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Subject: ST:A Lesson In Time CH 8(mm nc con bdsm slavery)
Date: Sat, 16 Sep 2006 12:41:10 -0500
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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.
A Lesson In Time, Chapter  Eight


I had apparently lost track of time, let alone my  surroundings, while 
talking to '616'; as the door to the building opened up and  an employee of Mr. 
Trumbull came out, followed by what I assumed was the  doctor.

Both men smiled, introduced themselves and lit up  cigarettes. They began 
speaking with me, in generalities, about how my stay was  so far, how I liked my 
personal slave and things like that. I started to feel  quite comfortable 
around them, when my cellphone 'buzzed' in my  pocket.

There was a text message from old Mrs. Mudfart which read;  "Call me the 
FIRST chance you get."  Well, I instantly knew that something  was important, 
because of the way she capitalized the word 'first'. It was a  pre-arranged 
signal that something important was going on that I needed to  know.

I stuffed the phone back in my pocket and talked for awhile  longer with the 
two gentlemen, while they finished smoking. I at least learned  that the four 
newly indentured wouldn't be ready for their physical exams for at  least 
another hour.

I sent '616' back up to get our buggy, while  the two men went back inside 
the building. This gave me the chance to contact  Mrs. Mudfart, in private.

I walked away from the building, scanning  the masses of 'out buildings' to 
the rear of the compound and called  her.

"Kevin", she started right in; "Your father got a call from  Mr. Trumbull a 
few minutes ago. He is concerned that perhaps you are taking to  many pictures 
of his organization. Remember what I told you! Take only a few  pictures 
which others won't object to and the remaining photos you'll have to  take when 
you feel it is safe to do so. Taking too many pictures there, or  anywhere else 
just might land you in some serious trouble; trouble that your  father would 
have a hard time explaining… let alone bail you out. So just be  extra 
careful, okay Hun?"
I assured her that I would henceforth be  cautious about taking any and all 
pictures and I also thanked her most politely  for her commanding supervision 
over my internship.

After putting my  phone away, I tried to recollect who might have seen me 
taking the five or six  extra pics of the new slaves. It gave me a creepy feeling 
deep inside; as if  even I, myself, was being watched.

I walked towards the three or  four, identical looking buildings. They all 
appeared to be in good condition on  the outside, with well kept lawn and 
trimmed shrubs. I wanted to go into one of  them, but opted not too; just in case I 
was being watched.

Off to  the end of the last building, I noticed the apple orchard and saw 
that a number  of slaves, naked, were clearing the vegetation from between the 
rows of trees. I  guess even in an orchard, that slaves have to keep it looking 
pristine. The  faint fragrance of late blooming apple blossoms filled my 
nostrils and that  seemed to take the edge off of any misgivings I had at the 
moment; as I made my  way back to the building which I needed to see next.

Even though  the slaves were not yet there; I went inside and was immediately 
greeted by the  'doctor'. He showed me around, pointing out the basic things 
like the tables,  implement, testing equipment and so forth. He brought up 
the topic of the SIMS  machine which Mr. Trumbull had so nicely purchased, and 
began telling me all  that he knew about it. He had no idea that I knew as 
much, if not more about it  than he did. 

He began to explain the procedures he used to do the  initial exam on the 
slaves, by going over step by step the list of things he  looked at and tests 
that he performed.

My butt kind of squeezed  together when he showed me his instrument which was 
used to expand the sphincter  muscle on the slaves so that he could implant 
the required GPS, Slave Identifier  Chip.  From the look of the damn thing; if 
he opened it all the way, you  could fit a baseball bat up a slave's ass.

Further down the line,  he showed me where a slave would get any and all body 
rings; should his new  Master require them. It was also, in this same area 
where some slaves received a  treatment to permanently assure that no more body 
hair would ever again  re-grow.

One part of his job was to do a 'minor' surgical procedure  on any of the 
pony slaves who were required to have a more 'permanent' tail. He  picked up a 
long length of horse hair that was attached to a silicone plate;  which he 
normally implanted just under the second layer of the slaves skin just  below the 
tailbone. I couldn't imagine having to live a life with a tail of such  
dimension hanging down between my legs. It was awkward enough seeing the one  
slave, earlier, with a temporary tail attached to a rather simple butt  plug.

Finally he spoke of some of the atrocities which some of the  slaves went 
through in the first building, upon their initial induction. He told  me that no 
matter what group of slaves was being processed on any given day that  he had 
at least one rectum that he had to stitch up after the slave had be  subjected 
to a cruel regimen of sodomizing, cuts needing attention and welts  that 
needed ointment. 

The baritone voice of Mr. Wilton filled the  room, as he led the group of 
four slaves in; followed by two other employees. He  looked at me, straight in 
the eyes; as if trying to determine the need for my  being there.

"Why don't I have one of the men take you down to the  'Carriage Training' 
building; where they are working with two new ponies this  morning. I'm sure 
that you'll find it much more interesting and enlightening  than watching 'doc'
 and his boys do their normal routine on this lot of scum",  Mr. Wilton said 
in a tone of voice that was more like he was ordering me to  leave versus askin
g if I wanted to. "I'm sure that a few pictures taken in  there, won't be of 
any consequence."

I nodded my head, as I  verbally accepted his offer and one of the men led 
the way back outside. As I  walked passed the four slaves, it was easy to see 
that each of them was in some  degree of pain or discomfort and all of them had 
dried tears making streaks down  their faces. The poor slave that had the pony 
tail, even had what appeared to be  traces of blood on the inner portions of 
his legs. I felt as if I truly had be  'transported' into a world in which I 
knew little or nothing  about.

I motioned for '616' to follow us, bringing with him our  pony slave. He had 
a look on his face of either dissatisfaction or concern. I  couldn't tell 
which, from the distance he was away from me.

The  next building seemed to be nothing more than an indoor arena. Earthen 
floor, and  no place to sit. Just two pony slaves, four employees and nothing 
else.  

Each of the ponies was hitched to a cart. Each cart was commanded  by an 
employee; and on the back of each cart were layer upon layer of cement  blocks. I 
later learned that the blocks were to help build the strength in the  slaves' 
legs as he pulled his cart. One would guess that the added blocks  represented 
the possibilities of pulling and extra human  around.

One of the ponies, only wore those all to familiar  blinders next to his 
eyes, while sporting one of the doctors implanted horse  tails. Even his hands 
were covered in what appeared to be padded leather  mitts.

The remaining pony had his entire head covered in a leather  hood. He seemed 
to be the worse for wear as the man atop the buggy was yelling  obscenities at 
him and flailing his pony whip across the slave's back and  rump.  This 
particular pony was simply maneuvering around the outer  boundary of the ring, 
learning proper speeds, direction of turns and of course  need to pull the added 
weight.

The pony wearing the blinders was  more or less in the center of the arena; 
following commands such as each simple  word instructed him to follow. He wasn'
t receiving any verbal abuse; but he was  getting his fair share of whip marks 
laid upon his butt cheeks. 

I  watched both slaves, as they worked to learn and prefect their new lives. 
It was  truly amazing to see how each of them was learning, albeit at 
different  paces.

As the one pony circled the arena, he came within three feet  of me and I 
could see the enormous amount of perspiration his body was  producing. I looked 
down at the ground and discovered the depth of the tracks  which the cart was 
leaving as a trail. I almost, almost, thought that the added  weight on the 
cart just might have been a bit more than that equal to an added  free man.

As both of the ponies were pulled to a stop, they were  each given a bucket 
filled with cool water for them to lap. It must not have  been unusual for the 
employees to see the pony slaves pissing directly onto the  ground; as each of 
them so amicably did. One could only assume that even their  bodily functions 
were to 'mirror' that of the animal which they were now well on  their way 
to becoming.

The two men switched carts, and the ponies  were also switched as to their 
training. Each assuming the others place within  the confines of the arena. The 
totally sightless pony struggled with the  commands, the constant whip on his 
flesh and the menacing tugging on the reins  attached to his mouth bit. I 
could see where the corners of his mouth seemed  show the initial signs of minor 
bruising. 

There was just something  about these and my pony slave that kept me 
mesmerized for quite some time. I  couldn't help but to envision the pony I was using 
going through this same sort  of training. 

I had to commend their instructors, as from my novice  knowledge of such 
things, they seemed to not only know how to train a pony but  they also seemed to 
have some understanding as to what and how the pony was  thinking.

Time had gone quite fast, and before I knew it; Mr.  Wilton appeared, 
standing right alongside of me. I honestly didn't know if he  had just arrived or he'
d been there for some length of time.

"Young  Kevin Latimore is quite intrigued with the way we train ponies here"
, Mr. Wilton  said; breaking my thoughts about the ponies.

"Well…. Ahh.. well  yes, I suppose; I'm captivated by the ponies desires to 
not only learn but to  please their trainers as well", I responded.

"These two ponies,  didn't start out as ponies. They originally came to us 
for training as male  pleasure slaves, but their body structure was so suitable 
for pony work, that  Mr. Trumbull bought… I mean exchanged them… for two 
other  slaves."

"Oh, I see", I replied; "I thought that all pleasure  slaves were those such 
as my slave. You know, the ones which are born into  slavery, and learn from 
an early age?"  I hadn't realized that I phrased my  response in a vague form 
of a question, until Mr. Wilton  responded.

"Well Sir, you're partially correct; however, there are  so many needs for 
pleasure slaves over the last eight or nine years that we have  to educate some 
of the indentured slaves into the ways of pleasing a male or  female.  With 
the amount of 'criminally enslaved' doing a majority of the  hard labor and 
the illegal immigrants doing so much of the 'domestic slave'  work, there is a 
shortage… a need if you will… of slaves who are superbly  trained in the ways 
of sexual pleasures."

"Yes, but don't you find  it difficult to … say … take a man or a woman who 
is a normally heterosexual  individual and 'convert' them into a life 
whereby they might strictly serve  someone of the same sex?" I asked in earnest.

"Once again your  thinking is rather precise Sir. But, with the methods used 
these days, it  doesn't seem to take more than six months of hard, constant, 
and firm work with  such individuals to show them their new world. But you are 
correct as to the  breeding program to produce sexually adaptive boys and 
girls. After your lunch,  why don't I meet you at the insemination building or the 
'milking barn' and I  can show you more of what I'm speaking of and them we 
can go to the training  building and you can see for yourself how we train 
those not born into  slavery."

"That sounds great", I responded with a degree of  excitement. "I'd like to 
see that and learn what I can from viewing such  delicate work."

"Well then, what say you about meeting me in the  'milking barn' at two and 
between the three buildings you'll just about fill up  your afternoon", Mr. 
Wilton inquired.

I hastily agreed, and then  Mr. Wilton and I left the pony barn. Mr. Wilton 
climbed atop a beautiful cart,  being pulled by two of the most magnificent 
ponies, I'd ever seen.  He  didn't even have to say a single word to them; 
except to make a certain sound  and the two ponies took off on a dead gallop, as I 
stood there in  awe.

'616' was smiling at the way I had been so mesmerized by the  sights and 
sounds of the two ponies; as I turned towards him and my pony  slave.

I had '616' sit on the back of the cart, as I shook the  reins for my pony 
to take me back to the cottage. I almost had the urge to crack  the whip above 
his head just to see his response; but decided not to, as I  rather preferred 
looking at the pony as he cock and balls bounced in accordance  with the way 
his legs moved up and down.

At the cottage, '616' got  a pail of water and a bucket of slave chips for 
the pony to eat; while I went  inside and began making notes on what I'd seen 
and heard this  morning.

Lunch was simple and quick, which allowed me ample time to  finish my notes, 
and rest for a little bit. I didn't pay to much attention to  '616' as I 
really wanted to replay, in my head, all of the events of the  morning. I still 
found myself enamored by the pony training and couldn't help  but wonder about 
the four new slaves.

Just before leaving to meet  up with Mr. Wilton, I availed myself of '616's' 
mouth and relived myself. This  time I had '616' trot alongside, as my pony 
slave took me up to the 'milking  room'.

I was met outside by Mr. Wilton and Mr. Trumbull. I was  given a few simple '
rules' about how to behave inside; with the main rule…  "Silence".

Upon entering the building, we seemed to be in a small  room where a slave 
quickly put little disposable coverings on our feet, and  handed each of us a 
small paper filter mask to wear. The slave that tended to  these things appeared 
to be about twenty years old, rather handsome; even though  most of his body 
was devoid of hair and the standard slave collar and cuffs were  present. His 
cock had the largest Prince Albert ring I'd ever seen and there  were even 
rings lining the entire length on the underside of his magnificent  looking 
penis. He smiled at me, once he noticed that I was looking at his  'package'.

Inside the room, well lit and very sterile looking; were  two rows, of three, 
slaves. Three slaves on each side of a sparkling clean and  tiled walkway. 
There was one man, dressed in a white laboratory coat walking  towards us. I 
knew, from Mr. Wilton, that this man was going to be the only  voice I would hear 
while inside the 'milking room'. He would explain the process  and the 
equipment.

The only other sound, or sounds I should say,  were the weird hissing and 
piston sounds from some machine, and the muffled  moans and groans from the 
slaves.

My eyes were like a sponge,  absorbing everything in the room; most, if not 
all, was totally new and strange  to me.

Each of the slaves was kneeling on the floor, his knees  spread wide and his 
hands and head were being kept in place by what appeared to  be lightweight 
aluminum stocks. Their eyes had been covered, so they couldn't  see other 
slaves, or anything else; not even us. I noticed that each of them had  actually had 
their knees in some sort of indentation on the floor which was  apparently 
well padded.

The man never introduced himself; but at  least he did shake my hand before 
he began speaking.

"It's not  often I get a visitor to the 'milking parlor' and it's my 
pleasure to explain  what takes place here and why', he said with a sparkle in his  
eyes.

"Each of these slaves remains here from three to four days  until the 
required amount of sperm has been extracted from them. Their only  purpose in life is 
to be donors for the eggs of females. As you can see, the  slaves are either 
black or Latino; as we seldom get to many calls for a white  man's sperm. When 
we do get such a call, well… we have the means to gather it,  without the use 
of measures such as we use here."

The man looked at  Mr. Wilton and Mr. Trumbull who, even behind their 
filtered masks seemed to be  smiling. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out 
that the few white  slaves such as maybe '616' were hand milked for their 
sperm or maybe even some  of the rather handsome and sturdy employees 
volunteered their  semen.

"The bags of liquid you see hanging next to each of the  slaves is their 
nourishment. It flows down and into the orange tube in their  nose, which goes 
down into their esophagus. This way, we don't have to stop the  procedures just 
to allow them time to eat. It's a well balanced meal, much like  they use in 
hospitals and nursing homes to feed the ill and  infirmed."

The man took hold of my wrist and brought me right  alongside the first of 
the slaves and pulled me down towards the floor as he  began pointing to the 
slave's appendage.

"As you can see, we have  an elaborate system here which constantly 
manipulates the penis up and down in  the standard 'masturbatory' manner; keeping a 
certain amount of rigidity to the  penis."

I was amazed to see the similarities in this equipment  compared to the SIMS 
unit. It looked much like it, or at least I should say, it  worked much like 
it. However, the sleeve which covered each cock was a clear  cylinder, which 
made it quite obvious what the slave's cock was doing inside the  cylinder.

There was something that caught my attention, just behind  and below the 
cylinder that I wasn't exactly sure what it was; but I had an  eerie idea that I 
was going to find out soon enough.

I watched and  listened as the slave's body jerked, and a small amount of 
sperm came oozing out  and was sucked into a smaller tube alongside the cylinder. 
It was the first time  that I'd actually seen something like this work, as I 
didn't see much of my own  ejaculations, thanks to my sister. And, I don't 
know why it happened, but my own  cock began to stir with excitement.

I was soon helped back up to my  feet, and followed the man to a position 
just behind the first slave. I was  shocked at what I was looking at.

"The small armature coming out of  the floor, is connected to a small anal 
stimulator; which constantly massages  the slave's prostate gland, which in turn 
aides in a higher yield of semen and  sperm cells. As long as the slave keeps 
his knees on those two pads, his ass  will remain stimulated. And the other 
thing we've discovered over the last two  years is the simple yet mystifying 
reason why a man's testicles yield higher  sperm counts if his scrotum is filled 
to capacity with a warm saline  solution."

When I heard that, it seemed to explain what I'd seen  from the underside of 
the slave. From where I was standing, the slaves ball sac  looked as large if 
not larger than a farm animals would appear.  

"Once a slave is secured into his stocks and sedated, we infuse  
approximately 1000cc of saline into the slave's scrotum very slowly, allowing  his body to 
adjust. The saline seems to allow the two testicles to 'float'  within the 
sac unrestricted. This 'floating effect seems to stimulate his body  to produce 
more sperm cells; sometimes as much as thirty percent more. Combine  that, 
with the prostate stimulation and 'Bingo'… more sperm for making more  slaves 
here or we sell it to other slave foundries."

I was  speechless, even if I could have spoken. I looked up and down the row 
and saw  that all of the slaves had large testicles, especially the Latino. I 
glanced  over to the other row of three slaves and noticed that they were all 
Latino and  probably had larger scrotums as well. 

I turned back to see what  the other two men were doing; and saw that they 
were simply standing there,  silent, with their arms folded, watching me as the 
man explained the entire  process. 

"I can tell that you are still doubtful as to our  extraction procedures, so 
perhaps you can come back another time before you  leave and spend more time 
with me and then I can perhaps answer some of your  questions. But I have 
noticed your keen attention to the size of the Latino's  balls."

All I could do at this point was to nod my head in an  affirmative manner; as 
I was indeed amazed at the size in which they'd enlarged  his scrotum.

"There's just something about a Mexican and his balls  that makes me enlarge 
them so much. Mr. Wilton seems to think it is because of  all the problems 
they caused years ago, sneaking into the country and all. I  guess I just have 
this 'racist' or bigoted view towards them. Sometimes, well  once actually, I 
enlarged a Mexican's balls so much that the doc had to remove  them after I 
was done milking him. Remind me sometime and I'll show them to you.  Doc pickled 
them for me and I keep them on my nightstand. Kinda helps me to fall  asleep 
every night. I have to keep my emotions in check now, because if I screw  up 
another Mexican kid, Mr. Trumbull will take the selling cost of him, out of  my 
paycheck and outta my ass."

We strode down the line, in back of  the other two slaves before crossing 
over to the remaining three. I got down low  and watched, for some time; as each 
of the last three slaves delivered a sizable  load of white cream into their 
respective receiving tubes. I was totally  oblivious to my own erection, while 
amongst these slaves.

Once I  stood up and realized that I had erected, I quickly turned my back to 
all the  other men and tried to adjust my pants and I even pulled my shirt 
tail out to  vainly try and cover myself up. I could just imagine the shit 
eating grins on  the faces of Mr.'s Wilton and Trumbull.

The man motioned for me to  follow him, as he went to a door at the opposite 
end of the room and as I moved  towards him, I noticed the two other men 
coming along as well.

The  room we were in was no larger than a decent walk-in closet. Other than 
the one  fluorescent bulb in the ceiling the only other thing in the room was 
what looked  like a stainless steel cylinder.

He unlatched four of five things  and lifted the lid off the cylinder, as a 
foggy air rose to greet  us.

"This is the 'freezer' of sperm", the man said half laughingly.  "This is 
where I keep the slave sperm until the female receptacle is ready to  receive 
it. It is all cataloged and available to anyone who needs it. Keeping  sperm 
this way is quite expensive and that's the reason there is only one other  place 
in the country that does the same as we do. Most of the 'standard' slave  
farms just have a slave mount a bitch and hope he can shoot a live load up her.  
Here, we guarantee the sperm count and can even select which slave it came 
from,  if there is a need for a certain 'type' of slave desired or  needed."

I watched as he lifted a container out of the freezer. It  had to have had at 
least two hundred small vials of semen in it. Each vial had  several rows of 
numbers which must identify which slave it came from, sperm  count and date 
extracted.

He gently replaced the container and  sealed the freezer, before the group of 
us left the 'milking  parlor'.

While getting our little shoe coverings removed, Mr.  Trumbull asked the man, 
"how many vials of white do you have  available?"

"None Sir, we haven't had a white slave in some time,  and as you and Mr. 
Wilton are aware we've had to resort to using  '545',  '559' and '590' when 
we had need of white seed Sir. I haven't thought to obtain  additional samples 
from them, but it probably wouldn't be a bad idea to get a  little extra since 
the 'new season' of slave auctions and transfers will be  coming up pretty 
soon."

"Well, if I were you I get started on  thinking about scheduling at least one 
or two of them for at least a day's worth  of extractions. I have one  guest 
now who is keenly interested in several  naturally born white slaves and he's 
willing to pay my price."

"The  three Mexicans are coming off the machines tonight and after I drain 
the fluid  from their balls, they will be on rest for two days, so I could use 
the white  boys for those two days, or even one if that's all I can get."
"See to  it then, and don't disappoint me", Mr. Trumbull said in a rather 
strict  tone.

We left the 'milking parlor' heading next door to the  insemination room, 
when Mr. Trumbull announced that he had to get back to his  other guests. 

Mr. Wilton explained to me, before reaching the  other side of the building 
that there were no scheduled inseminations taking  place today, but it would be 
a good opportunity for me to see where and how it  was done.

The room looked no different than that of a doctor's  office. Small, clean 
and well illuminated; with, I'm guessing, everything they  needed to impregnate 
a female with slave sperm. I was surprised when Mr. Wilton  told me that a lot 
of the females impregnated were between the ages of sixteen  and twenty; with 
few, if ever, any older than twenty five.

Exiting  the building, Mr. Wilton looked at his watch and followed me back to 
my pony  cart. Not saying much to me, but rather he spoke to my pony, saying, 
"Take Mr.  Latimore on a proper and casual ride around the entire compound. 
You know the  routes by now and you should have him returned to his cottage in 
time for him to  rest and clean up before supper. You fail to do this and you'
ll find yourself  pulling a plow for the next three years."

The pony snorted and  nodded his head, as Mr. Wilton turned to me saying. "
This afternoon is so nice  and pretty and it would be a good time for you to 
inspect the remaining parcels  of our estate. Not much else is going on here 
other than the work on the four  new boys, which you'll get to see more of 
tomorrow perhaps. Take '616' with you  and enjoy the hour or two you'll have to tour 
our beautiful countryside. I'll  send one of our runners out to find you and 
bring you some refreshments along  the way. So off you go and have a nice ride.
"

That's about all he  said, as if 'telling' me to go. I climbed up to my seat 
and the pony began to  trot away as Mr. Wilton gave me a half hearted wave, 
as he turned towards the  building where I assumed the four new slaves were 
being kept. 
It  wasn't much longer and I had '616' sitting alongside of me, as we made 
our way  down to and through the apple orchard. Slaves toiling away, all naked 
and  beautiful and three of the female slaves appeared to be pregnant as  well.

I made good use of my camera, and took pictures mostly for  myself; as I 
wanted to have a good memory of this particular  visit.

As my eyes meandered around the vast land, my mind was  re-hashing the 
events, and scenes of the 'milking parlor', and the insemination  room. 

It was only my second day here and already I'd learned more  than I had ever 
thought possible. I could only imagine what tomorrow would  bring, but I had 
to endure another night of formal dining amongst the elite;  before perhaps 
savoring the taste, feel and smell of '616' once  more.



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