Betrayed and Enslaved

Warning: this story contains a lot of cruelty, sadism, a tremendously homophobic dystopian society and other content that may disturb the reader. If you are very sensitive, it is better not to read it.

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The next morning Joe explained to me over breakfast:

-As I told you you are going to work in the supermarket in the housing estate. The manager has been a good friend of mine for years and I had warned him that I was looking for a job for you. On Saturday night he wrote to me and told me that a position as a stock boy in the supermarket had just become vacant. Until now it was occupied by a slave, who apparently made his master angry and the master beat him so badly that he was completely crippled. He has been taken to the hospital and will most likely be put down.

That was indeed the case. When a slave was no longer useful because of old age or illness, he was put to death unceremoniously, as horses were in the old days when they broke a leg. The State did not want burdens. I shuddered to hear it, and Joe noticed it:

- I'm not telling you this for the sake of it, but so that you may see and appreciate how lucky you are to have a fair and protective master.

"Yes, how lucky I am with you!", I thought, remembering the previous evening. Joe continued:

-During the day yesterday I settled with the director all the paperwork by email. You are going to work part-time, until 3 o'clock, strictly the time I spend in the office. I want you available to me whenever I am at home -Joe would only go to the office in the mornings, have lunch there and then go home and work from there, if necessary, in the afternoon-. They will pay you minimum wage, plus some bonuses. Well, that's a figure of speech -he corrected himself-, your paycheck will go directly to my account, of course -he finished his breakfast and got up. When he stood up he noticed me and put a finger on my face, swollen and reddened still from his slaps the day before: -the truth is that I would have liked you to be more presentable but, well, nobody cares anything about the appearance of a slave. So, let's go! Cover up and go to the car. You could very well walk, it's only 15 minutes from here, but you know that's not allowed, so I'll take you in the car and pick you up every day.

I put on my loincloth and left the house, followed by Joe. When we got to the car I opened the back door to get in, but then Joe stopped me with a gesture and said:

-The car seats are only for people. Things go somewhere else, don't they?

Understanding, I closed the door with a gesture of annoyance that I could not disguise and headed towards the back. Then I felt a strong shock from the collar, which made me fall to my knees on the hard asphalt of the entrance.

-Slave, mind your manners with your master and watch the faces you make at me. Your attitude is starting to exasperate me and if you continue like this I will stop being so tolerant with you -Joe told me harshly.

"Tolerant with me?", I thought. I was sure, in fact, that instead of using the collar he would have willingly slapped my face, if it hadn't been because he didn't want to destroy my poor face any more. When I was able to get up -Joe, this time, did not lift a finger to help me-, I opened the trunk and lay down inside. Joe closed it and left me in the dark, immersed in my thoughts. Sometimes I didn't know what made me more indignant, the humiliations and beatings or Joe's constant refrain of telling me how good he was to me and how grateful I should be to him.

Joe's car was big and so was his trunk, so I was not overly uncomfortable. However, I began to feel quite claustrophobic lying there and cowering in the dark as I felt the car move. Fortunately, the ride was very short. The distance was minimal and, as Joe had said, I could have walked perfectly well, but, indeed, slaves were not allowed to walk alone outside without someone to watch them. There had been cases of slaves who had escaped under those circumstances, as their collars had a security flaw. There had also been kidnappings and even lynchings of slaves walking alone. And that, although no one was charged with any crime for it, could result in uncomfortable videos posted on social networks, which annoyed the government, not very interested in atrocities like that transcending to other countries.

The light dazzled me when Joe opened the trunk. Again he didn't lift a finger to help me and I had to manage to get out on my own. We were in the supermarket parking lot. It was still deserted at that hour. Joe spoke to me:

-I have overridden the program in your collar that prevented you from speaking. I don't want to deprive you of the use of speech in your work. It may be necessary. However, I hope you will remember that a slave never speaks unless he is asked and always does so with the utmost respect for his superiors. And for you, don't forget, any free man is a superior and you will always carry out any order he gives you, whatever it may be.

-Yes, Sir -I managed to articulate, finding my voice again. Joe continued:

-I still expect you to behave yourself and your work here to be impeccable. If not, the manager can punish you, I'm going to hand over the control of your collar to him. But woe betide you if, in spite of that, I receive any complaints about your behavior or your performance! If you make me look bad, I assure you that what happened yesterday will seem like caresses compared to what you will suffer at my hands!

That's what my life was like now. A succession of humiliations and frightening threats from someone I thought was a friend. I looked down, dejected. Joe then seemed to take pity a little and putting a finger under my chin made me look him in the eyes and said smiling and in a warmer tone:

-I trust you. I know you will do well.

-So I will, Sir -I stammered. And without further ado we headed for the supermarket door. They had just opened and there were still no customers. Joe came in and told me to wait at the door. Immediately a man, I assumed the manager, walked towards him. He was a guy a little younger than me, about 27 years old with pleasant features. He was talking for a couple of minutes with Joe, who handed him the electronic control of the collar and then motioned me to come closer.

-This is Roger and as of this moment you are under his command. He has my authorization to punish you if necessary, but I hope for your sake that he doesn't have to do it. -He asked impatiently when he saw that I didn't move: -How does a slave greet his superior?

I immediately reacted, prostrated myself and kissed the boy's shoes. I noticed that he stirred, a little uncomfortable, while Joe's face expressed his satisfaction for my good training. Then he said goodbye to the handler and went out, saying he would come back for me at 3 o'clock. As soon as we were alone Roger made me stand up and staring at the bruises on my face, he said to me apologetically:

-Wow, they don't seem to treat you very well, do they? -I shrugged my shoulders. I wasn't going to go around talking about my misfortunes with a stranger, besides I didn't know what his reaction would be if I made any criticism of my master. Roger continued: -Come on! I'm going to show you how your work will be.

-Yes, Sir -I said as I prepared to follow him. He then turned and said: -When there are no customers around you can just call me Roger. I am not your master or anyone else's master.

I immediately realized that Roger's attitude was completely different from what I had encountered so far in my few interactions with other people since my enslavement. Although he did not express it out loud, it was evident that he was completely against all that and, for the first time in several days, I felt again treated as a human being, as he explained to me what my work there was going to consist of. Not much explanation was necessary. Apart from not being a complicated job, I had already been a stocker several times in my work history and I knew the job perfectly well. When Roger considered that he had given me enough explanations, he called the people who were going to be my colleagues to introduce them to me. They met with us. They were two boys in uniform and a slave, like me, completely bald and dressed only in a loincloth.

-These are Ted and Robert -Roger introduced me to the two boys in uniform -and this is David -he said, pointing to the slave. David greeted me with a smile, but I immediately saw that the attitude of Ted and Robert was totally different from that of their boss. They looked at me with contempt and Ted said sourly:

-Didn't they point out to you how to greet your superiors, slave?

I immediately got down on the floor and kissed his and his partner's shoes. I didn't want for anything in the world to create the slightest problem. Ted looked down at me with a satisfied smile. Roger then cut the scene short:

-Well, that's enough, everybody back to work. And, Brandon -he addressed me again when I stood up-, you will only obey orders that come from me directly, okay? -And he looked at my two companions in a silent warning. They made a gesture of annoyance and we all went off to our work. There were also two girls working as cashiers at the supermarket, but I barely got to know them while I worked there. In fact, I wasn't even introduced to them. Society had become so prudish that there was an attempt to separate women and men into different spaces at work, and my interaction with the cashiers was practically non-existent at that time.

I realized that I had not been wrong in judging Roger, because of his actions in an incident I had that very morning. I was placing some products on the supermarket shelves when a customer called out to me. He was a man of about 45, tall and stocky, and he was accompanied by another of similar age and build. When I reached his height, he said to me:

-Slave, I think these juices are not very well placed, don't you? -And, taking a brick of juice, he threw it on the floor and crushed it with his boot, causing all the juice to spill out. My heart started pounding. They wanted nothing more than to make trouble for me.

-Well, look -said his companion, feigning surprise-. It's stained your boots-, and turning to me, he said: -What are you going to do now, slave? We'll have to clean that up, won't we?

-Yes, Sir, let me go and get some paper -I said, wanting to get away from there. Obviously it wasn't going to be that easy.

-We're in a bit of a hurry -said the one who had smashed the juice. And bringing his face, which reeked of tobacco, close to mine, he said in a low voice: -I think it's much better if you clean it with your tongue...

Resigned and terrified of those two men and the consequences of disobeying them, I immediately bent down and began to lick the juice off the rough surface of the boots. The two men began to laugh loudly:

-Hahahahaha... look at the faggot how he has his place clear. This is what perverted maggots like you deserve -they said as they spat at me from their height. But, as I feared, it didn't stop there and at one point the one who was licking his boot gave me a hard kick in the face. I fell to the ground and they both started kicking me in the body. When the kicks started I felt like I was going to die and, frankly, I was so hurt and humiliated that at that moment I didn't care much. Fortunately, however, they didn't have time to really hurt me, as Roger immediately came running over and said to them, in a respectful tone:

-Gentlemen, gentlemen, please... This slave has an owner and is something valuable to him. If we deteriorate him seriously, he may sue the supermarket and create a serious problem for us. I beg you to respect him, please....

The men's faces contracted into a grimace of annoyance and they looked as if they were going to reply angrily. However, they thought better of it, and, one of them gave me a last kick, not very hard, and they left without saying anything. As soon as they left Roger took my hand and asked me, with real concern on his face:

-Are you all right, Brandon?

Just the fact that he used my name instead of calling me slave moved me deeply. I nodded as best I could, still out of breath from the kicks and panic I had suffered and Roger helped me up. Then he seemed to forget his discretion and blurted out:

-God, how I hate these kind of people, I would really kick their faces to pieces if I could!

His vehemence made me smile, despite the state I was in. He made sure again that I had not suffered any major damage and we both left to continue with our work...

In the middle of the morning, the workers were entitled to a 15-minute break -which always lasted a little longer- to have a snack and a drink. Naturally, we slaves were not entitled to anything, but Roger, in his line, granted us that privilege as well. This also irritated my companions to no end, and, in fact, as we went out to the small private patio on one side of the supermarket, Ted said to Robert, with the clear intention that I heard him:

-I don't know why we have to put up with slaves being treated the same as us. I don't know either why Roger does this. They shouldn't have the right to rest or eat or anything.

-Of course -corroborated his companion-, if they would let me, I would know how to treat this scum, hahaha...

Red with indignation I turned around with the intention of confronting them. But then David, who was leaving at that moment, grabbed me by the arm and firmly pulled me away. It was really lucky for me. Confronting a free man could bring very serious consequences to a slave and, in my case, I don't even want to imagine the terrible things Joe could have done to me if he had heard about it.

David led me to a corner of the courtyard, as far away as possible from our companions, and there we sat down.

-You have to make an effort to ignore those two -he said-, They are real assholes. Do you know that before Roger came here, they used to send us slaves to do chores that belonged to them, taking advantage of the rule that a slave must always obey a free man? Roger, who is an amazing guy, put an end to all that, but they are very resentful. Avoid them, because if you come across them you can expect a disguised push or trip. They don't dare confront Roger, but behind his back they do what they can.

He sighed and continued:

-Look, to give you an idea of what kind of people they are, I'll tell you something. Until last week a guy named Julian worked here, a slave -I guessed he was the one Joe had told me about-. He was older than us, very thin and in poor health. His owner treated him really badly and, apparently, finally gave him such a beating that he left him a paraplegic. I guess by now they must have killed him. I was so sorry, he was a good man, and he didn't deserve to end up like that. Well, nobody does. Well, you know what these two said when they found out? That "how nice that they had finally given him what he deserved" and that "we had to do the same with all the fucking faggots".

Really shocked by what David was telling me, I turned and looked at my two companions from afar. Two very young boys, no more than 22 years old, healthy, handsome... how could they already carry so much hatred and cruelty inside them? How could they be so inhuman? What was this society becoming?

The thought, coupled with the fact that I was talking normally to another human being again, brought tears to my eyes. I tried to hold them back, but David noticed right away:

-Hey, hey -he said, putting a hand on my shoulder-, are you all right? -I nodded as best I could, not wanting him to think I was a crybaby. He smiled and said, pointing to my face:

-I guess you've been a slave for a short time, and it seems that you're not treated very well by your owner either, right? -I looked down, feeling very embarrassed by my appearance-. Well -he shrugged-, you'll get used to it, don't worry.

At that moment I noticed for the first time how attractive David was. Very young too, he was 25 years old, he had a really beautiful face, with amazing green eyes. His waxed body, on the other hand, was perfect and it seemed to me that he worked it regularly. We continued talking, telling each other a bit about our lives. His story had begun even more tragically than mine. He had been reported by his own father. He found out he was dating a boy and, in a fit of anger, called the police to catch them in the act. He later regretted it and desperately tried to quash the report. However, the police machinery was already in motion and, naturally, he was not allowed to do so. He then tried to be assigned as his son's owner, but the judge, suspecting that David's enslavement in his father's hands was going to be a pantomime, also denied him. In the end David was auctioned off and, fortunately, he was lucky. He was bought by an older gentleman, clearly a repressed homosexual, who had quickly fallen in love with him. He told me that he had never dared to touch him, but that, although he maintained the master/slave dynamic with him, he was very tolerant and allowed him many freedoms unthinkable for other slaves. In fact, if he was working there it had been at the insistence of a sister of his owner, who exercised quite a bit of influence over him and had urged him to somehow make his slave bring him some profit. He also told me that he bore no grudge against his father. After David was arrested, he had visited him several times in tears, begging him to forgive him. He still, in fact, visited him from time to time - it was one of the things his master allowed - and assured him that someday he would release him and make up for his mistake. I was amazed at the peace of mind and maturity with which David took life, very unbecoming of a boy of his age. I deeply envied him for it, I would have loved to be like that and not a mere wimp of my emotions and fears.

A bell rang in the courtyard and we all hurried back to our work. The rest of the morning passed without incident, although I did find it curious to overhear some of the clients' conversations as I went about my chores. For example, at one point, a customer who was shopping and was accompanied by his mature and slightly clumsy slave, gave the latter a hard shove that knocked him to the ground, exasperated by his clumsiness. Seeing this, I heard an elderly lady say in a low voice to another who was accompanying her:

-I don't quite see that this is very Christian, to tell you the truth...

-Well, I talked about it with Father Williams -replied her companion-, and he told me that God makes man free, but then man becomes a slave because of his sins. And so there was nothing wrong with treating him who was already a slave, especially for such grave sins, as such and making him useful to society.

"Great," I thought, "a priest twisting morals to justify the unjustifiable. Unheard of."

At another point I overheard a couple's conversation. The woman was reproaching her husband for not denouncing his brother, who seems to have taken the lion's share of their parents' inheritance, as a homosexual:

-If you weren't such a coward and denounced him, the beach house would be ours. And besides, Henry would be our slave, I was going to take care of him, hahaha...!

-Lucy, for God's sake -he answered her-. He's my brother. Besides, I don't have any proof. Do you know that if I make an accusation I can't prove, I could be the one who ends up enslaved?

His wife made a grimace that seemed to say, "I wouldn't lose much either!" and continued:

-Proof? As if any proof is needed that that smug jerk is a faggot...!

They walked away and I couldn't listen anymore. I wondered if the guy really felt any loyalty to his brother or was just afraid of what might happen to him if he made a complaint without proof.