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MIRACLE
I was born and grew up in Massachusetts. Massachusetts was one of only four states, all in New England, Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine, that did not join in President Shelley's slave revolution.
In a sense it is understandable that this small group of states would not conform. They never had conformed to others from the time they became states. You can even see it the states mottos.
Massachusetts is Ense petit placidan sub libertate quietum or "By the sword we seak peace, but only under liberty. Vermont is "Freedom and unity." New Hampshire perhaps says it best with "Live Free or Die." Maine originally did not join the other three but eventually had to for economic reasons.
The states surrounding these original three reacted to slaves trying to escape into the free states by establishing very strict border controls on the borders shared with the three states. Trucks and cars were carefully searched for slaves trying to escape. Therefore it was more time consuming and expensive to deal with businesses in these three states. Their economies suffered and then almost became totally separate from the other states of the new United States. Maine by geography had to throw in its lot with the states separating it from the rest of the slave owning United States, but tried to put it off as long as it could. Really Maine wanted slaves, but they could not make a slave society work for them. Their motto also reflected their mamby pamby nature, I thought, by its motto "I direct."
What the hell does that mean? IT means the follow others directions, I think.
Being a non slave state, and fiercely proud of that fact did not mean that the citizens of these four states did not buy products from the slave country it shared. Even with mark ups for the hasel at the border, TV's and other big ticket items always cost less if produced in a slave state. My high school economics book compared the situation to the early 21st century when US free workers were competing with almost slave workers in China and other such countries. Our family and most citizens of these four states lived almost entirely within their borders. We did not travel much to the rest of the US because if we did, we were watched carefully. Our vehicles were searched not only when we tried to re-enter Massachusetts, and that search almost disassembled the vehicle, but every morning of a trip outside our free states, wherever we stopped we would be sure to have the local cops insist that they search the vehicle VERY carefully before we left wherever we had stayed overnight to be sure we had not tried to smuggle some slave out. Usually we were also followed to be sure we did not pick a slave up as we traveled around. We were also subject to snarling and rude remarks by the local yokel free men.
My best friend and I also had made a secret trip into New York in the summer between high school and college to go to a slave auction, and we both tented at seeing all those great muscular guys chained on little stands totally naked. After we watched some of the buyers inspect a few slaves we also decided to inspect a few ourselves. We were clearly more disturbed (in several ways including our cocks) by our examination of the slaves than the slaves were. They were used to being treated as an animal to be evaluated. We were not used to having a real stud male to play with, and we had to find a rest room to relieve our erections. We smuggled the catalog home with us, and I beat off many times looking at the naked slaves.
When I went to college I did so at Dartmouth, and all my anti-slave attitudes were only reinforced there.
I excelled, and graduated ninth in my class, and was accepted at Harvard Law. I went home and received the congratulations from family and friends. After a couple of weeks that summer, I decided I would go see my friend who now lived in New York. His Father had found a job in New York, and now my friend's family was slave owners. In our letters, Stan encouraged me to stay with him at least a week to truly come to understand how slaves could be used domestically. I still was opposed to slavery, but the morally superior part of me that believed, no KNEW that slavery was wrong, was overcome by my lust. I truly wanted to have my first male to male sex with one of the family's slaves that Stan told me had spectacular sexual skills. "If you want to try gay sex, Hoppie would be the one to learn from." He told me over the phone. "He is awesome, and can make a guy feel totally fantastic." I seem to remember that there is a saying that all guys have two heads, and the smaller controls the guy more than the bigger one. It certainly did for me.
Our family did not have a second car, and against all advice about slavers kidnapping hitch hikers, I decided to hitch a ride to NY. My cock made this risky decision rather than my head. I rationalized that since my hitch would start in non-slave Massachusetts, I would not meet some slaver in Massachusetts.
I started out in July the week after the 4th. I was reasonably successful, and got a ride all the way across the state on the Mass Turnpike from our home in a Boston suburb to East Longmeadow, just outside of Springfield. There the young husband and wife turned north, and I held out my thumb for someone to take me the rest of the way to New York. If I could get into NY, Stan said he could pick me up. Stan said that it was just too much trouble to go into Mass. whereas coming from Massachusetts was without any stopping.
I walked around the Mass Pike interchange with the interstate that went north and south, and after walking a little over a mile found myself at an area with a bunch of food places. I figured that the fates were with me because it was early evening, and I thought that there should be several truckers catching an early dinner. I was also optimistic that since it was early, if no driver was going across to NY in this batch, I could just wait and surely someone would take me the rest of the way across to NY.
As I looked at the food places I noticed that at one of them there were several big rigs. I wandered over to that one, and stepped inside. Several drivers were seated at the counter. I took a stool not next to any of them, and took off the backpack, and asked for coffee from the waitress who gave me an appraising glance. None of the truckers seemed to be aware that I had arrived. I decided to remain optimistic. No one initiated a conversation. I finally gave up and ordered a meat loaf dinner special.
When it came there was gravy over the meat and the veggies, and the gravy was complete with little pools of fat on top. I was about to gag when a trucker walked in, looked at the plate and my reaction and sat down to me.
"Looks really great don't it?" he asked as he sat next to me. I looked at him, and replied, "I suppose I could scrape the gravy off."
"Naw," he sort of snorted out, "just eat it without looking, and it will slide down real easy." He thrust out his hand and said brightly "Sam the Runner" I replied "Steve, the student."
Sam just seemed naturally friendly. His comments to me had not seemed artificial or forced. I took an immediate liking to him. He sat down, and I really noticed that though he was thin that he had a well defined butt, and his arms were really muscled. I suppose truck driving might somehow be responsible for these. Sam ordered the same special I was looking at and it appeared quickly. He quickly initiated me into using bread to sop up the grease. Then you either ate it, which he and the other truckers did, or left the bread beside the plate in splendid glistening artery blocking glory. He chose the former, and I chose the latter alternative.
We talked and laughed through the meal, and finally he asked if I was hitching. I of course was happy to let him know that I was, since I already knew through our chatting over dinner that he was going almost exactly to the place in NY that Stan said was where he would be waiting to pick me up. He then paid for both our dinners saying, "A man should support a college student especially in what might be his last meal." I looked at him quizzically and with his disarming smile he laughed and intoned solemnly. "With all that cholesterol you might end of dead on just one meal." I thought his sense of humor tasteless and anything but funny, but he had just paid for my meal, and so I smiled and nodded. I actually could not think of anything to say.
When we got to his rig I was appalled and fascinated at once. The tractor part of the rig was large and clean. Actually it sparkled. The trailer however was a different matter. IT was one of those animal carriers, although I could not quite decide what animal it would carry. I had seen many pig carriers and was used to the spacing between tiers. The spaces looked about one and a half times as wide as I thought normal for pigs. Sam saw me looking, and leaned over against the side of the trailer – which I might not have touched at all because it was filthy – again speaking slowly with a kind of southern drawl. "I guess I could just be called an animal lover. I just want to give those pigs a bit more room for their final ride." The story just made me like the guy all the more. "Just throw the back pack in behind the seat, and climb aboard." Once again his voice had that lilting jingle to it. It was like a smile talking.
I climbed in and looked into the sleeping compartment behind the seat. It was extremely neat, and I began to put my backpack down in the compartment. As I was putting it down, the headlights of a truck coming into the parking lot flashed through the windshield and illuminated two whips neatly coiled on the back wall of the compartment. After the lights I looked carefully into the gloom and saw what I supposed was a bull whip, then a whip with several shorter leather strands, and then to the side two leather paddle like instruments. I was truly startled by these implements of pain being in the cabin of a driver who had just impressed me with his compassion for animals. I sat down and wondered how I would ask the question since I did want the ride. Finally I decided to just tell him the truth. He was outside fooling with the trailer and some compartments behind the tractor part of the rig, and then I saw his head and then suddenly he was through the door and into his seat.
"Get your gear stowed/" he asked jauntily. "Yes" I answered pensively, "and when I was stowing it, some headlights lit up some whips and paddles hanging on the back wall of the compartment. I was surprised to see them when you went through the expense of giving the animals more room in the trailer." I don't know what I expected to hear as an explanation. However with the same pleasant tone he seemed always to have he explained, "I bet they freaked you out! Well piggies are pretty smart, and when they get to the processing plant they sense that this is it. So yu just have to use a whip or paddle to get'em outta the trailer. Ya just don't have a choice. I usually snap the bull whip just above their heads and that usually works to get'em moving, but sometimes I haffa use the paddles on their piggie asses to make,em move." Well it all made sense to me, and so I settled in for the next two to three hours to the Mass border.
Sam put on some c&w music on the radio, and as it was getting dark, I relaxed and became drowsy. Sam noted my nodding head and offered a cup of coffee from his thermos. I accepted, and soon was sipping down the strong brew. I thought his coffee was a bit bitter, but I am not a great coffee drinker, and put the funny taste down to his wanting it strong and black to keep him awake on his long hauls. It did not help, and soon after I finished the cup and placed it in the center cup holder my eyes just could not keep awake, and I doused off.
It could not have been all that much later. I noticed that the sky was in that late twilight period where there is still just the vestige of light in the sky. Then all of a sudden my sensory nerves snapped too, and I tried to move and my eyes suddenly came into focus. I do not know what I noticed first but really a ton of realizations hit me at the same time. First I realized I was naked. Second I realized that there were leather mitts over my hands. Third I realized that my ankles were fastened to a leather belt that was around my waist. Fourth I realized that there was broad leather collar around my neck. Fifth I realized that there were five other naked guys trussed up like I was in a sort of circle, and lastly I noticed that Sam was towering above me with a whip in his hand and a belt around HIS waist with the paddles and the other whip easily accessible.
"Welcome piggie 6!" Sam said loudly still in that lilting friendly tone. He might have been saying "good morning" to his best friend. My fellow piggies began furiously making oinking noises. I received a stripe across my ass from that sort leather paddle which I would later come to know was a tawse. "Answer your brother piggies six!" I was ordered. The voice this time was cold and commanding. It was clear this voice was to be obeyed. I immediately began oinking as best I could. "EXERCISE!" was the next command, and I saw my brother piggies close the circle so that each piggie's nose was at the ass crack of the piggie in front of him. I scurried awkwardly toward that butt that was in front of me and moved between his fastened legs, and landed my nose at his ass crack. I did not want to experience that paddle again.
My whole world now was the ass crack and ass hole that winked at me right in front of my nose and eyes. "BEGIN!" was the order and the piggie in front of me took off at an amazing pace, and I was left behind. Almost instantly I felt another and ever harder and more painful stripe across my ass just above its crack. The piggie behind me whole nose and breath I could feel was not part of the tawsing, but I got the message very clearly. It is amazing how a human being can learn a new skill with the proper motivation. Sam seemed to have followed me around my circle and the moment I let too much space begin to show between myself and the piggie in front of me, I again felt the tawse. Repetition of those stripes did not make each less motivating. It seemed like hours, but I am sure it was not, but I did soon learn to move on my front paws and back knees at the expected speed. Sweat began to form on me and on the skin in front of me which was the focus of all of my attention at this point in my life. I found myself noting something I never would have noticed before that there is symmetry to how the two butt cheeks move as the legs move. There is a reason for the ass crack far more than just covering up the ass hole.
"STOP!" was the next order and I jammed my nose into the crack of my piggie as I felt a nose ram into mine. "LINE MOVE INTO YOUR MOTOR HOME" was the next commands. I did realize that the filthy trailer was our `motor home." Sam did have a sense of humor. Since I was the last one I just continued to follow the ass hole in front of me, and slowly we climbed a metal ramp into the middle level of the trailer. Again just following I saw that we were passing a series of small table like metal platforms. The piggie in front of me suddenly turned and placed his body on the metal table. I followed the lead.
When I was there I heard the sound of some sort of small motor, and soon I felt two leather straps coming across my shoulders and the other at about my waist. I felt these straps keep descending toward the floor until suddenly the noise stopped and so did the straps. I was firmly pressed against the platform. It was a simple device with the leather straps all on metal cables. The cable could raise the strap up, and it could pull it down. I did admire the simple but very effective technology. Next tubes descended and fell across my face. Using my mitted hands and moving my head I was able to get it into my mouth. First came some sort of liquid mush, and then came down some warm water. I realized that the livestock had not been exercised, feed, and watered, and that I was one of the livestock.
"SIX" Sam said in his cold commanding voice. "You were interested in how dirty the trailer was. I keep it that way. When I have to transport my piggies through these stupid states, I sometimes put real piggies around you bigger ones, and feed them stuff that produces lots of pig shit. I find that few inspectors really want to get too up close and personal to a trailer reeking of pig and pig shit, and so I get all my piggies to market." Sam went to the tractor, fired up the engine, and with a lurch, which did not really bother me as I was securely in place, we started to market.
As the Massachusetts countryside passed in front of me, and cars and other trucks passed us, I realized that as we got closer and closer to New York, I approached my legal life as a slave. Sam was an enslaver, and probably made a very good living delivering livestock into the free states, and then picking up young guys to make his return to the slave states even more profitable that his trip from the slave states. I cursed myself for my arrogance and ignorance of "It won't happen to me," and "I am too smart to be tricked into being enslaved." I now realized how easily I was now on the road to slavery. I thought it was appropriate for us to be in an animal transport. That is what slaves were in the United States – human animals. I was going ---- no I now was one.
CHAPTER 2
I watched as the trailer and its human animals made their way west. I saw signs announcing that NY State Line was approaching and I thought that as those numbers decreased so did my life as a human.
The countdown moved from 10 through 0, and we came to a toll booth. The rig stopped at the booth and for a moment I thought, "Here's where I will escape at the last minute. I will scream to the toll booth attendant and since we are still in Massachusetts we all will be free and Sam will enjoy our prison system. I mentally thought that it would indeed be a totally appropriate turn around because even in liberal Massachusetts, prisoners no longer languished in cells all day doing nothing. There were no large prisons left even in Mass. A prisoner became a slave of a state, although citizens were too polite, or too squeamish, to call the convict slaves by that name. They became "state indentures" who served their times in various camps all over the state repairing and maintaining the highways, cleaning and maintaining the parks and forests, and generally doing the mind and back breaking manual labor that allowed our roads and public areas to be clean, smooth, and totally great experiences for the citizens.
The convict slaves did not get to enjoy these facilities however, as their life was ordered by the "indenture training and supervisory staff" read "slave handlers" who controlled their life from where and what they would eat to where they would be kenneled (yes even in Mass the indentured were not housed but kenneled) and of course unofficially, how they would satisfy their betters at night – or anytime.
Well of course my fantasy of Sam's living the life of an orange clad state slave was just fantasy. Sam was much too smart and experienced for this to happen. The tractor was at the toll booth. We were many feet behind and there was all sorts of noise with the diesel of Sam's tractor being revved up just to be sure. And of course as we jerked into motion the toll booth operator was overwhelmed with the stench of the trailer and so as we went by and I did yell. I yelled to a closed door. Soon we were crossing the area between the states, and I saw the sign "Welcome to New York – The Empire State of the New United States." I could see the lines of vehicles on the other side of the interstate lined up for inspection to go into Massachusetts, but we sped along. We were now in NY and naked slaves legally – well not exactly legally. It was still illegal to kidnap a person and turn them into a slave. In theory only those who committed a crime fit under the Constitution's little escape clause that slavery was illegal except for prisoners. I knew that Sam would have this little technicality somehow taken care of.
Soon we pulled off the interstate and down a series of progressively smaller roads until we turned into a farm lane. A mile or so down the lane we were backed up to a large barn, and Sam got out. I could hear his door open and close even though I could not actually see anything because by this time it was night and the area outside the truck was dark. Then all sorts of things began happening. The straps that had held me down began retreating, and the back of the trailer opened, and I could hear the ramp being installed. As I looked back at the opening, I suddenly saw Sam's legs silhouetted in a light from behind the trailer, and heard a crack of a whip.
"OK piggies, form your line and crawl down the ramp." He ordered in his cold professional voice. The legs disappeared from my view but my fear of not doing as ordered remained. The friendly Sam of the diner was gone from my life. I now had Sam the slaver.
I was now the first in line as I had been last coming into the trailer. I turned and was startled to feel a nose ram into my butt. "MOVE IT PIGGIES!!!!!" Sam was probably now standing on the ground and screaming from below us. The order was reinforced with another crack of his whip. I crawled as quickly as I could, still trying to get used to having that nose ramming me whenever I slowed. When I got to the top of the ramp, even though I knew better, I stopped in amazement. There was an area about thirty feet square at the bottom of the ramp that was brightly illuminated, and some sort of spotlight was aimed right at the ramp and I was temporarily blinded. I was almost pushed down the ramp by the combined noses of my fellow piggies and their momentum rammed into my ass. With the thrust from behind, my pause was not enough to earn an encouragement from Sam's whip and I began my trip down the ramp.
Actually moving down the ramp seemed harder than going up the ramp as gravity seemed to want to make you lean forward enough to almost make you lose your balance. Also of course the leather mitts on your hands and just your knees really did not provide a lot of traction. I think even Sam allowed us a bit of slack coming down. The nose left my butt on the trip down. That did turn out to be a blessing for the unfortunate piggy behind me. About half way down the ramp a result of the diner meal with Sam was I let loose with a huge fart. There was nothing I could do. I felt it build up in my ass, and then felt it explode. Even though the guy's nose was not touching my butt, it was close enough that I could feel his breath, and so I really knew I really covered him with fart. It's strange that farting really embarrassed me. Since I was naked except for some leather straps and mitts a fart seems trivial, but I could feel myself turning red faced in embarrassment.
I did not slow down nor did I turn around to apologize. Gravity, fear, and group pressure hurled me to the bottom. As I arrived, Sam ordered "Line up side by side." So I moved to my left a bit and moved close to Sam's feet and continuing to face away from the trailer stopped and awaited further orders. I sensed the others move into the ordered positions, and then there was silence. I kept my head down looking at the ground just in front of me. I was indeed learning. Piggies never looked around, and definitely never looked up to see what those in charge were doing. In my peripheral vision I saw and heard the approach of several men. From that group I heard "Are these my baby slaves?" The voice was not deep and masculine and commanding like Sam's. It reminded me of the sort of high whiney voice of the warden in the movie "Cool Hand Luke." Like Paul Newman in the movie I soon found out that whiney or not, this voice and its owner were going to be my owner and absolute MASTER. Whiney would determine the rest of my life. The one final I thought as I waited there for further orders was "Shit." It is horrible to be enslaved; it is horrible to have to do what another tells you to do no matter what, and somehow it is more horrible when that human who holds your very life in his whim seems a wimpy jerk.
"Get'em up" whiney said, and from the gang I saw several pairs of brilliantly shined military boots approach us. I shivered in fear. However, what the boots did who came behind me was begin to unbuckle my legs from the belt around my waist. He then unbuckled my waist strap and removed it.
"SIT UP" was the command, and like an obedient little puppy, I sat up on my legs, with my mitted paws in front of me. The mitts were then also unfastened and removed. Then big hands came around me and helped me stand up. I was standing like a real human man again. I have no idea how my fellow piggies felt since they had been piggies longer than I, but I was thrilled to once again almost seem human.
Whiney then said to Sam "I call them my baby slaves because they come down that ramp like helpless little babies coming outta their mommas and into the world. Then I take these little babies and help them learn how to live their new lives. I just think this is almost a religious moment." "God what shit"
was my thought. I was almost thankful that I did not have to look at this twinky asshole who could make such a stupid ass statement. However I did not say a word and continued to study the ground in front of me. I was thankful for the steadying hand of the man behind me as my standing was still a bit wobbly.
I noticed that we were no longer close together, but had been brought upright about three feet apart. I soon discovered this space was for twink to inspect each of us. Keeping my eyes on the ground, I saw him go over the man to my left. He ran his hands all over his body. He paid special attention to the guy's arms and legs. Then he checked out the chest and back. Only then did he give somewhat cursory attention to his cock and balls. I was surprised. I expected he would spend most time on our sexual equipment, but his inspection seemed only an afterthought. He did not even bother to lift the guy's head to look at his face. Then twink was in front of me, and had there not been that guard behind me, I might have jumped and broken stance when his clammy hands started pushing and rubbing and exploring my back, chest and arms. "Put Six down for some work training to get its muscles up to grade." Twink ordered, and since I was the end of the line, he went in front of us again.
"Slaves, Look up." He was as unimpressive as I had expected. He was about 5"10" and probably weighted about 180 lbs. He was not flabby, but was clearly not muscular. He was wearing a pair of wrinkled white – or in his case now very definitely off white slacks and a flowered shirt. To me he looked like a thinner and slightly taller Danny Devito. I don't think he could order any of us around by himself, but he was not by himself. Beside him I could see three very muscular and threatening guards.
They had utility belts with whips, a slave prod, and a couple of punishment paddles. With their bulging muscles I very much did not want to be on the receiving end of one of those devices. I was sure that the tawse would sting enough to make me yell at the top of my lungs, if I was allowed to yell.
At that thought I smiled inwardly. I was now a slave, and that thought showed it. I accepted that the yelling a free man might would only result in pain for the slave – now me. I had accepted that I no longer had independent options but only would function on orders. I was somewhat shocked. I had not even been subjected to what I had always read about – the breaking of a slave – but I was already broken. Sam had broken me easily with a few orders and a couple of swats of his tawse.
I was ashamed of myself, but I decided that I might as well accept reality. I concentrated at looking at a twink who I was sure now owned me and would determine my life.
Just at that moment behind me I heard the diesel of Sam's rig fired up and heard move away and then some fresh air started to surround me. I remember thinking back to a psychology class where we were talking about perception, and the professor had explained that humans have a very poor sense of smell, and that in a very short period of time, if a smell continues, the brain no longer registers its existence. I thought that he had been right, and now I could attest to the fact that after being in the middle of the pig shit of the trailer, it no longer registered. Now as it left, I could begin to smell its fetid odor that was left behind as it pulled away and also that it had permeated my skin, and I now smelled like pig shit.
Twinky had stopped talking as the rig left, and now he began again. "Slaves," he intoned in a bored tone of a speech being given on automatic pilot. I again wanted to smile as my mind came up with how his speech should have begun "THIS IS A RECORDING." But I knew that staring at him with a smile or smirk would probably earn me a swat with a paddle of a whip and worked every fiber of my face to keep on a blank expression. "Sam informed me that all of you slaves were acquired in Massachusetts, and so may not be familiar with the slave system, and therefore as baby slaves you need the basic knowledge. The law says that a person who has been convicted of a crime can be used for labor as an indentured prisoner. We have long since stopped all the double talk, and just say that after conviction you are a slave – probably for the rest of your life. Now some of you may be thinking, `We were never convicted.' And you would be right." Here is paused and nodded to a guard behind us. "Bring'em in." he ordered.
Behind me I heard the merry jingling of chains and then around the end by me I saw a line of six slaves chained together by chains connecting their collars, and in both wrist and ankles shacked trotting in unison These slaves did not look like the smooth and oiled slaves we had seen at the slave auction my friend and I had gone to four years earlier. These guys were very muscular, but very hairy. The smelled of sweat and piss and shit. They looked to be probably in their 50's and shared a somewhat vacant look in their eyes. Baby slaves, what makes a man a slave – an animal?" It clearly was a rhetorical question, and after a pause, he continued. Well surprisingly little and many free man might be surprised how easily we can turn one into the other. What makes a slave is a slave collar, being naked, and being inked with a SIN (slave identification number). I can assure you that I can take any free man in this entire country, strip him naked, put a collar on him, tattoo a SIN number on him, and then take him to a new part of his same community – away from people who might know him well – and let him ask for help to arrest those who had done this to him, and you know what would happen. The free citizens would call the Slave Police, and after the slave police had beaten the shit out of the slave, they would wait for someone to call them about a missing slave. After a couple days with the Slave Police, I can tell you that this free person would respond to the question "Are you a slave?" and the free man would yell at the top of his voice `I am a naked piece of slave shit, and I deserve to be punished by my MASTER."
Personally I suspect that the former free man might actually have come to believe it as their birth into slavery would involve considerable pain, and insistence that a slave litany be learned until it was a very part of the slave's being.
"As you are in front of me collared, and naked, even if I were to say to you. `You may now run. I will give you an hour head start.' You would soon be returned to me, and NO citizen believes anything a naked collared person says as everyone knows that all slaves lie. Now as I was saying the slaves on front of you are you. As you can see they are worn out as a coffle working in the fields of a farm near here. I bought them all for very little, and very soon they will be taken and their organs sold, and their remains ground up for animal food. Their collars, their chains, and their SIN's will become yours. Since I am a registered slave dealer and I can register new slaves, and a computer expert of mine can hack into the slave registry, and soon your pictures and fingerprints will be in the official slave registry. So babies as soon as we get you in your new collars, get you chained up, and the tattoos, you will be put up for sale as a ready-to-go slave coffle. You will work on the fields. You will live as the animals you now are. And in thirty years or so of hard labor you may find yourself here and being almost grateful that you soon will be free of the whips and the endless and truly mind numbing labor. Baby slaves again, look at YOU."
Again I was thankful for the steady hand of the guard behind me. I knew what the twink had said would be true. No one would believe that a naked, collared and chained man was anything but a legal slave, and there was neither help nor hope for me. There are no miracles to save a person who looked like a slave. I was a baby slave, and I would grow up and live my life as a slave. I was also amazed at the lack of response from the slaves in front of us. They had just learned that very soon they would be killed and their organ sold, and they bodies ground up. No burial – no memory – no one to care.
I watched as a pair of guards went around with a special tool and unlocked their collars, and took off their wrist and ankles shackles. Twink was watching and informed us that only court officials were to have the key to lock a slave's state collar on it, but that for a suitable financial consideration, one of the court officials had allowed himself to drop a key, and that Twink picked it up, duplicated it, and then quietly had returned it to the official.
Soon, as still warm from the slaves who had worn them for who knows how long all of us had state slave collars on out necks, and their steel cuffs and chains on our wrists and ankles. I was sure that I would also soon be tattooed with a SIN number and my picture altered into the state slave computer bank. I am a baby slave, but I knew that slaves grow up fast with the help of so many who are happy to help it learn.
CHAPTER 3
Twinky now left us in our chains and collars. The old slaves were then herded without their chains, but still moving in unison, in order, and in silence along a path that their overseer directed them. They entered a building. They indeed seem content to finish their lives to enrich their owners, as their labor had done for many years As we stood there awaiting our orders a new guard came up in front of us. He smiled, and in a programmed response I found myself smiling back at him. "Baby slaves" he said softly. `You have seen your future, but you can make that future stay far away from your present if you work very hard and do exactly what I tell you to do. You have already figured out that I and the other guards can inflict enough pain upon you that you will do what we order, so just go with the flow, and be good slaves. You saw how the old you coffle moved as one unit. You need to work to be also one unit working together.
Concentrate on our instruction. I do not inflict pain on slaves who work hard. Work hard, follow orders, and I will help you have the best slave life you can expect. Now turn to your right."
We turned to our right. With a much sharper voice the overseer guard said not extremely loudly, but very menacingly, "THAT WILL NOT DO, EVEN FOR A FIRST ATTEMPT!" Then he began his instruction.
He came past me all the way to the slave at the other end of our chain linked collars. "You are slave 1.
When you begin to move back to the left, all the other slaves will follow your movement exactly. NOW SLAVES TURN LEFT. I could only see the slave directly in front of me, but I worked as hard as I could to turn in unison. I found myself in wonder as I felt some pride in how much better we had done in this command, and mentally imagined how smooth and trained us must have looked.
We practiced several turns until finally we turned in unison and almost automatically. "Slaves, come to attention." our trainer ordered. Again we failed, and again with patience we were instructed; we practiced, and we became accustomed to doing as ordered. I really do not know how long we spent in our line learning the basic slave positions.
"SLAVE READY" Trainer ordered, and I heard a very uniform clank of six sets of leg shackles spring tight, and knew that at the same time six sets of hands went to side with the shackles tight across our cocks, and hands straight down the sides of out legs, and six sets of eyes were focusing on a spot six feet in front of us.
"SLAVES" Trainer said. Again I noticed how soothing his voice was. He did not yell or scream at us. It was all very civil, and in great contrast to Twink and Sam.
Trainer continued, "...you have done well, and I want to encourage you. You are all young and relatively good looking pieces of slave meat. You learn quickly, and I am glad to see that you are unlike the dumb ones who can't get it into their tiny slave brains that they will be slaves for the rest of their lives. If you will work very hard I want you to be sold as a show coffle. Since you are from Massachusetts you might not know that farms in New York who use slave coffles have tours for visitors to see how the slave system works out in the farms. The owners want visitors to see good looking slaves, smiling, and unmarked from whippings. The goal is to keep public support for the slave system. The visitors do not seem to realize that away from the edges of the tour fields where show coffles work, real field slaves who are ugly big brutes, with lots of scars from being whipped work long days, and look more animal than human. Show coffles shower every day. Their hair is shaved and their bodies are kept in top shape. You will live lives most slave coffles would think of as slave heaven. YOU slaves can achieve this if you work very hard for me this week. I want you slaves to have the best slave life you can." Trainer paused. We knew better than to speak until asked a question. "SLAVES ARE YOU READY?" he yelled, and to my surprise I joined my five fellow slaves by yelling back "SIR yes SIR."
"GREAT slaves." Trainer replied. "It is now time to get you inked and registered. After we get you all properly entered in the system, I will take start giving you the skills to sell yourself to potential buyers as a whip smart set of show coffle slaves." Well there is not much to say with the process that followed.
We had our SIN (slave identification number) tattooed on us. We were finger printed and our pictures and measurements were recorded. Several times we were informed that the equipment being used was the exact equipment used in the state slave processing centers. They almost seemed to think we would be proud that our illegal enslaving was being done with the best equipment. I had already learned that slave thoughts were best kept inside slave brains.
After all our processing, we were once again taken over by Trainer, and we practiced unison matching for a long time. Finally, we were led to and locked into our cage - - I thought yes, it might be a cell if we were human, but instead we were caged like the slave animals we now were. Over the next week we learned rapidly the long day of a slave. We learned to work in unison keeping a straight line with our butts held high, and we learned to sing several slave songs emphasizing how lucky we were to be looked after and cared for. We also sang about how nice it was to have no worries. We learned all this to be a show coffle. It never occurred to any of us that we also were increasing the profit of these illegal slavers. I guess in a sense we were using each other, because we slaves had a short gain here because it was true – being a show coffle was a much better slave life than a regular work coffle.
The Trainer talked to us one last time before we were shipped to market. "Slaves tomorrow morning you are gong to market. When you are exhibited before the sale, sell yourselves. Smile at the potential buyer. Keep your eyes down, and be ready to comply to any order quickly. Show the buyer you would work well with the public. If you get sold as a show coffle, you will be better treated.
Remember that if someone pays a lot of money for you, that buyer will be more careful about keeping his expensive property well taken acre of." As we were talking in our cage that night, we showed how thoroughly Trainer had brainwashed us. We actually made such stupid slave comments like, "I hope we can thank Trainer for all his help." Think of that. We wanted to thank a man for making us valuable slave property who knew we were kidnapped and illegally turned into slaves. We even talked about how to display ourselves to get the highest price. How dumb we were. Why should we help our kidnappers and enslavers get the most money from out illegally being enslaved? I guess it is a miracle that the human mind can rationalize to cope with a reality it must accept. It worked to make us want to show ourselves as well trained, compliant, and happy slaves.
CHAPTER 4
To Market, To Market, To Market We Will Go...
The next morning we were awake even before TRAINER and the guards came for us. We thought we would show our appreciation by being at attention, in a good straight row, with our cocks hard and erect, and flexed to show our improved posture, and also our compliance.
When Trainer entered with the guards, they stopped in their tracks, and genuinely smiled, and unbelievably Trainer applauded us. The guards hastily joined in.
"WELL DONE SLAVES!" was Trainer's comment as he approached our cage. "With an attitude like that and with those great `SHOW' bodies, you will bring on a great competition for you, and the higher the price, the more you ensure that you will be a very well treated and well cared for show coffle." When a guard unlocked the cage's door, we continued our display of how well trained we were. We matched our gates so that our feet struck the floor at the exact same time, and we kept our eyes straight ahead, even as we moved, guided though through our peripheral vision, exactly the place we were to go to line up for inspection. We executed the maneuver precisely, and once again we were rewarded by comments from Trainer and the guards of "GREAT," and "SUPER."
We were loaded into a slave carrier, which is like a police paddy wagon, but the sides are barred and open to the observation of free persons. The sides bore the notation "SLAVES IN TRANSIT. DO NOT APPROACH!" We should have realized that the note not to approach was not meant for our protection from free persons, but more likely more a warning to be careful of the potentially wild animals. We were, I guess, great examples of the Stockholm syndrome. Our trip to market was not an extremely long one. I would guess maybe about an hour, and we could tell we were there. We were in a stop- and-go mode, and even inside the wagon we heard that we were being assigned a cage. We felt our transport being backed up to a parking spot, and then, after some more conversations which we could hear as sound, but not distinct words, our guards with two new guards appeared and opened the cage door.
"Slaves" a new guard addressed us. "OUT and FORM!" We knew the command and organized ourselves in order, stooped over, and exited the transport. Immediately we formed up, stood at slave rest, and awaited our orders. "COFFLE FOLLOW" was the next order, and as first in line, I carefully focused on the shoes on the guard, and in unison we followed those shoes to a slave pen. I heard the door being unlocked, and then the order "ENTER, LINE UP IN SLAVE REST." We moved inside the cage, turned and lined up, and immediately stood at slave rest facing the bars of the cage, and kept our eyes respectfully on the floor. We heard the cage door being closed and locked, and since no order was given to relax we remained in slave rest standing position. We had learned that even though this position was not really a relaxed position, it did not require us to tense our muscles for slave display, and therefore was not an uncomfortable way to await our next orders.
Slave time has no relationship to free time. We waited in position for what did seem a fairly long time, but certainly within our training. Then we perceived a group of free men gathering outside our cage.
We heard our trainer's voice saying "We believe that this coffle should be sold as a show coffle..." At this point I stopped listening to words and only concentrated on readiness to hear and order. We had practiced this skill. Our ears were trained only to really process slave orders. Suddenly and order was said loudly "SLAVES. DISPLAY!" We immediately snapped to position, and were proud that we demonstrated our training and were in complete unison.
The new free man issued several orders and we executed them as the well-trained coffle we now were.
At the end of several orders, we were returned to slave rest position, and the cage door was unlocked, and we saw the polished boots of Trainer, and two sets of much more worn, and less polished boots.
We were now given a thorough slave evaluation examination. One set of "dirty" boots seemed more interested in our musculature, and the other in our sexual responsiveness. After the evaluation there was a period of silence, and then trainer, (and we slaves) heard what we all had worked for. "John, you have a very well trained and physically superior coffle. We will display them as our premiere offering for this sale. We of course made no reaction, but trainer replied "THAT'S GREAT!" and then the freeman group exited that cage, and we were locked in again. We were a little concerned that we would be left in the display position, but just as we were resigned to keeping up our position at some pain until released when we herd trainer. "COFFLE AT EASE UNTIL GIVEN ANOTHER ORDER." We were thrilled! "AT EASE" was a slave position where we could relax completely. We could sit. We were not even expected to stand whenever a free man approached our area. For a slave "AT EASE" is a real reward.
We all smiled at one another, proud of our achievement.
Our transformation from free teens, to pigs in a trailer, to slaves who accepted their change had been one that would amaze any free person. These free persons might say smugly that these guys were just weak minded wimps who were really too weak minded to preserve their freedom and fight against their slave training and transformation. Well talk is cheep. If you were naked, had a slave collar around your neck, metal cuffs on your wrists and ankles, had your SIN tattooed on you arm, and were shown your picture and fingerprints on an official state slave registry, you might accept the fact that YOU were a slave, even if you had not been legally enslaved, and you also might decide to survive as best as you could in that situation. Being an obedient, well-cared-for show coffle was our logical response to the realities that now existed.
That is what we had done, and so far deciding to not fight, but to accept, seemed to be working. If we were going to be held back as the best slaves offered at this sale, then it was logical that we might indeed go for a high price, and logic also would seem to prove that if someone paid a lot of money for you, you probably are going to be treated as any expensive thing is treated – WELL TREATED.
We rested in our cage again for a period of time that did not seem long to us, but one of the traits that we seemed to have automatically acquired as slaves was that time was really somewhat meaningless to us. We saw our trainer coming and so out of respect, we jumped up and formed our line and assumed the PRESENT position. Again, we were looking at the floor, but "slavedar" allowed us to sense that our trainer was again well pleased at our action. "Slaves" Trainer said, "we have been talking about you to buyers, and there is great interesting you. We are now going to take you out to the display area, and you should expect to have many potential buyers test both your bodies and very unusually your ability to answer questions. If you really are going to be show coffle you will be expected to answer questions from the visitors to the estate. We smiled secretly among ourselves as trainer had prepared us for this aspect of selling ourselves as well as making sure our bodies and co-ordination were ready to sell for top dollar. "SIR YES SIR!" we shouted in unison in good show coffle fashion. We could sense that once again we had impressed the auction officials.
We were released from the cage, and in true show coffle fashion we were led to the show room in perfect unison. There we were stood upon a foot high dais, and conspicuously, were NOT chained to the display stand, but stood there on display without restraint. After a few minutes the buyers entered, and clearly we were the items of greatest interest in the auction. We were pinched, our bodies were professionally tested and examined, and we were questioned about how we would answer questions about being slaves from visitors to the estate. We were ready for all these events, and we sensed that the buyers were indeed ready to bid a very serious amount of money for four such young, fit, bright, and thoroughly domesticated slavebois.
After the inspection period was over all the slaves were taken to a long chute where the slaves were put in line in order of being offered for sale. After about an hour, the first slaves moved from the chute on to the stage for the auction and sale. We were to be held to last, but soon the officials at the auction perceived that the buyers were unwilling to spend much for any other slaves because they were saving all their funds for our auction. Therefore after only five slaves had been sold, it was announced that after an intermission of approximately fifteen minutes the show coffle auction would take place. We could feel the excitement and anticipation in the showroom.
We were returned to the display area, and we were surrounded by eager buyers in just a few moments.
We smiled, and when ordered managed to keep all our movement in unison. We could sense the excitement and as a final trick to increase our value we showed our last trick, we erected in unison, and received a spontaneous ovation. We were slave stars, and we awaited our auction sure that our price would be such that we would be treated with the respect that these very wealthy people bestowed on their most prized, and expensive possessions. Then we all heard the announcement over the public address system. "Buyers, we are ready for this prize offering."
Assistants to the auctioneer came and we followed him past all the other slaves in the chute, and up five steps to the auction block. There was a small area on the stage, but not visible to the auction room where we were stopped. An assistant who had brought us to the block told us then we heard the auctioneer say "Coffle, form and display" we were to move to the raised area in front of the auctioneer's raised podium, which looked to me almost like the pulpit of the church I had attended in Massachusetts, turn and assume the display position. I amused myself by thinking of the auctioneer as the Minister of Slavery in this place of slave worship and purchase, standing in the pulpit and selling his religion of slaves. Just a few moments later we heard to auctioneer say through the PA system, "Coffle, Form and Display." We marched out, moved onto the raised area, turned and faced the buyers crowded just below the raised auction stage. As soon as we were in line I whispered "three, two, one," and on one once again we all erected in unison. The applause was absolutely thunderous. The auctioneer said behind us, and we could hear, but the applause caused only us to hear, "Holy Shit, How in the fuck did you do that?" When the ovation died down, the auctioneer said to the crowd, "As you can see, this show coffle will be a show stopper." Applause and laughter followed, and then the serious business of us becoming the legal property of someone began.