There are 70 display slaves, and they are a close knit team.  They even take it upon themselves to discipline members of their own team whom they feel are bringing the team down in anyway.  This self governing mode that has developed among various teams is something the Baldwin’s wholeheartedly support.”

“As a field slave his usual duties are things like picking, sowing, hoeing, watering, trenching, and hauling boulders. The majority of the slaves work in the fields from 7 to 5, and that includes an hour dinner break.  But hard labor slaves, like Licker, go back to work after supper and work more, up to 14 hours a day, seven days a week.”

“That is totally fucked!”, voiced Quentin.

I continued, “That’s what Licker’s court declared status as a hard labor slave means. It allows up to 14 hours a day, 7 days a week, until he reaches the age of 42.”

Terry was amazed, “Whoa dude, you mean to tell me Christopher’s going to be going at it nonstop 14 hours a day for the next 20 years?”

“That’s right.”, I answered.  Then at age 44 the maximum he can be worked drops to 9 hours a day, for six days a week until he reaches the age of 54.  Then at age 54 Licker can only be worked 8 hours a day, five days a week, for the rest of his life, for however long he may live.  So right about the time all of us are beginning to retire, Licker will just then be beginning to work a schedule somewhat like the normal work schedule we all had for most of our lives.  And slaves don’t retire.  The law says they can be worked for as long as their owners require, as long as they are healthy.  The other thing is, slaves don’t get vacations or personal holidays like we do.  So when you add it all up and that comes to a lot of service.”

After I had give out all of these facts the room was silent, and all were standing around staring at licker like he truly was some exotic beast of burden.

“Quite a life style change there, eh Christopher?” smirked Mike.

“Jeeze, just like a migrant worker!”, exclaimed Toby.

I had to correct that misperception.  “Not quite! Migrant workers only work 8 hour days, 5 days a week.  If a migrant worker makes a mistake, he may get an angry look or hollered at.  If Licker makes a mistake, he not only gets angry looks and hollered at, but he also gets a sound beating.  Migrant workers get to go home to their families after work.  They can go out and party after work.  Migrant workers get paid for their work and it’s all theirs.  Licker makes a ton of money, the only problem is he’s never going to see any of it.”

I was surprised that the reaction of my guests to my comparison of Licker’s and a migrant worker’s life was one of mirth.

Steve summarized, “What you’re saying Todd is that Licker is not exactly a man of leisure.”

More laughter.

Bill philosophized, “Well, someone’s gotta do it.  It might as well be him or Joe Blow, if you know what I mean. I mean, Christopher is no better than any one of us who could have ended up in his shoes, or any better than any of the other guys who did end up as slaves.  I mean, he’s not the only slave out there.”

“Yeah, you’re right”, agreed Matt.  “I mean, big deal.  So he’s a slave!”

“No man, it is fucked.  What an existence.” moaned Timothy, whose empathy for slaves did not conceal his hardon. Ivan was repulsed, “I don’t know how any of you can support such a system.”

Cindy joined in, “Slavery is ok because the Bible says so.”

Though he said it quietly to Miles, everyone heard Kenneth say, “Man, I’d love to slap the face of that fundamentalist bitch.”

Matthew Koerner observed, “It’s always the godless who are against slavery.”

Marty tried to calm the hotheads down, “If you want to slap someone, slap a slave.  That’s what they’re for.  Let’s not take our hostilities out on each other.”

Jimmy Youdorian stated, he had heard from friends, and was not only horrified by Christopher’s enslavement, but was totally repulsed by my taking a job at Baldwin/Fletcher.  His true feelings finally came out with, “The whole system and everyone who supports it is totally fucked.”

Oswald cut him off.  “The system is objective and positively fair.”

Jimmy retorted, “Slave discipline is left to the whim of overseers.”

“No way”, I answered.

“Well then, how do your monitor a slaves productivity?” asked Justin.

“Very precisely”, I answered.  “Out at the farms each detail has its own system of work measurement.  Licker works out in the field in herds divided into groups of 20 slaves.  Baldwin/Fletcher uses smaller herds than the standard because it allows for a greater degree of work evaluation accuracy.  For example, let’s use fruit picking as an example.  If we know a herd of 20 can fill a bushel basket with a particular fruit in 5 minutes, then that means twelve bushels an hour. If that level is not being met, then the overseer simply moves in and it’s his job to get those 20 cock bells to start dingling a little faster and louder to get the productivity up.  It’s a totally fair and accurate measurement system!”

Steve asked me, “How do they usually get those bells to dingle faster?”

“We overseers simply go with the instrument of control that we like best.  Any damn thing used in any way we want to.  I prefer the service or dog whip, some like the tawse or paddle, some the flogger, some apply squealers or pinchers to various parts of the slaves’ bodies.  It makes no difference. The important thing is to keep the herd working.  “Whatever it takes Arnold always says.”

“Is Licker on vacation while he is here with you, Todd?”, asked Terry.

“Well, Retcher gave him to me because I had some house cleaning that needed to be done.  But I’m not overworking my friend if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“So, you can like get him to do anything you want?”, asked Nick.

“Absolutely”, I explained.  “Licker here keeps the house clean, does the dishes, makes me tea, and so on.  I could even get him to wipe my ass after I took a shit if I asked him to.”  I then walked over to Licker, put my arm around him, and rubbed him on the head.  “But I wouldn’t do that to my best pal!”

“Wow Christopher, you have to do what your pal tells you do or else, huh?” laughed David.

Christopher was a spoil sport and didn’t respond.

“Does he do everything you tell him to do?” asked Marty.

“Oh yes.  He knows I have adopted the Baldwin/Fletcher strategy. Haven’t I Licker?”  I rubbed him on the head again.  “I never say things like, `I’m really upset with you’, or `Pleeeease!’  I’ve learned that the only way to handle a slave if he doesn’t obey is to just reach for a tawse and use it.  It’s the language slaves understand best.”

“Sounds great having a slave”, said Matthew as he gave Cindy a squeeze.  I explained that owning a slave wasn’t as carefree and easy as it sounds.  “Slaves have to be monitored 24 hours a day.  Licker here, when I go out, has to be secured.  When I am here, I have to keep tabs on him. If I don’t hear him, I check on him at regular intervals  to make sure he’s not goofing off.  They can’t be trusted by themselves.  They are great to have around, but require lots of upkeep and maintenance.  And out at Baldwin/Fletcher slaves are monitored constantly.  Even when they’re sleeping, overseers make the rounds.  It’s something that just has to be done.  They’re slaves after all and will try to get away with lazing about, cutting corners, or stealing. And they tell lies like nobody’s business.  Which is why it is a good policy for slavers to never pay attention to what a slave has to say, since it’s probably a lie.”

Little Nick wanted to share his slave knowledge.  “My uncle says the same thing.   He has a family related slave, one of my cousins.  I’ve seen him handle Cousin Tommy like a pro.  He takes no shit whatsoever from Tommy.  I sure wouldn’t want to be in Tommy’s shoes.”

Quentin took note of Nick’s comments.  “That is exactly the kind of stuff I am talking about.  Slaves can, and do, end up in intolerable situations, and as long as such a system exists, there is no way of monitoring it.”

“Hold on.”  I had to clarify.  “Listen everyone.  Do you realize that there are laws that dictate how slaves are treated? Everything is rigidly codified by the California Slave Standards Act.  It’s a great system that is designed to protect slaves from unfair masters.  The state and federal governments have laws in place that protect the status of all individuals, whether free or slave.  Are you aware that most of the slave laws on the books have as their purpose the well being of slaves?  For example, most slaves like Licker here are fed a diet heavy in grains and beans, and it is totally balanced and supplemented.  Overseers and owners are held accountable if slaves do not get their dietary needs.  That is why Licker here had to get his ass spanked for dumping his supplement drink.  And similarly, if Licker were to back talk to anyone here I am compelled under state law to both verbally and physically reprimand him.  All of these laws are for his own good.  And so it is with every damn thing regarding slaves, the laws are stacked on their side.”

I was starting to get angry and realized I had better take a mellower tone.  “I support 100% all the Slave Handling Acts.  When Christopher became a slave he was given a packet of reading materials, self help, all encouraging him to be a good slave.  The sole purpose of all the materials was to help him be happy.  It explained that the there are laws in place to protect them and insure their happiness.  I know for many of you slavery is clouded by the movies, by world history, by our country’s own pre-civil war past.  But that is not the way things are today.  We don’t tie them up and beat them till the skin falls off their back.  Slaves are tools, like an expensive machine, and you treat them like gold so they function effectively.  They cost a lot of money.  No one with any sense is going to wantonly harm or cause to malfunction something he has paid a lot of money for.”

I could see by Jimmy’s crossed arms and hard look I was getting nowhere, especially when he asked, “Well what about these things I see laying around here?  A tawse, a couple of paddles, and that thing on the counter.  God, what in the hell is that thing?”, he said as he pointed to my taser, or stun gun.

It was a great moment to make my point.  “Yeah, let me tell you about that thing.”  I picked it up and showed it to everyone, “This is a stun gun.  Pretty damn scary looking, even scarier is what it can do. But this is California and this is the 21st century, and this is a state of the art stun gun.  Do you know what its default setting is? It’s the one I use on slaves who I need to get a moving a little faster.  I’m going to demonstrate on myself and to anyone else here who wants to feel it.”  I then pulled the trigger and grabbed the tip. “See that.  I’m being stunned right now.  But you know what, it’s setting is not even comparable to the old fashioned stun guns’ low setting.  This is even lower than that.  It just gives an ever so slight queasy feeling.  As such it is a prod or reminder of what could come.  And this setting is almost 100% effective in getting a slave to do what needs to be done.  I have never had to use any higher setting than the default on a slave.  And so it is with every tool and implement of control at our disposal.  They convey ideas far more frequently than they convey actual pain.  The whole system has gotten a bum rap.”

A lot of the guys were putting their hands out so I could stun them. They found it interesting.  “Hey, that’s cool.  Sort of a weird sensation.”  “I bet it would feel kind of good on my prick.”  The laughter brought on by the stun gun demo was valuable in allaying the fears of the room.

When Bill touched it he got an erection, and he seemed fascinated with the implement of control, “Wow. So this is the kind of thing that keeps Christopher focused, and able to be such a good little work boy.”

Phil Storch wondered, “It sure would be nice to see a little slave action.  Can we get to see Licker at work, doing some labor?”  “You serious?” I asked.  Toby answered for Phil, “Why not?  Let’s see a real live slave in action, doing what he does best!”, “Yeah, some hard labor!”, someone called out.  Corky chimed in, “I for one sure would like to see a top notch labor keen slave do his thing.  A professional in his field, showing off his skill.”  Kenny was passing out more beers to all of us as this was going on. The mood was right, it seemed like a good idea, so I said, “I don’t see why not.  An easy thing to arrange.  Let’s all go into the basement, just us guys.”  Licker looked dismal so I encouraged him, “Don’t let us down now.  The boys want to see you in action.”

I told the girls to stay upstairs, that we’d be right back, that this was a guy thing.  Most of the guys were interested so we all trundled downstairs.  Being the last to head down the stairs I grabbed my service whip from the countertop.

I had stacked in one corner of the basement about 20 boxes, each one about two and a half feet square, most of which contained books, my library.  I had the guys line up on one side of the room.  I told Licker, making sure he and the guys could see the service whip I held in my folded arms, that I wanted him to start carrying the boxes and stacking them on the other side of the room.  Licker grabbed the first box, and he had to struggle with it somewhat as he realized that such a large box of books was heavy.  As we watched him carry the box to the other side of the room smiles erupted on all our faces.  It was cool and fun, watching a slave do what he was told.  Licker walked back, grabbed another box, and carried it to the other side of the room.  Andrew let out, “This is soooo cool, man.”  We all kept drinking, enjoying the quiet spectacle.  Phil complimented Licker, “I can tell you’re a pro, man!”  Some laughter.  At one point when Licker had to regain his hold of a box by sort of rehefting it, Terry said, “Nice grip action.  Only a hard labor slave could have gotten that move just right.”  We all laughed.

Nick ran up and got more beers for us.  Justin noted, “This isn’t authentic, out in the field he’s naked.”  Mike agreed, “Hey, that’s right Todd.  I want to get to see that famous weenie bell dangling from his prick while Licker struts his stuff.”  So I had to go back upstairs and get his weenie bell.  I also brought down three more six packs of beer with me.  I had Licker come over to me and I removed his belt and skirt.  I attached his cock bell alongside his silver mouse, and set him back to work.

The laughter couldn’t have been any more raucous as Licker’s bell started jingling as he resumed his work.

“That is totally cool!  Look at him go to town”, exclaimed Sam Sneer, the pizza parlor worker.  “Bust a sweat, dude!”

I commented, “What you see is what you get.  Christopher exposed for his old friends.  Those legs and arms, chest, back, ass, prick and balls all are the property of Baldwin/Fletcher.  Those nipples don’t belong to Christopher, those buttocks aren’t his.  He doesn’t have any say in his own body.  All of him is totally owned and totally controlled by the Baldwin’s.  Christopher’s body does not belong to him.  He has no say in it whatsoever.  It belongs to the Baldwin’s and they call all the shots.  Those muscles are what make a lot of money for his masters, and they move and do what their owners order them to do.”

“Except for his prick muscle.  I hear the Baldwin’s don’t allow that muscle to get too much exercise”, laughed Cooper.

I wanted to explain my views on that policy.  “That `no masturbation’ rule doesn’t seem like such a big deal to me.  The Baldwin’s know that if slaves cut back on that selfish pleasure they have more energy out in the field, are more aggressive as they try to work off their libido.  It has proven to be a real enhancer for the Baldwin’s weekly bottom line.”

Matthew Koerner offered encouragement, “Now Christopher, don’t you go thinking your pecker is a useless dangling slab of meat just because you’re not allowed to hump chicks.  The way it holds your slave bell it’s providing a valuable service to society by letting your masters know if you’re being productive.  And that’s much better than humping chicks.”

“Hey Christopher, dude.  I like the way you got your dick tip painted up nice and red.  Real snazzy!”, complimented Justin. “Yeah!”, seconded David.  “And those tit rings have made your nipples enlarged and almost as luscious looking as some dames.”

Licker kept hauling the boxes as we all stood around smiling, except for Quentin and his gang, scrunched up in a corner of the basement. Their negativity, however, wasn’t ruining our party mood.

Nathan had a very good question.  “If you have to punish slaves, doesn’t that weaken their ability to work, steal from their energy level?”

Everyone complimented Nathan, “That is a damn good question.”

“Indeed it is a good question”, I answered.  “Books on slave control all address that issue.  And that is why rather than punishing a slave with a whip or tawse or body pinchers, it is sometimes preferable to just make a slave’s life very uncomfortable in order to teach him a lesson.  I would like to demonstrate.”  I excused myself and went up stairs to get the `knee knockers’, and also picked up some more beers.

When I got back I knelt down in front of Licker and started to attach the knee knockers.  “Let me show you these.  What I’m doing is `brass balling’ Licker.  This super training device helps a slave to concentrate.”  Knee knockers are two heavy brass balls 4 inches in diameter.  They each hang from light chains that are attached to a cinch that goes about the root of the cock, in back of the balls.  The brass balls are very heavy and hang down to the knee level.  “Now with these two huge brass balls dangling between his legs Licker has to sort of keep his legs spread wide apart or else the swinging balls will hit him in the knees, and if that happens, then down he goes.”

Once they were attached I stood Licker up and spun him around for everyone to see.  It was obvious the balls must have been quite heavy as they pulled very much at the root of the cock.  It looked painful the way it stretched the cock and balls.  The  crowd loved it, acknowledging with smiles, looks of interest, and laughter.  “Now I’m going to have Licker get back to work hauling boxes, but notice now how he has to keep his torso kind of steady or else the balls start hitting each other and swinging wildly.  Once they start knocking each other, watch out, cause it’s only a matter of time before he’ll be whacked in the knees.   And it hurts like hell.  All of us overseers had to try them on in training.”

I ordered Licker back to work.  He picked up a box, and started slowly carrying it with his legs spread wide, the balls gently swaying and gently knocking each other, the bell tingling gently.  The crowd, a little drunker and looser, moved in to watch the action.

“Hey Christopher, you better haul these boxes real good or else we’re going to tell your owner on you”, taunted Nathan.  “You don’t want to displease your master, do you?  You want to be a good boy don’t you? Or else your owner is going to have to give you some more spanky spanky on your fanny.”

“He’s hauling boxes now, but believe me, if we weren’t all watching he’d be lazing around.  Slaves are constantly trying to pull shit on us free boys.” Steve informed us.

I was the barker for the main attraction, “What you’re seeing is a brass balled and belled Licker in slave action.  Just the way he works out in the field.  A little hot field action right here on campus!” Everyone loved my presentation, laughter and more drinking followed.

“Look at him go to town!”, hooted Marty.

I continued as barker, “That’s right.  Look at him carry that box as only a certified hard labor product can do it.  Look at those work boy muscles straining to please their owner. Licker thought he was going to be a professor of biology.  He’s instead a professor of hard labor. Come on Licker, teach us how to haul ass!”

“Yeah.  I wanna see a hard labor certified slave haul some major hard labor certified ass!”, whooped Nathan.

“A naked toiling slave.  A little bit of ancient Rome in our own basement”, laughed Mike.

I invited them to come out to the farms; “You should swing by and watch him out in the fields at Baldwin/Fletcher sometime.  It’s a real sight.  He’s all oiled up and he wears a big fancy slave harness. He’s fitted with big rings in his tits and nose and cock, and to top it all off he wears a big fancy headdress.  He’s one proud strutting peacock.”

Suddenly everyone was shouting out comments.  Each ribald remark that followed was greeted with howls, hoots and laughter.  And each comment seemed to make our erections strain one notch higher.

“Christopher, you were number one on the swim team.  Still working on your backstroke every day?”

“Look at worker boy go to town, giving us some hot muscled slave action.”

“You’re developing some pretty nice muscles, Christopher.  Bet you can pick up a lot of ladies at the clubs with those muscles.” “I think the Baldwin’s want him picking up boulders rather than ladies!”

“Yeah, I see the Baldwin’s must have you on a very successful exercise program.  Work out every day, do you Christopher?”

“Hey naked boy, you like showing off your pecker and muscles to the tourists?  You get off on it?”

“Dingle that dong bell, Bobo.”

“Having a hard day, Christopher?  Or is this typical?”

“Oh well, after your hard day you and your girlfriend can go out to dinner and a movie.”

“Yeah, then you can take her home and give her a nice slow fuck, just the way she likes it.”

“Or have you forgotten how to fuck pussy.  It’s been quite a while, hasn’t it?”

“No, he’s saving his love juice for when he and Juniper are reunited.”

“Homo slave boy!”

“Was Juniper anything like Elizabeth?  Did he feel as good?”

The laughter was almost deafening in the relatively small basement.  I figured a little good natured slave baiting never hurt anyone.  I didn’t stop it because we were all Licker’s friends, most of it seemed to be rather good natured, and this was a party after all.

To Jimmy Youdorian’s, Peter Burrell’s and Ivan Ologochev’s antislavery credit, they didn’t try to conceal the erections jutting in their trousers.  They stood back with Quentin and his crowd, but they were seriously perked by the action.

Bill was swigging his malt liquor even more rapidly now.  “Come on Licker, show us how you step on it when your overseers are watching! I bet you work extra hard when they’re around, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I bet you’re just a sneaky little slave like all the rest of em”, taunted Oswald.

“You got it in for us free boys, don’t you slave?”, questioned Bill, who also gave Licker a slight shove of disgust as he passed by.  It was comical because it caused Licker’s brass balls to clash together and Licker had to spread his knees very wide apart to avoid being knocked.  He almost dropped the box he was carrying.

“You don’t like us free boys, do you Christopher?”, questioned Phil. “You better be on your best behavior now Christopher, because there are lots of us free boys watching you right now, and you know what the law says; you mess up, you gotta get punished.”

“Yeah, I bet he wishes he was back at the farms, locked up in his kennel for the night”, suggested Corky.

“Do you slave boys homo it up with each other when you’re all locked together into your kennels at night?”, wondered Corky.

Cooper asked if they locked the slaves up at night.  Oswald answered, “Of course, you gotta lock slaves up.  They’re just like a pack of wild animals.  They would try to escape otherwise, and they’d be dangerous cause they hate us free boys.”

I offered a bit more info, “At night we corral the entire herd into their kennels and lock em down.  No way they could ever escape.  The really nasty ones get strapped into their beds as well.”

“Serves em fucking right!”, sneered a drunken, angry, Toby.

An even drunker Mike opined, “Just look at Christopher.  You know he hates us cause he’s gotta do whatever we free boys tell him to do.”

Licker’s entire upper torso was red from shame and humiliation.  It was good to see, because I had been worried he didn’t care what we thought.  I guess I was turning into a homo like Joe because suddenly Licker was looking awful inviting to me.  I wanted to fuck him on the spot.  Maybe it was just the beer, but slavery was beginning to appear to me to be a mighty beautiful and fine thing.  How I loved having my own slave.  I was a real high!

Mike Draker was standing near the path Licker was traversing, and at one point his brass balls were swinging rather seriously, and he stepped to the left to avoid having his knee get knocked, and he bumped into Mike with the large box he was carrying.  Mike was furious, “Fuck you slave.  Watch where you’re going!”  Marty Samms opined that Licker did it on purpose.  When Bill Abbey concurred, Licker told Bill to go fuck himself.  Everyone was stunned.

Oswald was quick to step in, “Todd, state law says your slave is due for a tawsing, and it’s your responsibility.”

What could I do?  I didn’t want to get into any kind of legal trouble with one of Retcher’s prime field slaves.  So to show my fair nature, I decided to let Licker chose what kind of punishment he got.  I asked him if he wanted a `bongo drumming’.  Sam Sneer, the happy pizza parlor worker asked, “What in the hell is `bongo drumming’?”

“That’s where the slave lies on his tummy on the floor in front of his seated overseer.  The overseer then pulls up each of the slaves legs till they are around his waist, and the slave’s naked rump is in his lap.  The overseer then starts beating on the slave’s buttocks, slapping them as if they were bongo drums.”

“Too fucking cool man!  I wanna see that!”, enthused pizza boy.

Licker was silent, just looking down at the floor.  I went up to him and removed the dangling brass balls.  “Since you aren’t talking Licker, it’s going to be 10 strokes with the service whip.”  Though it didn’t make me happy to do what I was about to do, there was real anticipation in the hot basement.  There was silence, and a lot of shuffling of feet.  I ordered Licker to sit on a chair in front of a small table, and to put his head on the table.  I then had Bill Abbey come over and stand to the side of Licker, and had him hold Licker’s head against the table with both of his hands.  I then got Steve and Toby to each grab an upper arm and force him tight against the table so his back was fully exposed.

A rare yet palpable excitement gripped all of us.  I knew everyone in the room wanted to see Licker get it.

I got out a large cloth and wet it with cold water.  When I walked back over to Licker the room was silent.  With the cloth I wet his entire back.  When his back was dripping wet, I picked up my whip.  I swallowed, my mouth was dry.  So was everyone else’s.  I heard lots of swallowing in the silence.  I laid on the first blow and Licker yelped.  There was total silence in the room except for Licker’s moans. It was even quieter after the second blow.  I could sense that all the males gathered around were now erected to the hilt.  Each blow seemed to bring more wailing from Licker, and deeper and more measured breathing from the rest of us.  We were all generating a lot of heat crowded closely together.  The blows continued.  I got one good blow to each of his upper arms, then went back to work on his back.  Our mouths were open, our tongues on alert.  Mouths and eyes were open wide as we watched Licker get it.  Any comments that were made were spoken in that same hushed voice one uses during sex to ask a partner if this or that position is comfortable.  Terry noticed that Licker was hard, Matt said that was disgusting, that Licker was a `creep’. We all were hard too, but that’s different.  We’re free boys.

I sensed a lot of the guys in the room were thinking seriously for the first time about some of the pleasures of owning a slave, and wondering how they could go about getting one.  The pleasures of slave ownership were finally hitting home to them.  Especially when I laid on the last blows, and Licker really yelped and squealed.  I felt I would have cum unaided if I had laid on one more blow.  I wanted to go on, everyone wanted me to go on, but we were compassionate human beings, and I am a responsible overseer.  And hopefully by now Licker, my bungling and slow learning slave, had learned another lesson.

When the punishment was over, we let him loose and he bawled for a short while like a little kid.  We continued watching him in silence, most of the guys shifting their positions trying to bring their erections down.  “Whew, I need a beer”, someone said.  Phil, in a husky voiced testosterone whisper said, “We free boys gotta make sure the upcoming vote on slave’s rights is defeated.  We can’t lose this.”

I put my hand to Licker’s head and started rubbing his funny haircut in an effort to show him that he had taken his punishment well. Others came closer and touched his back, some worked at soothing his arms.  I so loved my Licker.  I told him he took it like a man.  All of the guys chimed in and seconded me.  “Licker, you took it great, man.  You are a real slave.  Good boy.”

I saw Marty open his shoulder bag and extract a strange looking item. He came over to where I was standing next to Licker and said, “I brought this along to use on Dobbins, to sort of offer him around as a party `favor’ if the mood got right.  I think the mood is right, so why don’t we put this sucker’s muzzle on Licker here instead of Dobbins.  Some of our buddies here look like they’re ready for a little relief.  And what better way for all of us to bond with our former classmate?”

We had all intended to go the ShaggyBag dance club later in the evening, but when Marty suggested that Licker be fitted with the sucker’s muzzle all the guys started hooting, hee-hawing, and high fiving.  Everyone agreed that the ShaggyBag could be put off for a bit, especially since we still had beer enough to last for the face fucking session.  I would have preferred we went directly to the club, but the guys wanted it, and I wasn’t going to dampen the party mood, so I told Marty to go ahead and get Licker muzzled up.

Marty stood behind the seated Licker and put his hands around his face, “Come on Christopher, open your mouth up so I can get you muzzled.  It’s time for you to earn your keep.”  Licker didn’t open up, “Let’s open up, I want to feel your tongue.  Just do it for me now.  I’d hate to have to use Todd’s taser on you.”  Marty pinched Licker’s nose and he opened up.  Marty snaked the thumb and index finger of his right hand into Licker’s mouth and grabbed a hold of his tongue.  “Nice big tongue.  This is going to feel real good fellows!” He then slipped the sucker’s muzzle over Licker’s head and started getting the mouth pieces properly fitted into Licker’s mouth, the back guard fitted around his teeth and the outer flange encircling his lips.  “Now Christopher, with your tongue feel that bottom groove of the inner flange and put your tongue in there.  It will help keep your tongue down so you can breathe easily, and it will expose your tongue surface for maximum dick to tongue contact.”

Seeing my goofy, bungling, naked slave get muzzled up was a real hoot. I nearly laughed my head off, along with everyone else, as Marty fitted him up with all the straps and mouth parts. The sucker’s muzzle kept Licker’s mouth open in a wide `O’ shape, and kept the teeth safely covered with a formed molded plastic flange.  In front of the teeth flange was a lip flange, the flange about his lips made his wide open `O’ shaped mouth look like a sex hole. Licker looked obscene, but somehow inviting as well, in a really naughty sort of way.  Attached to the part of the muzzle that went over and along the side of the head were two five inch molded rubber bars extending outwards from the ears.  These were handlebars for getting good control of the slave’s head as you’re getting sucked off.  When he finally had the muzzle on Marty pulled Licker up into a standing position, pulled his hands in back of him, and snapped plastic cuffs on him.  He spun Licker around to show us, and asked Steve to get a shot of Licker with his digital camera.  “Let’s make sure we put this photo in the 5th year class reunion booklet, in the `What our classmates are doing now’ section.”

With his mouth wide open in an `O’ shape, and the two handlebars sticking out from his ears, Licker was quite a sight.  We all couldn’t stop our laughing.

Marty grabbed Licker by the dick and suggested those who wanted to do a little pile driving follow him into the laundry room, which was in the corner of the basement, but fully enclosed.  All of us present followed the two of them into the laundry room.

Once in, Marty had Licker kneel down on the floor.  Marty unzipped, pulled out his erect dick, a really big thing, grabbed Licker by the handlebars at the side of his head, and shoved himself in.  He had Licker’s nose jammed against his belly and was gyrating and pumping his groin slowly into Licker’s mouth.  “Oh yeah, this is a good one guys!  Nice.  Real… nice.  Ok now Christopher, give me a little more sucking action.”  There seemed to be no difference.   Marty pulled a small tawse that hung from the back of his belt and touched it to Licker’s back.  Licker then started slurping away.

He did a little demonstration.  “Notice guys, I’m pumping my hips, but with this new model you can stand still and pump the slave’s head back and forth.”  Using the handlebars jutting out from Licker’s ears he started jerking Licker’s head back and forth onto his shaft, “Notice the kind of control this gives me.”  Licker was wide eyed, but little else of his feelings could be discerned with the muzzled emplaced. Marty resumed hip pumping and in no time he was doing the hard finale thrusts into Licker’s mouth, as Licker swallowed the salty snack.  As Marty pulled out, he asked, “Who wants to get into the driver’s seat next?”

Oswald volunteered, and by the time he got to Licker his dick was already out, hard, and precumming.  “Licker, meet my baby maker!” With that he jammed his rod into Licker’s mouth and started bucking his hips. “Since you won’t be making any babies, I think it’s fitting you get to give all of our baby makers a little practice run.”

As Oswald did his business Marty explained to us that the muzzle was a better option for obtaining good sucking service than the `old’ days of removing a sucker slave’s teeth.  Those slaves always required special processed soft foods.  This way the entire herd, both the sucker boys and the non-suckers, can eat the same diet.

Mike Draker was next, “Okay Christopher, it’s party time, so party on this!”  He shoved it in, and using the handlebars, drove himself to a satisfying climax in no time.  As he dismounted, he said, “For a bungling slow learning slave, he sure has got his sucking action down good.”

Marty had to correct, “Don’t give this jam headed slave too much credit.  It’s the muzzle that does it.  It’s designed so the slave can take whatever we want to shove into their mouth hole.”

Corky was next in line, and he pulled his dick out with a vengeance. He rammed it full force first into Licker’s face, slapping it a few times with his dick, then he stuck it into the hole and went to town. He grabbed the handlebars and shook Licker’s head violently as he pumped.  Licker’s expression couldn’t have been any more wild eyed.  A couple of the guys applauded his performance as he climaxed with what seemed about 20 long hard cumming thrusts.

Steve was next to wag his dick in front of Licker’s face.  He taunted, “Okay spank boy, I want you to meet my dick.  My dick here likes to have lots of fun.  I bet you do too.  Only thing is, you can’t, and my dick can.  My dick here likes to have fun all day long.  Since you’re a slave, that means my dick has more rights than you do.  My dick is a free dick, and it wants to have fun right now.  My dick has the power to order you around, lifer-scum slave.  And it orders you start sucking.”  With that he stuck his free dick into Licker’s mouth hole and pumped happily away.  His dick had a lot of fun because Steve hollered louder than anybody as he shot his load down Licker’s throat.

Amazingly, among the gang standing in line to get serviced were two of the anti slavers, Timothy and Kenneth.  I didn’t consider them hypocrites or anything, because I couldn’t blame anyone for getting turned on at the hard labor demo Licker gave us.

Homo Joe, was there in line to get sucked also, of course.  He was there to make a long held dream finally come true.  It was a beautiful moment when he at last got on board.  He was gentle, as I knew he would be.  He stooped down a few times to fondle Christopher all over. He really enjoyed the treat, but I actually think he would never have done it, except he was as fucking drunk as the rest of us.

I really wanted to get in line also, but I felt it was inappropriate for me as the host.  But mainly I didn’t because I was sort of planning on getting back to Christopher when we were alone later that night, after I returned from the dance club.  And I felt that as Licker’s overseer I had a right to explore some special territory and pleasures with my slave.

Toby was even drunker and angrier by the time it was his turn, and I had to watch to make sure he didn’t bang Licker’s head against the block wall of the basement laundry room.  Once he did his business he sort of calmed down.

Bill Abbey was even drunker and angrier, but he came almost as soon as he got his dick into Licker’s face hole so I didn’t have to worry about Licker getting hurt.

The suck fest ended with both Phil and Matt opting for more traditional moderate paced hip thrusting action, each ending with a strong grip on the handlebars as they rammed Licker’s face into their bellies.

The whole thing may have been a tad sordid, I will admit.  But we were all drunk and you’re only in college once in your life, for gosh sakes. And this was a fucking party after all.

When we were finished I let Licker put his skirt back on, and we all went back up stairs.  We were greeted with silence and icy stares by the judgmental upstairs crowd.

We started gathering our things to head out to the dance club. Some of the gang wanted me to bring Licker along with us to the ShaggyBag, but I told them that was not a good idea.  My intention was to secure him in his high chair while I was gone.  I knew I was too loaded to keep a good eye on something so valuable out at some wild dance club.

I told Licker, “We’re going out clubbing and we need to get you diapered so I can secure you into your high chair.  You can either go and do it yourself, or I can have Joe Beyer help you.  Christopher said he would do it himself.  I guess he didn’t want homo Joe oiling and powdering his diaper area on top of everything else.  When Licker came out of his room in his diaper he was red as a beet. I ordered him to hop up in his chair so I could strap him in.  Beth, Claire and Cindy all told Licker how cute he looked in his little didi.

Peter Burrell started talking out loud about how obscene it was that I was securing Licker into a chair while I went out clubbing.  I asked him why he thought that was any worse than putting him in some four foot square kennel cage. I told him it was the law to secure unguarded slaves, and besides, he would have plenty of reading material to occupy himself. Ivan asked what Licker would be reading.  “Licker reads what I tell him to read.  Tonight while we’re out clubbing Licker will be reading the first 12 chapters of Nathan Levine’s book, `On Being an Effective Hard Labor Slave’.”  It’s full of tips and practical information to help a drudge like Licker be all he can be.  And Licker, I want you to know that there will be a spot quiz on the first 12 chapters when I get home.”  I heard Matt let out, “Cool, just like high school!”

I knew I was too drunk to expect myself to remember what I had just told Licker.  But it was fun laying down the law to a bungling, cowering, slave.  “And starting tomorrow, kiddo, there’s going to be no special treatment for you just because you’re my friend.  There are going to be a lot more spankings and paddlings taking place around here!”

“Good”, encouraged Oswald.  “I’ve been meaning to tell you tonight that you are far too lax with him.”

“I know I have been, but he was my friend, you know?”  Perhaps it was the booze, but I started to cry.  No one seemed to have any sympathy with the hardships of a slaver, so I soon snapped out of my sobbing fit.  “Fuck. You are right, Oswald.  I just have been too damn easy on him.  I’m just a softy.  Licker, you’re a fucking slave and from now on you’re going to be treated like one!”

As I placed a cell phone, water, and a bowl of kibble on his high chair feeding tray I told him, “You probably aren’t very hungry, what with all the protein you just ingested.”

Once he was strapped up in the high chair, Marty Samms, who had been examining the chair with interest, told Dobbins he was going get a slave high chair for him.  Then he said, “You look good in that chair, Christopher.  Todd is a good overseer.  Make sure you obey him. He knows what’s best for you.”  The camaraderie amongst slavers is absolutely beautiful. I reciprocated by telling Dobbins, “You have a most beneficent master in Marty.  You are one lucky slave.”  Dobbins nodded. I was too drunk to know if I was supposed to be incensed that he didn’t say, “Yes, sir.”

I went out briefly to get ready to go out.  When I came back I noticed Quentin and some of his buddies had gathered around Licker in his chair and were talking to him.  I figured they were just trying to console Licker in their own misguided way, so I left them.

Once we all got our things together, we all headed out.  All the guys were in top spirits after their excellent suck-offs.  I was the last one leaving the house, and as I was about to exit I looked back at Licker locked in his high chair.  He was looking better to me by the minute.  Real good.  I went back to him to give him a pat on the head.

I then decided to strap his arms down to the arm rests at the elbows, that way he could still eat by bending his head down a little, but he couldn’t reach his groin.  “If I don’t pick myself up a nice juicy number at the club, then you’re going to have to do for tonight.”  I took a finger and ran it down Licker’s cheek.  The thought of using my friend was turning me on in a major way.  I then took my hand and gently pinched his right nipple.  I moved my hand to his nose and touched his nose, and gently twisted his nose ring.  I gave him a devilish smile. I did not attempt to conceal from him the expanse in my crotch.  I reached down under the tray table and put my hand in between his thighs, under his skirt.  I gently starting stroking his inner thighs, but a car horn tooted.  I had forgotten, my buddies were waiting for me.  It was hard for me to leave Licker for the ShaggyBag dance club.  The fact that I did leave him that night was the biggest mistake of my life.

When I returned from the ShaggyBag at 2:30 am in the early morning after the evening of the party, six weeks ago, Licker was gone.  I was frantic.  I immediately called the police and told them my suspicions.

Licker’s emergency cell phone was monitored, and Licker knew he was not to use it except for emergency calls.  He made one call at 11:20 that evening, about 15 minutes after I had left for the ShaggyBag.

The phone number checked out to a public phone booth five blocks away.  I suspect that Licker and his helpers made sure that the bedroom window was unlocked, when all was clear Licker called them, and they came and got him, entering through the bedroom window, and quickly delivered him to some members of the freedom network who got him into Oregon.

Missing from my place were Licker’s punishment book, and a painting he made when he was 17 years old, which was one of the many things of Licker’s I got from his dad after he was enslaved. The slave high chair was damaged in the freeing of Licker, and the Flexitawse was bent out of shape to the point that the high tech molded plastic could not be returned to its normal shape.  It was no surprise to me that anti slavers would stoop to vandalism.

The following morning I called Retcher Baldwin and told him what had happened.  I was worried he would think I had helped Licker escape, but he immediately told me that he was certain I had no hand in it. He told me that he would never have lent me Licker if he had the slightest doubt about my slaver sympathies.  But he did tell me he expected restitution.

The Baldwin/Fletcher lawyers have sued me.  My dad, who has been seriously unhappy with me for getting involved with Baldwin/Fletcher and the pro slavery movement, has told me he cannot afford the replacement cost of Licker.  My lawyer has told me that almost no blame or restitution is demanded of slaves because under the law slaves do not have equal rights as free men, and are therefore not held accountable in the same way free men are in terms of decisions they may make, including running away.  Owners and overseers have a pretty free hand in the way they can restrain and discipline slaves, so therefore the onus is upon them.

When I called Baldwin/Fletcher at a later date the secretary told me Retcher was not interested in taking my calls.  When I told her I was proposing that I work for free she told me the Baldwin’s are only interested in prime specimen drudges with a CSSR rating above 120, 15 and 8.  When I told her I didn’t mean working as a slave but as an overseer, she told me that she didn’t think the Baldwin’s would want someone working as one of their overseers who was responsible for losing a valuable slave.  When I told her to fuck herself, she told me to hold and she put Retcher on the phone.  Retcher told me not to get upset, and that his not taking my calls was nothing personal.  “You know how busy I am.  I am confident that we can work out a solution that is not an undue hardship on you.” He told me to try and relax, and he thanked me for my service at Baldwin/Fletcher.

He also told me that SDSU had received a request for transcripts of Licker’s grades from the University of Oregon.  It appears he will be continuing his education under the auspices of the Oregon Amnesty Fellowship.  Once he reaches the age of 26 he will be out of the reach of the “lex talionis” restrictions, and could even return to California as a free man, if he wanted to.

For myself, I did not have too many options.  Under California law slave property disputes fall under unique guidelines.  Declaring bankruptcy in such cases is not an option.  My lawyer and Baldwin/ Fletcher’s lawyers suggested I put my life in order and opt for a five year term of `self limiting rights forfeiture’ (euphemism for voluntary enslavement) with the Tennessee Sanitation Department (TSD).

After much thought I have decided to accept their suggestion.  The TSD program has been suggested for me as the best and fastest way for me to get out of extreme debt.  Self limiting terms also mean that if someone decides to put money into my account, about half of it would go to the state of Tennessee, and the other half would be applied to my debt, and my service contract would be prorated accordingly, thus cutting my servitude time down.

To be eligible for the contract I had to get a physical from the California State Bureau of Slaves in San Diego.  Going back into that same office to get a physical exam where Christopher was enslaved was a creepy feeling.

The small slave brokerage firm that is handling my transfer to Tennessee for Baldwin/Fletcher sent me a registered letter instructing me on the procedure.  It was a short, terse, letter.  I am to appear at their facility promptly at 8 am this coming Friday.

I have been instructed to not wear clothing of any value to my appointment, since they will be discarded once I get there if there is no friend or family member that I can pass them on to.

Enclosed in the package was a sandwich board sign.  When I leave my house that day to go to the Porter Brokerage Firm I am to wear the sign around my neck so the message is plainly visible front and back. It states; `Pre processed slave – State of Tennessee.  Please allow free passage for 8 am appointment with Porter Brokerage.  Certification 27989′.

I am to arrive at the Porter Brokerage Firm with the hair on my head, pits and nads buzzed off.  Their processors, who will also be crating and shipping me, and will make sure that I am shaved according to Tennessee State Sanitation Department regulations.

Enclosed also were handouts from the Tennessee Slave Authority, containing overall guidelines for slaves in Tennessee.  `Slavery and obedience are synonymous in Tennessee.  Limited Term Slaves are subject to the Gore-Hartley act, which means that infractions are punished with extensions of servitude after the service term of the initial contract is met. Demerit service after contract service shall be performed in the State of Tennessee for the State Treasury of Tennessee.  If you make a serious commitment to your term services, and have incurred no demerits, you will be freed according to schedule’.

Demerits are issued in increments of 5.  One demerit equals one month additional servitude.

The following are samples of demerit rankings of typical infractions:

* Use of swearing and foul language = 5 demerits

* Idling = 5 demerits

* Failure to do as told after 1 warning = 5 demerits

* Poor performance = 5 demerits

* Disruptive behavior = 1 demerits

* Masturbation = 6 demerits (i.e. – half year)

* Talking back to an overseer = 6 demerits

* Threatening an overseer = 12 demerits (i.e. – one year)

* Insubordination = 48 demerits (i.e. – 4 years)

* Escape or attempt to escape = 120 demerits (i.e. – 10 years)

Tennessee has one of the most efficient and advanced slave training programs in the nation.  All training, monitoring, controlling, disciplining, and correction of slaves in service to the State of Tennessee is rigorous and efficacious.

That kind of language frightens me, but I know from my own experience that if a slave goes by the rules, things go without problems.  I have two days of freedom left.  I am in a daze.  My dad is still too upset to talk with me, and has not returned my calls.  But I was surprised and comforted by the fact that Bill Abbey called me and said he would be happy to drive me to the Porter Brokerage Firm on Friday.

***

This morning when Bill Abbey arrived at my house, I was very embarrassed to go out to his car and have him see my buzzed head.  He said, “Hey, you’re a bulb head now just like Christopher.”  And I was too embarrassed to meet him wearing the sandwich sign, but in route I realized I had better put it on.  When he saw me take it out and put it on, he kind of smiled as he read the sign. Then, with an evil grin, he said, “I bet you were supposed to be wearing that from the moment you left the house.  You better behave or I’m going to report you.” Although it was a joke, I suddenly felt totally shamed.  He was taunting me in the same way I had heard Christopher taunted so often.

The girl seated at the front desk of Porter Brokerage Firm saw us and nodded.  Reading from my sandwich board she typed into her computer, and said, “Todd Maltsby?”  I said I was.  She then told me to remove my clothing and give them to my friend or else dump them into a waste basket which she indicated.  I balked.  She simply said, “Okay, have it your own way”, and kept typing.  Bill said, “Todd, I think you better do what she says.  I’d hate to see anything bad happen to you.” When I started to slowly remove my clothing Bill said, “I hope you don’t end being one of those bitter, scheming, slaves with an attitude, like your pal Christopher.”

It was awkward removing my clothes in an ordinary looking office suite that had windows facing the street.  When I was completely naked, with my back towards the secretary, I took this, my journal, and covered myself and turned to sit down.  The office girl said that I had to throw my journal away also, or else give it to Bill.  The girl kept glancing at me as she typed.  Bill had started up a conversation with her, and she asked him if I was his friend.  Bill said, “Not really. He’s just an old classmate who couldn’t get anyone else to drive him here, so I figured I would help him out.  It’s kind of pathetic, actually.”

A kid with long hair and dressed in Levi’s and a tee shirt with some indie band logo came in from the back and went to the secretary and handed her a folder.  They looked something over.  The kid asked her if I was Maltsby.  She said I was.  He looked at me and told me to stand up.  I did and he told me to take my journal away from my private parts so he could see them.  I had a hint of an erection from the way the girl had been glancing at me.  I was totally embarrassed. The long haired kid said, “Well, at least he buzzed himself, but look at that”, indicating my erection.  “We ain’t gonna have any of that shit in here.”  As he came over towards me he pulled a small aerosol spray can from his back pocket.  He came up to me, aimed it at my unit, and sprayed my cock and balls.  I immediately screamed.  My cock and balls felt like they were on fire.  He had sprayed them with an instant freeze spray and my cock and balls shriveled up immediately to the smallest I had ever seen them.  “That’ll teach ya!”, the kid said as all three of them started laughing.  As he was about to exit he spoke to the secretary, “I’ll be back in 25 minutes to get Maltsby so I can get him all prettied up and crated for his trip to Tennessee.”

Bill was curious, “Can I ask what you’re going to do to him?”  “Sure. I’m going to shave him, collar him, and staple slave ID/info tags to both ears.  Then I’m going to put him in a super diaper, and over that his brown slave jump suit.  Then I’ll hang a huge baby type bottle with a nippled spout around his neck filled with water and minerals. I’ll then have him lay down in the UPS slave crate,  I’ll strap him in, and the UPS boys will come and pick him up and ship him out to Tennessee in about two hours.  And by supper time tonight the Tennessee yokels will be unpacking him and sending him to their processing/training center.  For the next 5 years of his life Todd is going to be controlled by folks who are basically nothing more than hillbillies, fundamentalist yahoos, and rednecks.  You are welcome to come and watch him get shipped off if you want to.  Just me and Nick are in back, and a few other slaves in cages awaiting shipping.”

Bill answered, “I’d like that. It’d be a chance for me to say a special `good bye’ to Todd.”  Then Bill added, “Sir, also, I just want to let you know, that certification sign he was supposed to wear on the way over here, well he didn’t wear it.  He first put it on when we were a couple of blocks away from here.”  The kid grinned and said, “Thanks for letting me know.  Just for that, I’ll make him extra pretty.” When he left I asked Bill why he told on me.  “I’m sorry dude, I didn’t mean for anything bad to happen.  But I think for your own good we should get you going with the program.”

I asked Bill if he would do me the favor of delivering this, my journal, to my dad.  He said he would.  I thanked him and told him I wanted to write a note to my dad in my remaining moments. So I sat back down and wrote these last three pages to complete the story of my involvement with slavery, and how I lost my friend Christopher, my dad, and now my honor and my freedom.

That is why, dad, I want you to read this journal.  I’m afraid, dad. I feel the same horrible, sad, sick, and depressed way I felt that day I watched Christopher get enslaved.  I wanted to be a hot shot, but I’m far from it.  I’ve let all of us down.  I don’t know if slavery is good or bad, but I do know I treated Christopher terribly.  I betrayed him.  If Christopher really is free, then I am very glad of that.  The fact that I am glad in that news is a sign to me that my old self is coming back.

It is ironic, dad, that I used the last page of this journal to jot down the list of people I would invite to my party.  I was going to tear that page out, but I realize now that it was that party that brought Christopher and me to where we are now.

Please forgive me dad for all the awful stuff I have done this past year.  I’m sorry dad.  I’m sorry for letting you down, letting Christopher down, and letting myself down.

Todd