A New Slave Boy

Asian

Hello all: The Moral Slavery Amendment Series will still continue: But this is a glimpse into the future of that world. The main series will be added to as well as this one if the reviews point in that direction.

“Hurry up slave.” The Man behind me grumbled, annoyed at my making it to the urinal a little before him. I would have finished before if not for needing to take extra care for my chastity cage. While Master was liberal with me, allowing me to socialize with my friends on an almost daily basis, he wasn’t completely open. While some owners of slaves would allow them to roam about without any bondage other than a symbolic collar, mine ensured that whenever I left the house, I was in a chastity cage, collar, and a moderately sized, three inch long dog tag which had his name and phone number on one side, with my name and slave id on the other. The collar was a tall, and stiff leather which covered my entire neck, and prevented me from moving my head left or right, so I couldn’t look back to address the impatient man behind me.

“Don’t you know the law says slaves gotta wait for free folk to be done with anything before they can use it, you stupid shit?” The man followed up when I turned around to leave.

“Yes sir. Although I did not know you needed the facilities when I entered.” I replied.

“Whatever, just fucking move.” He said, before I went to wash my hands and rejoin my friends at our typical booth in the local dive. Of my friends, I was the only one enslaved after coming of age almost ten months prior. We all of course took the first of the tests together, but with the bar for submissiveness set so high I was the only one selected to permanently lose my personhood. The testing process was rigorous, starting off with evaluations from doctors and psychologists. Once those were ‘passed’, meaning they found no stds, or issues which would prevent a slave from performing the wide range of duties expected of them, as well as having the mindset that is not just submissive, but to the point where going through life un enslaved would only lead to suffering. Different states, and nations had varied wording for this, some calling it criminally submissive, others describing it as “a critical level of submissiveness where the specimen requires the guidance and control of a person. The subject requires instruction, and corporal punishment for basic tasks, and sexual fulfillment.” Many choose the wording of the latter, so as not to make the state of slavery a negative, but simply a role in society to be filled, just as firefighters and garbage men are needed.

I remembered having an almost patriotic feeling as I went through the second part of the testing. I had known that I wanted to be enslaved for a few years. Just as sexual orientation comes with adolescence, I quickly realized my submissive tendencies. While some boys were watching and talking about what male dominated pornography they watched, I found myself watching femdom and imagining being controlled by a young, stern, and sexy dominatrix.

These put me in a weird position, as I began to watch humiliation porn, but also saw the praise that slavery as an institution received. It was seen as a benefit for free people, owners and slaves alike. Alongside sentiments of “support our troops” and “teachers build our future” would come expressions like “Slaves are the backbone of the economy” “Slave do the work people won’t” and one of my favorite comical expressions from the war “If Beth could serve our Sam, you can suck my Uncle Stan”. I don’t know how exactly that phrase came about, or how it means you have to be a slave to suck Stan, but nonetheless it just showed the encouragement there was for people to be enslaved. Those phrases kept going through my head as I went through the physical fitness and pain tolerance testing.

The sentiments were commonly expressed by candidates hoping to get the slave vote. While we only made up a tenth of the population, and each slave only had half the vote of a free person, we made up a significant chunk of the voting bloc. These candidates would not only pander to us but our owners, offering tax incentives for ‘proper care’ of slaves. Since the reinstitution of slavery these politicians had adapted and tweaked the rules to maximize the amount of people enslaved at any one time. The pressure to make slavery as attractive as possible had not only shown that elected slave representatives were unnecessary, but they tended to be more conservative on the protections of slaves than their owners. As such they were done away with after the first ten or so years, and the slave votes rolled into the general voting bloc.

Further, after the first round of slave testing where every member of the population was to be enslaved should they reach a critical score level, proceeding through the test became voluntary. It had little effect on the enslavement rate, but it was more than made up for in the Slave Drives that the government held. Depending on what type of slave was lacking, the government would have shown and rewards for signing up. For instance, My Aunt Macy manisa escort enslaved herself when a drive promised those who signed up could finish their degrees before being sold to increase their value, but also let them get enslaved four years earlier than they would have otherwise, removing their concerns for earning money to pay for it. The Slave Drives led to the enslaved population climbing from the six percent it was at during compulsory enslavement to ten percent. A completely unexpected result that drove the economy. Of course, promising young submissive men that being forced to collect garbage or work on a farm would be rewarded with orgies with slave girls under the direction of strong dominants would have that effect.

I myself was taken in by two factors. One was the passing of the Bryan Act five years before which mandated male slaves get ‘releases’ at least once every two weeks and receive sexual intercourse from someone of their sexual preference once a year. The latter being more than I got anyways. The other was a Slave Drive held at our local theater, where some sexy dominatrixes showed off their skills at handling male and female slaves. I was turned on the whole time, and even got a couple autographs.

The second part of the slave testing was for those serious about the potential to become chattel. Each of the two later steps in slave-testing were entered voluntarily, with the first part serving to screen everyone in the population. If one was shown to be a submissive, they could move onto the next step. The physical fitness test was intertwined with the pain tolerance and completed completely naked in front of an audience. The test started with a five-kilometer run, and after a ten-minute break pushups would follow. All the while, whatever on-lookers had decided to come to view the event could taunt or encourage us. I remembered jogging past my friends, all of whom as I mentioned had not been selected as submissive, in the final lap.

“Run Bitch! Run!” James had shouted while the others rattled cow bells and blew into plastic horns left over from pep-rally.

Jess added in “It may be the last time you’re allowed to run without looking suspicious!”

After the pushups and sit-ups, we potential slaves were given a five-minute water break before the endurance portion of the test. We were made to stand with our arms outstretched holding five-pound weights, with electrodes clamped to our nipples. Once every thirty seconds a moderate shock would be applied, and if our arms lowered below thirty degrees, a more powerful shock was applied. This went on for fifteen minutes, and I was thankful for my friend’s encouragement again.

“Grin and bear it buddy, only six more minutes!” Tim yelled.

“I don’t think he exactly minds. Look at that dick!” Emily retorted. Sure, enough my prick was standing proud for all to see.

“Just think of all the hot slave bitches you’ll be around.” Jess added as if I could get any harder at the thought.

Finally, the pain and endurance were over with one final shock which brought all of the potential slaves to their knees. We were then instructed to remove the electrodes and retrieve our clothing from the locker room. I spoke with some of the potential slave candidates on the way back to the locker room. Most were pleasant and as excited as I was for our potential futures. Although two of the girls scoffed at me, “Don’t look at us bitch boy. We’re for real men.” The busty brunette bimbo had said. It was a sentiment I and many other enslaved males would encounter all too often. Before exiting the locker rooms each of us was handed our results in a manilla envelope.

I had waited until I got into the car where my parents were waiting for me to open it. “How’d it go?” My mother asked.

“I think it went well. At least I enjoyed it.” I said before opening the envelope “It says congrats you passed the physical fitness and pain tolerance tests and are cleared for the third test.”

“That’s nice honey. If you’re sure you want this. Don’t let your brother talk you out of it.” She warned. Over the past three weeks leading up to the testing, ever since I had turned 18 my twin brother had consistently bullied me for my desire to be enslaved.

“But you enjoy being humiliated.” One may point out, but it’s not the same coming from family, especially a sibling. It did bother me quite a bit, and we of course got into fights over it. Just because I was going to become property, less than a person, with fewer protections than a house pet did not mean I was ever going to think of my twin as my superior.

But as a free person he is my superior. Logically I know that even if I don’t acknowledge it emotionally. But I do wonder if it was a self-fulfilling prophecy. Ever since I and my family started figuring out, I would probably be one of the ten percent of the population enslaved they switched to planning for Steve’s future accordingly. I never took the college entrance exams, and although I learned to drive and got a license, when we turned seventeen Steve got the families kütahya escort old car, while I received a couple books and a copy of Slavery Monthly, a magazine covering the slave-economy. It was the only appropriate thing a parent of a future slave could respectfully give their son. No graphic pictures. Just ads for some slaves up for sale, bondage equipment and page after page of market analysis.

The third part of the test was a final psychological evaluation after a series of interviews. I and other potential slaves still left in the process would meet with male and female slaves along with slave owners of each gender. They consisted of those enslaved as early as a year ago, to slaves aging in their eighties. Each interview consisted of a warning about how serious a commitment I was about to make was, as well as how tough a slave’s life could be. But they also described how rewarding it could be.

“The thing you gotta understand is most owners realize that slavery is a partnership in the end. I want my slave to enjoy being under my lock and key, and much as I enjoy torturing him. That means rewarding him for good behavior and understanding what he wants. Now, his wants are secondary to mine of course. As yours will be to your master or mistress. But that does not mean they don’t exist. Plus, every slave is a masochist, so you need to figure out a way to differentiate between actions which need serious correction and those that are just for attention and in want of a light spanking.” One young master said. Immediately after his slave was brought into the room and he left so I could talk with him in private.

The seventy-three-year-old man entered with wrists shackled together and a chastity cage on his geriatric genitals. “Hello their young man.” He grunted sitting down. “So, you want to be a slave boy like me huh?”

“Yes Sir.” I replied.

“Oh, I’m no sir, I’m just an old wrinkly slave. But I guess it’s a good thing for you to default to that. I know everyone says slavery isn’t an easy life. But sometimes I think we got it better than the free folk. Especially in this day and age. Everything moves so quickly. One day you could be head of the company and then just like that, everyone’s moved onto the next thing and you’re out of a job. Sure they can beat us, shock us, leave us chained up in all sorts of uncomfortable positions, but we’d be lying if we said we didn’t enjoy it, and in the end, we’re the only ones guaranteed food and shelter.”

“Do you enjoy what your current master does to you?” I asked.

“Oh, he’s a fine Master. Inherited me and my daughter after his mother passed. Loves to tease me. I’m worried one day he’ll give me a heart attack with that fine young body of his!” He chuckled.

“Your daughter? I thought you were gay based on how you spoke about your master.” I asked.

“Oh, don’t be dense. My mistress and her husband who had purchased me originally had me breed a couple times. Plus, my daughter went through the whole process just like you’re doing now. The only difference is, she was the daughter of slaves. Thus, she was owned by my owners the moment she signed up.”

After interviewing a few more slaves and their owners I went into the final psychological evaluation. The doctor ordered me to strip, before instructing me through several of the common slave positions before ending with the inspection position. Hands behind my head with elbows back and feet spread apart.

“Your increased heart rate, exhalation and obvious erection confirm the earlier findings. Have you enjoyed yourself?”

“Yes sir.” I replied.

“Good. Do you think you could serve a master or mistress equally? Answer honestly.

“I think I could serve a mistress better as I am a heterosexual.”

“Yes, your charts indicated that. You’ll have a rougher go at it. But I think you can make it.” The doctor said before reading through the rest of the chart.

“It says here you have a twin brother who isn’t pursuing slavery. Is that correct?”

“Yes sir. He has never shown interest and practically received zeros on the screening.”

“And this has led to issues at home, correct? I have testimonials from your father saying you got into a fight with him. Not very slave like to fight a superior, is it?” He said, in a soft inquisitive tone, with a tilt in his head.

“No sir. But it’s not the same. I’m not sure how to describe it. But like if other people belittle me or embarrass me about something its annoying and humiliating but there’s something in me that likes it. When he does it, I’m just angry.” I said.

The doctor was silent for a minute. “And when its other people, its sexual. Does it feel like you deserve it?”

“Yes exactly.” I replied quickly. “You wouldn’t want your siblings to be in charge, would you?”

“No, I wouldn’t. I’m not a slave”

After a few more questions I was uncuffed and able to put my clothes on before leaving. The doctor said I had passed the final test. I could visit a courthouse to petition for slavery as soon as I wished. But seeing as I had malatya escort gotten out at three in the afternoon there was no way I would be able to get to the courthouse in time to have my petition heard. So once again I went out to the side of the road. This time to get picked up by my brother Steve. Thankfully, it was only a short ride back to the house.

“So, you’re really going through with it?” He asked.

“Yup. I just don’t really see another way around it. I just need it you know?”

“Well, I guess if you want to be a bitch boy there’s nothing more to it.”

“Could you not call me that?” I asked.

“Why, it’s what you’re going to be and it’s not like worse shit is going to be said about you?”

“Right, but it isn’t the same thing coming from you. You like it when your girlfriend calls you pet names. You wouldn’t want me to call you those.”

As if a light went off in his head he replied “Is that why you’ve been after me all this time? I feel like I can’t mention one thing about slavery, what you’re doing without it being a fight.”

“I guess it’s just because you say it like you’re going to own me. All this ‘Slaves ought to think like this, and slaves ought to do that. Or when you’re a slave you’re going to have to do such and such’. You don’t know anything about slaves or what it would be like. Its exactly for that reason I’m going for a State-owned sale.”

“You’re right, and I’ll probably never own a slave either. At this rate I’m not sure how I’m paying for college.”

When we arrived at the house there were cars parked on the street and tied to the mailbox were balloons. One of the balloons read “Its a Slave-Boy!” written in looped chains. Inside my extended family and friends were waiting to congratulate me on passing all the tests. They asked questions of varying appropriateness and made bets on who my first owners would be and whether I’d ever actually get to touch a woman. I expected a fair amount of derision and teasing from Steve. But instead with all these comments he turned out quite supportive.

After the festivities were over and I had far too much cake I settled in for my last night of freedom. It was already two in the morning and I spent the next hour watching porn. So, I was rather tired when my father woke me up for a huge pancake breakfast at seven in the morning. Everyone was quiet, almost as if I were marching off to war. In a sense I was, no one knew how much of me they would see again. The state mandated monthly wellness checks from an inspector at the Slave Registry, and one ten-minute call with a relative minimum every other week so as to catch excessive and illegal abuses. After breakfast I showered and put on my best suit before gathering the test results and testimonials from friends, teachers, and my parents. We all then piled into my dad’s car and drove to the courthouse.

I was fourth in line for new enslavement petitions, and we had to wait until after the cases where owners were suing their slave’s peculium. Most of the cases were simple damages where the slave had broken some item and their owner wanted to withdraw funds from the peculium to replace the item, which led to the slave either confessing, or fighting the charge. Peculium may only be used by slaves wishing to change their ownership, or with court approval to buy gifts for their owner, relatives, or friends as they themselves cannot own property. Changes of ownership are difficult, and the largest expense usually seen in a slave’s peculium as they must reach seventy percent of their appraised value to compensate their owner. After which the slave is re-sold by the state, with the sale paying off the last thirty percent of the original owner’s stake, and the rest going to fund the Slave Registry. Of course a slave only receives about five percent of their value in their peculium every year, payed through a mixture of government grants and their owners property taxes so it could take a slave fifteen years to buy themselves out from their current owner if they were frugal and didn’t petition a court for the other transactions.

Slaves buying their freedom was almost unheard of but did happen occasionally. The slave would need one hundred and ten percent of their worth in their peculium in order to compensate their owner and pay the court fees. Additionally, they would need to retake the test to be enslaved and fail one of the three. If they did so they could never be enslaved again.

This was evident in my mind as I went up to the stand to petition. I handed the bailiff my documents who delivered them to the judge before standing next to the court appointed lawyer for slave-council. Once he read them over they were given to the jury, which in the Slavery Sub Court consisted of one slave, being rented by the judicial system for the day, a slave owner, and one person who did not own a slave. This particular jury had a forty something year old free man with a receding hairline as the free person. The slave owner was a well-dressed twenty something year old woman in a full leather dominatrix costume, pushing up her generous caramel breasts. Next to her was an Asian slave woman, completely naked. Under my suit I was sporting an erection looking at the dominatrix. They also read through my documents and voted unanimously in favor, each making comments on my potential.

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