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This story is (C)Copyright 2006, by TM. All World Wide Rights  Reserved.
This story may not be sold or made part of any collection without  prior 
written
permission.

This is the first chapter of a multi-chapter  mini-series. It will be a long 
story as are most of our other stories. The  projected length of this story is 
35 chapters.  Many chapters are already  published in our yahoo group, as of 
today.

This story involves consensual  and non-consensual acts between males. If 
this type of story is something you  care little for, then go no further. It is 
set in a future time, where slavery  is a legal necessity.

A Lesson In Time  Chapter  One


It had  been a tough struggle for the people living in America over the last 
ten or so  years.  Ever since the early years of 2000, things seemed to decay 
and fall  apart. Those years were filled with war, poverty, catastrophic 
illness and so  much more that I was amazed that I had gotten through them 
unscathed.  

Now that I'm about to  embark on the final leg of my educational journey, I 
can't believe how far I've  come. 

Being the middle  child, of three; it was always fairly easy for me to get 
along with my older  brother and younger sister. However, I was the first of the 
three, to get a  college education.

This  coming year would be my senior year, for which I was thankful. Now that 
I had  the whole summer to work as an intern, towards getting my degree in '
Servitude  Management', I was beginning to feel as if everything that I'd been 
through was  finally about to pay  off.

To give you a  little background, I'll start by saying that at first I didn'
t see the need for  enslaving human beings; but that was when I was in sixth 
grade.  

Schools instantly  changed, with the addition of adding such courses as '
Becoming a Slave', 'Obey  the Laws', 'Living Amongst Slaves' and that was only 
in middle school and high  school.

In college, they  had even more in depth courses a student could take if he 
or she had the desire  to pursue working with those who were to be enslaved 
and/or those desiring to  obtain a slave or  slaves.

I chose to take  such courses, only because of my father. You see, dad used 
to belong to and work  for one of the major political parties; until such time 
as the country started  going down the 'wrong  path'.

Once the new  political party was formed, dad left his other job and became 
one of the leaders  in the PTCAA (People That Care About America). It seemed as 
if he rose to great  power in a short time. 

Three years after leading the PTCAA, the members of the party convinced dad 
that  it was time that they have a member run for political office; against the 
 incumbents and wanna-be's. And with mom's blessing dad accepted the 
challenge  and won.

We didn't see a  heck of a lot of dad, during the campaign; but we all knew 
that he was busy and  had hundreds of people doing hundreds of things for  him.

When dad laid out  his speech to the people of our country, they all seemed 
to accept him and his  ideas as the only viable alternative to their current  
situations.

Our whole  family, including grandpa and grandma, were all present at dad's 
first televised  speech. It was great, not to mention  effective.

In no time,  things seemed to be brighter for the country; and from what I 
could tell, there  were no limits on just how far the country could  improve.

The immigration  problem seemed to solve itself, once the new laws went into 
effect. Old, closed  down, military bases were re-constituted and illegal 
immigrants were bused off  to these bases, which were scattered all across the  
country.

They were then  sorted out by men trained in slave handling. The immigrants 
were sorted out  according to a variety of needs and statutes. Some, but not 
all, categories were  things like domestic, manufacturing, field labor, 
political, personal servant,  and yes, even sexual. 

Even the existing states took on a new self image. Some states enacted laws  
which mirrored the federal laws and even added a few stricter laws; and that  
seemed to slow down the crime rate… but as we all know… crime never takes a  
holiday. But, the new laws did seem to stem the tide of employers wanting to  
hire cheap labor, people sneaking into the country, and some of the more 
serious  crimes we used to read about on a daily  basis.

The plan that dad  embraced was a rather simple one; yet effective. For 
example; let's say a wine  manufacturer needed pickers for his grapes. They would 
fill out a few simple  forms and present them for rapid processing and presto… 
they had the slaves they  needed to perform the given task. The manufacturer 
didn't have to pay the slaves  a penny; but he did have to house and feed them 
while under his supervision. The  only financial obligation the manufacturer 
had was to pay the government a set  fee (tax) for each slave he used. The tax 
was used to regain the stability in  the country's multi-trillion dollar 
budget deficit. It was no small tax either.  It was rather substantial, but still 
some found it easier to use slave labor  compared to domestic  workers.

And so it was,  that the country's industries slowly returned to using 
citizen labor, as well as  those enslaved, as the number of enslaved slowly 
dwindled. However, those  citizens who found themselves in front of a judge could just 
about be guaranteed  that they'd be serving some of their sentence as a 
slave; working in some  capacity for either the local, county or state  government.

Another nice  change was when all of the big corporations closed down their 
factories in other  countries and brought them back to the States; furthering 
the need to hire  employees, who were trained in such work. Heck they even 
closed down their  overseas operations, where we used to always end up talking to 
some guy or girl  who could barely speak  English.

Television  programs are a lot different today as compared to those earlier 
years. There are  no more religious programs on during daylight hours. If you 
want to watch one of  them, you have to stay up past midnight to find the one 
or two remaining ones  who still preach hell fire and  brimstone.

Healthcare  took center stage one year and now there is a comprehensive plan 
which ensures  that every citizen gets the proper medical care he or she 
needs. Even those  enslaved get good, decent medical  attention.

The  government seemed to take a stern look at everything; thus corporate, 
white  collar, crime seemed to be where a person could find himself digging 
ditches  until the day he died.

Growing up, during my high school years, I began to see more and more 
families  with slaves. It was odd, at first, when mom brought home two slaves for  '
domestic' use. I had no clue, other that what I'd learned in school on how to  
act around or talk to a slave. It took a month before I became comfortable  
having a male slave tend to my needs and those of my brother. Not that I minded 
 somebody making my bed, picking up my clothes and keeping my room 
immaculate;  but having a total stranger see me in the buff was what took me time to 
adjust  to.

After six years of  the country becoming accustomed to and using indentured 
servants, dad and mom  had a long discussion about his staying on in politics. 
Dad decided not to run  for office again and it was nice to have him back, 
just being  'dad'.

Like any other  politician, dad had job offers coming out his ears, once he 
left office. He  accepted a job, which dealt with slavery and how to better 
manage them. I knew  that he got paid rather handsomely and it was because of his 
new job that led me  to take the courses in  college.

For several  summers, I worked as an intern in dad's office building. I 
learned a lot, but as  you know, interns work for free. I couldn't complain though, 
as dad always saw  to it that I had money in my wallet; sometimes the money 
appeared in my wallet  while I slept.

My  brother took a different path in life, but it was still a decent job, and 
it too  paid rather well. He went right into 'STS' (Slave Training School) 
shortly after  he graduated from high school. He got transferred a lot; 
depending on the needs  of that particular training  center.

It wasn't until  I was in college that I found out that he specialized in 
training slaves to work  in 'legal' brothels and for other specialized work as a 
slave for a  'master'.

My name is  Kevin and this is my  story:

I took only a  week's vacation after my junior year in college; as I knew 
that my senior year  and grades would depend heavily on what I did and what I 
learned over the  summer. My father was also anxious to get me on the road, 
learning, observing  and reporting my findings to him and his employees.  
Yes, that's right… "on the road'.  I was to spend the entire summer 
traveling around the country, looking at the  many factors of indenturement, 
including the court systems, the actually  induction of a new enslaved person, the 
training of slaves and the small, yet  important aspects of slave handling, 
processing and training in some of the  smaller less populated parts of the  
country.

I was rather  excited, on this particular morning. I was to be the 'focus of 
attention' while  I attended a meeting set up specifically for me.  

All dressed in my  finest of clothes, I made my way up to dad's office and 
was greeted cordially by  one of his three secretaries.  She guided me to the 
main conference room  and showed me in.

I had  no idea that so many people would be in attendance. Every chair was 
filled,  except one… mine. There must have been thirty men and women there. They 
all  stood up and greeted me warmly. I thought it rather strange that they 
were  paying so much attention to me; until I realized it was a simple gesture 
to show  respect for their employer, my  dad.

Being the first  time that I had been in this room, my eyes and brain was 
like a sponge;  absorbing every thing within the confines of the room. I couldn't 
begin to count  the amount, the volumes of books which lined three of the 
walls; but they all  appeared to be legal  material.

One of the  secretaries came in and began serving coffee and tea, and to say 
I was shocked  when she set a glass of soda down in front of me would be an 
understatement. How  in the world she knew that I wasn't a coffee or tea 
drinker, I'll never  know.

The third  secretary had taken up a seat off to one side and was preparing to 
record each  and every spoken word of the meeting. At first, I wasn't getting 
the importance  of this meeting, but it sure didn't take long until I was 
immersed into a world  that I thought I knew a lot  about.

One by one, each  person at the table had something to say to dad about the 
state of enslavement  proceedings throughout America.  I sat there, scribbling 
notes on the pad  of paper that was placed with each person in attendance.  

I heard things that I  had never heard in college. I was appalled at some of 
the things I heard. The  more they talked; they all seemed to gravitate their 
words towards me. I was  beginning to feel as if my internship was to be more 
as if I was a snitch for  the company. I never knew, but now I wanted to know, 
just who or what owned this  company. 

For three  solid hours, I listened to all of these, seemingly nice people, 
give their  reports from their respective sections.  

After I spent a  leisurely hour with dad at lunch, I had been scheduled to 
spend an hour, apiece,  with four of the top people in the organization.  

I was taken back by the  utter efficiency of the company. While I waited for 
my first meeting, one of  dad's secretaries approached me and handed me the 
typed minutes of the morning's  meeting. "Each of the people you are to meet 
with this afternoon, have their  comments plainly marked on the pages I've just 
presented to you Sir", the one  secretary calmly said to  me.

As I looked down at  the massive compilation of paper, it was plain to see 
that each person's words  were set apart by protruding tabs. By the time I 
looked up to thank the lady,  she had already disappeared from sight. Did she just 
call me  Sir?

Soon thereafter, a  Mr. Bonsall came up and re-introduced himself to me and 
asked that I follow him  back to his office. 

His  office wasn't what you might think an office should or would look like. 
There  wasn't even a desk. Two big sofas' and several large leather chair, 
along with  piles of manuscripts strewn all over the room; are all what 
comprised this man's  'office'.

After a minute  or two of non-descript conversation, Mr. Bonsall got right 
down to business.  

Mr. Bonsall was to be  my initial contact with the company, while I was on 
the road. I was to make all  of my reports to him and no one else. He handed me 
a folder which contained my  itinerary for the summer. It had every minute 
from sun up to sunset all planned  out for me.

We spent the  remainder of the hour going over the 'easy' things like where I
'd be going and  why. I followed along in my folder as Mr. Bonsall spoke from 
his exacting  memory. I saw where I would be going to Florida, to some 'ranch'
 that had been  in existence for ten or so years; now a major contributor to 
the countries  trained slave population. I would be going to Arkansas, to see 
some fairly new  slave encampment which had started out of greed and contempt. 
Austin Texas was  on the list of places to visit as well as a shipping 
company based out of  California. Several of the former military bases were also on 
my list, and I  could only think about seeing my brother, Neal, should he 
happen to be  conducting training at one of  them.

Like clock work,  Mr. Bonsall stopped right on sixty minutes and escorted me 
to my next  appointment.

Mrs.  Mudfart was the oldest, in years, that was employed at the company. Her 
 function, for the company, was to insure that any and all illegal immigrants 
 were properly and legally placed into the 'system'. She looked over the 
ethical  treatment of the illegals. It was her job to report to dad any and all  
infractions of the rules when it came to how government employees treated 
them.  I guess you could say that she was the 'watchdog' of the company. Say for  
instance, a healthy male illegal, aged between fifteen and twenty-five was  
placed in one of the encampments and didn't receive his proper medical  
procedures, then it was her responsibility to inform dad and to take the  necessary 
steps to correct the  problem.

Mrs. Mudfart  told me that one of the biggest problems she faced, daily, were 
the reports from  within the encampments that the illegals were not getting 
their mandatory  castrations. Apparently, somehow, the few who escaped having 
their nuts removed,  were covertly removed from the encampment and sold on a '
black market'; with the  proceeds going to the government employee's who were 
responsible for the illegal  proceedings.

"But Mrs.  Mudfart, I wasn't aware that men were being castrated at these 
facilities", I  quickly interjected in the conversation. "Castrations were 
never a topic at any  of my classes".

She  politely, and quite explicitly explained the who's, what's, where's and 
why's,  of the need for male castrations. I wasn't all that convinced, but 
until I  learned more; I had to accept her word as  gospel.

She went on, for  the remainder of the hour, on all of the other things that 
I would be exposed  to, which pertained to her division in the company. I hadn'
t realized it, but my  underarms were awash with perspiration; not from the 
temperature of the room,  but from the topics of conversation discussed.  

My third appointment  was with a Mr. Pitt. His job within the company was to 
constantly apprise the  countries lawmakers of changes which the company felt 
were needed.  

He was all business, no  doubt about that. It was like I was in a history 
class; the way he went all the  way back to 1462 B.C., describing how slaves were 
treated and what one could and  couldn't do with their slaves at the time. 
Mr. Pitt and his co-workers were the  one's responsible for having all of the 
current slave training and punishment  manuals published and in use at each and 
every slave facility  nationwide.

The ones  that he handed me were nothing like what I read in high school, let 
alone  college. As Mr. Pitt continued to speak, I briefly leafed through the 
manuals  only to discover that they were actually, 'How To' books, complete 
with graphic  pictures and not so pleasant  wording.

"You will have  ample time to read them both, while you travel from place to 
place. Don't let  the photos upset you, as you'll see in real life, that each 
place you visit has  their own understanding of such training and punishment"
, he very quietly and  profoundly said to me.

I  was astonished, when all of a sudden Mr. Pitt changed his entire attitude  
towards slavery. He called slaves every name you can think of, and even used 
the  "N" word once or twice. A couple of times I thought that I detected a 
bit of a  sadistic nature in his  voice.

Just as quick as  he'd gone off on that tangent, Mr. Pitt returned to his 
normal self; speaking as  if he hadn't just uttered those most personal  
sentiments.

Thankfully  the third hour was over and I was ushered down one hall and into 
another; to  meet with a Ms. Shutter.

She didn't have an 'office' so to say, but rather what looked like a 
laboratory.  Little did I know what she had in store for me.  

One after another, she  started putting things on top of the marble top 
counter.  

The first thing she  handed me was a digital camera, much smaller than what I'
d been used to. She  rambled on, about the camera and how it didn't need much 
light, in order for it  to take perfectly good pictures. She said that I 
would be given a list, of  'everything' that I was to photograph; to memorize the 
list and then destroy  it.

The second thing she  shoved into my hands was a micro-mini tape recorder. 
Well actually it wasn't a  tape recorder. The sounds were stored on a mini-chip 
for playback at a later day  and time. 

The cellphone  she gave me was right out of a science fiction movie. It had 
everything you  could imagine built right in. Every phone number that I might 
need to call was  even programmed into it and I was told to memorize all of the 
speed numbers and  then destroy the paper listing. I thought that the first 
number that might have  been programmed into the phone would have been dad's 
but to my chagrin it  wasn't. Dad's number was nowhere in my  phone.

"No need to look  so perplexed", she said to me. "We will be going over each 
of them once more  tomorrow after you've completed your mandatory company  
physical."

Even though I  was miffed at her saying that I had to have a physical, I didn'
t put much weight  towards it.

When the  hour was up, one of dad's secretaries was there to return me to dad'
s reception  area. I looked at my watch and it was already five  o'clock.

"Your father  will be right out", the one nice lady said to me as she handed 
me an ice cold  glass of soda pop. 

Minutes later the door to dad's office opened up and a man exited with his 
head  hanging down; not uttering a single word to any of the  secretaries.

"Hey son",  dad came out smiling, "come in and tell me how your afternoon 
went. I can't wait  to hear about it."

I got  up, still clinging onto my nearly full glass of soda and followed dad 
into his  office; closing the door behind me. It had been some time since I'd 
been in his  office and it looked just about the same; with only a few  
exceptions.

Dad sat  behind his desk and I sat in one of the chairs directly in front of 
it. No  sooner had I made myself comfortable, dad started 'grilling' me on 
his  employees. At first he was more concerned that they had treated me with 
respect,  compared to what they spoke to me  about.

For the first  time, I noticed that there were at least three visible clocks 
mounted on the  walls in his office. I began to understand, now, how he not 
only ran the  company, but how he managed things at home. He allotted specific 
amounts of time  for anything and  everything.

I had just  gotten to the part where I was asking about my impending 'company 
physical',  when dad declared the end of his work day, by saying to me; "You 
don't' have  anything to worry about son. The physical exam only takes 
eleven minutes and is  almost painless. Besides, you have to have someone witness 
your physical, so  I'll be there, there right with you and so will your  mother.
"

I thought it  strange if not weird, that my physical had to be witnessed; but 
for the time  being I would just bide my time and probably discuss it more at 
 dinner.

As the two of us  exited his office, dad bid his 'good nights' to his office 
staff and then said  to me as we walked towards the elevator; "You can ride 
home with me tonight son.  I've taken the liberty of having someone take your 
car and put it in storage  until your return."

Impressed, yes; concerned, yes, that my dad had put my car in storage for 
three  months. "For the next two days, until you leave, you will be riding with 
me to  and from work", dad said rather  casually.

First off, I  was surprised as hell that I'd be on the road in less than a 
week. I'd guessed  that over the next two days, I would be indoctrinated into dad
's business like I  would have never  expected.

We rode down  in the elevator in silence and made our way to the main 
entrance; where dad's  limo was waiting. I'd never ridden in it before, nor did I 
know that it was  built like a brick shithouse.  

I couldn't hear even  the loudest of noises from outside the car. We were 
even separated from the  driver by bullet proof glass. But, it rode down the 
avenues and roads like none  other. It was going to be a good ride home; which was 
some miles from  downtown.

As we made our  way down the city streets, it suddenly struck me that the men 
and women working  to keep our streets clean were actually indentured humans. 
I watched them work  in a world unto their own as they pushed brooms down the 
gutters, emptied trash  cans and other such things.  

For the first time, I  paid attention to the vehicles laden with slaves as 
they made their way back to  wherever it is that they were  going.

I guess dad  noticed my intense study of the slaves and tapped my leg; 
pointing to the limo  driver and said 'him  too".

Briefly, after  leaving the limelight of the city; the countryside seemed 
more relaxed, with  only a few slaves out working on their owner's  property.

"Son", dad  said; startling me. "I want to show you something before we get 
home, and it is  not to be discussed with anyone other than me or your brother 
Neal. Is that  understood?"

"Yeah dad,  sure. No problem, none what so ever", I  replied.

Dad reached  down and pulled his briefcase off the floor, resting it on his 
lap. I watched  him open it up and pull a large brown envelope from it before 
closing the  cover.

"I think you need  to see these pictures now. Especially since you will be 
going to a lot of  different places, seeing a lot of different people and for 
sure you'll be seeing  a tremendous amount of things you've only read or heard  
about."

The stack of  pictures was not of the small variety. Each photo was an 8X10 
glossy. I wasn't  prepared for what dad was about to show me, but I should have 
suspected it would  happen sooner or later; especially after what I'd learned 
 today.

"Two years ago,  we had an intern; just like you. He made the complete 
circuit of stops which had  been planned out for him and he returned with some very 
interesting, yet  incriminating pictures. Most of the government employees who 
are seen in these  pictures have been fired, enslaved, or worse." Dad said 
with a tremendous  guttural sound in his voice.
"He  handed me the first picture and I was shocked to see, what amounted to  
pornography; at least from where I  sat.

It was easy to tell  who the indentured slave was, as identified by his many 
cuffs, collar and  tattoo. What you couldn't see was who the two men were that 
were raping him,  mercilessly. If it hadn't been for the two men still 
wearing their uniform  shirts, you might have just 'assumed' that this was nothing 
more than a porno  opportunity.

The slave  had one cock down his throat, vomit spewing from the corners of 
his mouth and  copious amounts of snot draining from his nose. The other cock 
was planted  firmly up the slave's ass, which appeared to have been brutally 
enlarged; and  the man who was fucking his ass was also seen to be administering 
some sort of  electrical shock to the slave's  balls.

I was speechless,  yet my loins began to betray me. "You see son", dad 
commenced, "the problem with  this situation is not the fucking of the slave in his 
rectum or his mouth; but  the use of a slave enhancement device while 
training him in the ways of today's  society."

My eyes were  still glued to the picture, noting that the slave had honey 
colored skin; while  the two men fucking him were  white.

Dad slid the  picture from between my hands and handed me yet another  one.

A strapping young  black man, no more than twenty five years old, was hung up 
by his wrists and was  getting severely  whipped.

"Do you see the  error in this photo?" dad asked of  me.

"Well dad, the poor  boy is getting whipped", was my first instinctive  
response.

"Not exactly  what I was hoping for an answer Kevin", dad said with ease; "It
's not that the  black man is getting whipped; but rather the type of whip 
being used and by  counting the welts and cuts on his body it is quite clear 
that he is being  abused".

"Oh, okay dad;  I think I see where you're coming from now", I said, trying 
to masquerade my  stupidity.

Picture after  picture, dad and I went over each one of them; as if this was 
part of my  education into the world which I was choosing to enter.  

Nearing the end of the  stack, dad handed me another photo; which looked like 
one or two others. Only  this time, the cock that was in the slave's mouth 
was attached to my brother,  Neal's body.

My cock  jerked at the sight of the size and girth of Neal's penis. I hadn't 
seen it  since I was just a tike. It was way bigger than my own; but I wasn't 
concerned,  as I was quite pleased at what nature had given to me in that  
department.

"Now that is  the proper way to train a slave in oral copulations. Do you see 
how the slave is  properly kneeling, and the placement of his hands? Notice 
how the instructor has  his own hands gently placed behind the head of the 
slave. These are the  situations that one would hope to see all the time; NOT the 
ones you saw at  first."

There was no  mention of Neal's name coming from either of us, as dad handed 
me the last  photograph. 

I looked at  it, trying to decipher what, if anything was improper with what 
I was looking  at. All I noticed was a white kid being fucked by another white 
 guy.

"I know it's an old  photo, but I just wanted you to see one of the many 
proper ways to obtain entry  into a newly enslaved man's ass", dad said so 
dispassionately.  

The slave was strapped  to a table, with his legs spread out high and wide. 
The slave appeared to have  been securely bound to the table by several leather 
 straps.

I looked once  more, straining to filter out the graininess of the 
photograph. The man doing  the fucking looked familiar, but who was he.  

Lightning struck my  soul, sending my head twisting to turn away from the 
picture. I watched the  trees pass, as we neared home; until dad said to me, "I 
know what you're  thinking Kevin, but that picture was taken some fifteen years 
ago. Things aren't  as they seem."

By the  time the limo pulled into our long driveway, I couldn't help but to 
think about  slaves and how they were used here, at home, more than I'd given 
thought  to.  Not just the two we've had for a decade, but all those blacks and 
 latinos who take care of the lawn and landscaping, the group of young 
criminals  who worked to replace our roof shingles last year and not to forget the 
company  mom hired to paint the exterior of the house, that used the 'white 
collar  criminals' as employees.

I tried to think about them all, as the limo came to a stop at the front  
entrance. I remember that some of the Mexicans were actually fathers and sons,  
working side by side. I wonder how many, and which ones, that worked around  
here; where the ones who had been  castrated.

Even when the  driver opened the car door, it felt different. I nearly came 
out and asked him  if he had a scrotum; but I thought better of it and would 
wait for a better time  to inquire.

We hadn't  gotten to the top step, and MoMo was opening the front door. MoMo 
and I had  always gotten along quite well ever since he came to work for mom 
and dad. He  was ever so polite towards our entire family, and his job 
performance was  impeccable. He always had a smile on his face, and never failed to 
greet me  warmly.

I could smell  dinner cooking and it smelt like my favorite food; so I could 
only assume that  dinner was going to be like a special occasion.  

JoJo was coming towards  us, to relieve dad of his briefcase and us of our 
two suit jackets. She was a  sweet lady. She never had a 'bad day'. Her 
attitude towards her life and her job  were beyond reproach. I always enjoyed 
listening to her talk, as she still had  difficulty after all these years, to master 
the English language. I suppose  being born and brought up south of the border 
has its  drawbacks.

Mom soon  appeared and kissed us both, asking how our day went and all that 
normal stuff.  I didn't give her too many details, and I could tell that she 
wasn't satisfied  with my rendition of the days events as she calmly said, "We'
ll talk more of it  at dinner."

I'd always  known that my mom was a big supporter of indenturement and that 
she was also  supporting my decision to follow in dad's footsteps. On the other 
hand, she was  still my mom, and she had every right known to man; to get a 
straight answer  from me. 

Perhaps, I  could find a way through all of her questions, while we all ate 
supper.  

To Be Continued…  
 
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