MY LIFE SO FAR
This is a work of fiction.
If you are underage, object to gay erotic fiction, or it's illegal where you are, please leave now.
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Part Five.
Master Michael duly graduated (to my surprise considering the amount of studying he had done) and he and his two buds decided to live it up before leaving for college. There was an endless round of partying and, if they were unable to party at the Smith mansion, they invariably were able to do so at either Chuck's or Lawrence's place. The other alternative was to hire a motel room. They were never short of willing girls but, on the odd occasion that they were unable to recruit girls, I was rounded up and accompanied them. There was a lot of beer drunk and drugs consumed and, to the accompaniment of porn videos, I was used sexually by all three.
Then, early one morning two weeks before Master Michael was due to leave for college, I was dragged from my bed by two transport guards from the same packet delivery firm that had collected me on the previous occasion, and moved to Induction and Orientation Enterprises in Ravenswood. This was the same firm Master Michael had entrusted me to previously for training. Clearly I was to be auctioned off and, although I knew better, I couldn't help but ponder the fact that after nearly two years, I had been removed from the Master's house without so much as an indication that the Master himself, Master Michael or Master Bradley had the slightest interest in my departure. I once again felt deeply concerned about my future.
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I discovered that IOE, as the firm was known, not only were involved in the slave training business, but also had a slave auction house on the premises. I was warehoused in the same facility that slaves undergoing training were kept, and I witnessed daily the humiliation they underwent, as I had done previously. The next auction took place a week later and, on the day, we were prepared in the usual fashion for auction. We were shaved, oiled and given sex stimulants and, six slaves at a time, presented on the podium, to which we were manacled by the right ankle for inspection. I hated my head being shaved but it was preferable to wearing the haircut Master Michael had designed for me. The Smith family collar and earrings had been removed too and I was fitted with a standard temporary iron collar. I suffered the usual mauling by prospective buyers with stoicism but I could see that some of the newly-enslaved stock, were having difficulty in accepting the humiliation of it all and some were actually in tears. A few strokes across the back with a crop from the handlers, however, soon put a stop to the sniveling.
I was very surprised to see Kenny Anderson among the prospective buyers and onlookers. You may recall that he was the owner of Slaves r Us in Sunninghill and, as I think I mentioned earlier, I had known him as a slightly older guy around my neighborhood a few years earlier. I was even more surprised when he actively started to bid for me and finally outbid the other interested buyers. I was hustled off the stage and into one of the holding cages in the warehouse and it wasn't too long before one of the young handlers attached a leash to my collar saying "Time to shit and piss dude. We don't want you messin up Master Kenny's van." From the latrines I was dragged through to the despatch area where one of the handlers I recognized from Slaves r Us took over and pushed me into the back of a closed van and into a cage which permitted the occupant to sit but not stand. He secured me by means of an ankle restraint to the side of the van. There were six cages in all and two of them were already occupied by scared looking blond kids, maybe 18/19 years of age. No sooner had I been caged, when Kenny Anderson arrived on the scene, the door at the back of the van was slammed shut and locked, and he and the handler climbed up front. We were on our way back to Slaves r Us in Sunninghill. For the first time ever I had not been gagged while in transport and was thus able to talk in undertones to the other two kids. The one guy, whose name was Casper, was in obvious distress and unable to control his tears. Upon my asking, he informed me he had been found guilty of taking his uncle's car for a joyride without permission, and some redneck judge had passed down on him a sentence of lifetime slavery. Without letting on in any way to Casper, I marveled at the injustice of it.
On arrival at the now familiar premises of Slaves r Us we were hurried through to the Warehouse section, with a few obligatory strokes over the back along the way, and after having been taken through to the latrines, ensconced in the cramped individual cages. After about an hour, Kenny Anderson entered from the administration section and looked us over with a critical eye. "Yes sirree," he started, "I think you three blondies are gonna make real fine brothel slaves. I'm pretty sure my partner in Catalonia will be well pleased with you. Blond slaves are particularly sought after in Central America." He then kicked the front of my cage and addressed me - "Dude, I bet this ain't much like Glendale High School, huh? Yep, seems like you have come quite a way since then!" he said with a smile. "As soon as the Export Permits come through from the Department of Commerce, we'll have you on your way." Casper was sobbing again and, when he did not cease after being told to shut up, Kenny ordered one of the handlers to fit him with a ball gag. "Can't stand fuckin snivellin." he informed everyone at large.
A week later I overheard Kenny instructing his older brother Blade to prepare the three of us for air shipment to Santa Ana, which I knew was the capital city of Catalonia. The flight was due to leave that afternoon and about three hours before the time, we were taken through to the despatch center. There I saw three standard slave shipment cages had been prepared for us. These cages were about 5' x 5' x 5' and consisted of four sides and a roof of strong crossed metal bars with a solid wooden base which was secured to a pallet enabling the cage to be moved using a forklift. We had previously been watered and fed and allowed to use the latrines, and now we were pushed into the cages which were then locked. I noticed that a sealed ration of slave chow had been thrown into the cage and that on the side of the cage had been affixed a bottle of water. This bottle had a nozzle sticking out the bottom with an embedded valve and, in order to access the liquid, one had to take the nozzle in one's mouth and release the valve with one's tongue. You would see identical receptacles attached to the inside of cages housing laboratory chimpanzees. Once ensconced in the cage I saw over to the side three strong cardboard boxes without bottoms which were designed to be slid over the cages. The boxes had a number of holes at various points for ventilation purposes. On the side of the boxes were stickers from Trans-Caribbean Airlines stating the flight number. In addition the following had been stenciled on all four sides of the boxes - "Slave in Transit. Handle with Care. This Side Up". I couldn't believe what I was seeing. The truck which was to transport us to the airport pulled up at the loading bay and, just before the cardboard boxes were put in place over the cages and secured, we were instructed to put our upper arms against the side of the cages and given an injection. It turned out to be an anesthetic and we were thankfully "under" for the major part of the journey.
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I regained consciousness shortly before the plane started its descent at our destination. Once the plane had taxied to the airport terminal there was the noise of much activity as the passengers deplaned and thereafter their luggage was unloaded. The plane was then pulled over to the cargo terminal where we three slaves and the rest of the cargo were off-loaded. I can still feel the heat and humidity that engulfed us as we left the plane. Representatives of our new owner were on hand and we were quickly cleared through customs. We were forklifted on to a flatbed truck and driven away. We arrived at our destination some twenty minutes later and were quickly off-loaded on to the platform of the loading bay. The cardboard boxes were unsecured and removed from our cages and I was blinded as the glare assailed my eyes. About six or seven curious handlers all carrying short whips were standing around and they were soon joined by a good-looking young man, in his late twenties I would have said, who was dressed in an immaculately pressed white linen suit, red tie and expensive looking brown shoes. I was to learn later that he was our new Master, Senor Carlos Mendoza, the sole owner of a chain of fourteen male brothels of which we were to become part. He looked us over, said something to the handlers in Spanish, and returned inside. The handlers sprang into action, unlocking the cages and dragging us out, and in time-honored fashion, chased us into the building all the while shouting and laying strokes of their whips across our backs. Our limbs were stiff from being restrictively caged for some six hours but, of course, that was a factor that the handlers chose not to consider.
We passed through a steel security gate into what I was sure would turn out to be the warehousing facility. What lay before us was something which in other times I may have conjured up in my mind as being a picture of Hades. It literally took my breath away. We were in a long room, dank and dark, and the smell of sweat, piss and shit, allied to the excessive heat and humidity, was overpowering. There appeared to be no means of ventilation. Along the one side of the room were four prison-type holding cells each with four fold away shelves for sleeping and each contained a garden-type watering can containing water with a plastic cup attached. Apart from that the cells were bare. At the rear of each cell was a squat slave latrine. Ten slaves were being held in those cages and, apart from the effects of the conditions, they all looked pretty normal to me. They were naked of course and all wore a similar narrow shiny steel collar. They turned out to be serving brothel whores who were being moved from one town to another and were being warehoused until transport was available. On the other side of the room were twenty cramped individual cages similar to the ones used at Slaves r Us to warehouse slaves awaiting auction, and these contained at that time six young men with frightened expressions on their faces and a cowed look about them. Their bodies all bore the marks of beatings. These were new whores who were undergoing training before being deployed to brothels throughout the country. We three new arrivals joined them. Casper was pushed into a cage next to me and was obviously in a state of acute dejection. As soon as the handlers had left, I tried to comfort him but very clearly told him he had better pull himself together or he would not survive for long. It was strange to observe the difference between the demeanor of the handlers here and those I had encountered at home. I had become accustomed to handlers dressed almost in military style and who imposed strict laid-down discipline, for example, the no-talking rule, while here the handlers were sloppily dressed and appeared to be less strict in some matters and we were able to converse with each other. When circumstances merited it, however, they were extremely brutal, for example, if a slave were to show the faintest sign of insubordination. I had a rudimentary knowledge of Spanish from classes at high school and this was to come in very handy until later when I became quite fluent.
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Twice a day the new slaves were all herded to the back of the warehouse and told to shit and piss and in the evenings the serving brothel whores would join us and we would all be hosed down. That was a blessed relief from the heat. Depending on who was on duty the handlers sometimes left us to stretch our legs for about half an hour and I became friendly with one of the awaiting transport slaves who spoke surprisingly good English. He gave me the low-down on what to expect and it did little to allay my worst fears. It seems that we would, like all slaves of whatever category, be subjected to two weeks of hard labor with regular beatings, the purpose of which was to break down the slave's resolve to resist either in mind or body, and to accept its new lot in life. Other slaves, field slaves for example, were subjected to an even harsher regimen of back-breaking labor and would then be taken away and put to work under the overseer's whip. Those of us destined to serve in brothels, however, had yet to undergo further training in the arts of sexual submission and we ultimately spent a further four weeks there. During the days we would randomly and a number times a day be taken through to the other side of the building for "training". You would enter through a room which looked like a doctor's reception area with some plastic furniture and old pornographic magazines strewn around. Invariably there would be seated there two to six young men or boys who looked like typical blue collar workers. Some of the boys were clearly of school age and sometimes even had their school uniforms on. When we were taken through on a leash the occupants would look up but usually avoided our eyes.
Leading off from the "reception" area on the left was a passage than ran the length of the building with a series of about ten small rooms leading off it to the right. In the first room sat an overseer with closed circuit TV screens in front of him which allowed him to monitor the goings-on in the remaining rooms. We were subjected to ongoing sexual use during the four weeks we were there in addition to frequent beatings. The object clearly was to break us down even further and to acclimatize us to ongoing frequent use. This object was achieved by making us available to the free young men and boys of the town who, as a sweetener, were also paid a small sum in dollars for their participation. These were the young guys who we would see seated in the "reception" area perusing porno magazines while awaiting their turn. As far as possible no one was ever turned away. The handlers, of course, played a major role themselves and were particularly brutal in abusing us.
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At the end of the six weeks we were ready to be deployed in brothels across the country. Normally we would spend about a month in a particular brothel and then be moved on to another town. We would either be moved directly from town to town or sometimes we would be transshipped in Santa Ana where we would spend a few days in the main warehouse. The break was welcome of course but the conditions were horrendous as I've previously explained to you. We were transported to and fro on the back of a medium-sized flatbed truck which had a large custom built cage on the back, and which was open to the elements except for a large canvas sail over the roof of the cage. In the main we traveled over dirt corrugated roads from small town to small town and were bounced around continuously and constantly enveloped in a cloud of dust. Breakdowns were frequent. Although it was unpleasant to be exposed thus to the elements, if we had been locked up in a closed compartment at the back of the truck, it would undoubtedly have been far worse what with the heat and humidity.
The firm's brothels were at the upper end of the market and really were quite pleasant. They were furnished in an old-fashioned colonial way and, typically, one would enter and to the left would be a large parlor fitted out with easy chairs, couches and a bar. It was here that the whores welcomed prospective clients. The boys wore only blue shorts, which showed off their genitals to good effect, and the standard thin shiny steel collars I had first seen in the warehouse in Santa Ana. Their hair, although always short, was styled in varying ways accordingly to their own taste. In addition they were able to choose certain adornments to increase their allure and were rouged in a provocative way. Guests would be taken to comfortable bedrooms upstairs and overall it was a very genteel atmosphere. We slaves were accommodated in spartan cubby-holes at the back of the house.
Compared to the lives that other slaves led, I suppose you might say we were well off but the dark side of the picture was that we were on call for sixteen hours a day and were expected to entertain a minimum of ten clients a day. As I mentioned earlier, the firm's brothels were at the upper end of the market and thus it was essential that fresh new stock be introduced regularly. Typically therefore a slave could expect to be "retired" at the age of 23 to make way for younger stock. There was always a demand for these slaves from brothel-owners at the lower end of the market and most were purchased at auction to serve this alternative market. These owners might then expect anything up to ten more years of service from such a whore who from then onwards would be serving a less-discriminating clientele. When the slave could no longer make the grade as a profitable whore, it would once again be auctioned off in the wholesale slave market for who knows what purpose. Roughly three years after I had been shipped to Catalonia, I was working in the main brothel in Santa Ana when early one morning, before the other whores awoke, I was dragged from my bed by four guards from the Department of Central Slave Management and thrown into a van, much like the ones in use by the Police, and taken to the main slave auction house downtown. Clearly I had served my purpose and the firm's owner had decided it was time for me to move on.
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I have been caged in the warehouse here now for three weeks and, on the instructions of my present owner, will be up for resale at the auction which is due to take place next Friday. I am enveloped by the massive uncertainty that always surrounds the life of every slave but will have to once again accept what life will throw at me. I often cry at night wondering what might have been had my life not taken such a dramatic turn that night some five years ago.
THE END