Gi Bill Benefits Pt 02

GI Bill Benefits, Pt. 02

(This story is set in a world where legalized, non-hereditary slavery is commonplace for serious crime, unredeemed debt, or voluntary self-indenture.

All characters who are enslaved or have any intimate/sexual contact with slaves are 18 years of age or older

. This is fiction; no one should ever be deprived of free will nor used sexually without his or her uncoerced permission.)

PLEASE NOTE: J.R., the original inventor of the manumission voucher for the new GI Bill, IS THE AUTHOR OF THIS SEGMENT; I just beta-tested it for him, so please give him the credit. Carl.

(11 Months after her enslavement, J.R.'s perspective)

I am not much of a writer at all. I thought that was why I never went into ROTC. When I got out of high school, I was a C student, but it wasn't what I would call my best effort. Still, I've been getting better over time, and I'm going to have my bachelor's degree next year.

This is partially because of Jacqueline. I've been lucky. Last year my friend at the time, Jacqueline Haralson, called me in a fit of panic. She thought her bank was within weeks of foreclosing on her educational loan. After the manumission voucher was signed and sealed, I went back and checked the provisions of that loan. She would have had about 5 weeks, just because of processing, and I'm glad that she and I were able to work things out. The bank would have probably got her and after fees, processing costs, and slave registrations, she would have served 6 to 8 years, instead of the 4 that she was promised to me.

At first, my honor wouldn't let me treat her like a slave. Well, that's not entirely right, I'm human and a male who was (and is) attracted to her, so of course, when she got home from work ((I let her keep her job waitressing)), I had her undress and touched her some. But I made sure that I didn't push her or enter her, even though I now owned her.

I have been in counseling for 4 years for my PTSD and anxiety. when Jackie told me that she had been raped when she was attending college the first time, I knew that having sex with her (even though she was a slave), was wrong for me. I hated the idea that my former friend, now a slave, was having emotional issues that I could relate to. I had her go to counseling and respected her privacy and space.

A few months after the counseling started, we made love. Well, more a physical love; instead of a deep passion, it was half passion and release, half power trip. I really loved that night, and since then, she has been acting happier and telling me that she knows that she has 3 more years of service, and that she would like me to use her as such.

At first, I wrestled with that. I thought, because of my own traumatic experiences, that she felt that she was isolated, and my compassion was the closest thing she had to positive male experience. I talked to my counselor about it. My counselor remarked that it was a good idea to ask myself something: if this partnership ends in 3 years, whether I would be happy with not utilizing the relationship.

That made me think a lot. And it prompted me to make changes with Jackie.

I had cooked breakfast, and it was a Saturday, and I then sat at the table and talked, trying to sound calm to reduce the stress on her.

"Jackie, you have told me that you are feeling comfortable with me treating you as a servant, because you feel like this is your fault for having the overwhelming loans, and not reading the voucher before we went to the Ag. Building, right?"

Jackie nodded. She was naked, as always, in my nice 2 bedroom, 2 bath apartment. She had stayed in my other room for the first 3 or 4 months, only crawling into bed with me on occasion when she felt really frightened and alone. For the last 6 months, however, we have only slept apart maybe 3 or 4 nights. She replied, after drinking some orange juice, "I didn't know this was going to happen, but, 3 nights before I called you I read about the foreclosing banks procedure. Because the loans accrue interest until they are paid off, the bank can normally show that they lost not only the loan value but future interest payments as well. When I did the math, I was looking at being a slave for 8 to 10 years, being that I'm not a prime or natural slave. When I graded at choice, I wasn't offended, it was a formality that I had to endure before going to college. I never thought it would matter after that, Ya know, Master?" [I never demanded it, but she threw that word "Master" into the conversation without any sign of sarcasm or fear. For her, I think it was a genuine sign of respect and a little affection.]

I did know, all too well. Back in the 1800's ((I'm a history buff)), mining camps sprouted up. But mining equipment wasn't cheap. The miners had to purchase the equipment, and pay back the company store. But the company set the quotas on what they could sell and at the end of a hard week's work -- most of the miners still owed the company money. It wasn't slavey -- it was capitalism -- which is just slavery with hope mixed in. The same thing happened with sharecroppers in the South. The banks and lending companies of today have a lot of the same predatory practices, with the 35

th

Amendment making sure that a debtor defaulting on a loan would never put the lender at a loss again.

I then said, "O.K. And you are happy with the way you've been treated since I've legally owned you?"

She got quiet for a second, and then did something rare for her. She had a habit of speaking whatever was in her head at the time, not a good thing for a slave, but she did stop to think about her answer this time. "I think it's difficult to say at this point. While I'm certainly happier to be with you instead of being auctioned off to a complete stranger, it's never easy to lose control of your own decisions. But, really, I'm happier than I was 11 months ago--I feel safer and calmer. That wasn't what I expected when it set in that I was a slave."

I paused a moment, and then playfully reached across the table and played with her chest. She was open to this now. During the first 5 months of her enslavement, even those times when I needed to touch her so bad that I gave in to the desire, she entered her sub-catatonic state. I had seen this several times, where she just sent her brain into an autopilot. She was used to servicing officials that dealt with slaves, and they were used to having everything they wanted. But I watched her, saw her, and she had the ability to complete dissociate with the actions her body was performing, as if she were a neutral observer. The first five months, she had done the same thing any time I touched her in a remotely sexual fashion. But, after we had genuine passionate sex in our sixth month together, she openly accepted and even seemed to enjoy being treated as a slave slut.

I then said, cautiously, "I know that I have you for the next three years, and a few days. I really want to go beyond that though, and..." I paused, my own self confidence waning, "but, you know, after you're free, I won't be able to make you. And when we were friends, I never thought we would end up here. I'm just saying, since you aren't really free, do you know that you really like me, or are you just making the best of your situation?"

I had dreaded her answer to that question since we had made love.

And, oddly, she didn't answer. She finished her breakfast, then, very slowly, walked around the table and knelt in front of me. She pulled my shorts and underwear down, then placed my semi-hard cock between her tits - and squeezed my cock by pushing her wonderful boobs together and moving up and down. Only then did she reply, "I am willing to do anything to convince you. I want to know everything, good and bad. We have the next three years, and I've thought about this a lot the last three months. If you are willing to have me -" she paused in this speech to take my cock from her tits, and put it in her mouth, long enough to get it good and wet (it was already diamond-hard!), and then put me back between her tits, "I would like you to consider me for long term voluntary indenture." I couldn't hold back at that point, and I came all over her tits. She giggled, as if she were playful, and then rubbed my cum into her breasts and licked her fingers off. "Consider it, Master. But we do have time. And right now, I'm completely and totally yours."

(J.R.'s perspective -- 18 months in, 30 months to go on her enslavement)

I had been letting my fantasies run wild for the last six months. Jackie seemed to love every minute of being spanked, punished, or (when she would do an exceedingly good job) heard a "good girl" token of praise for me. She did graduate, though for legal reasons she'll have to stay enrolled in one masters degree level class until her indenture is finished to attend the ceremony.

In the year and a half that I have been caring for her, she had to have 3 veterinary appointments, and no V.A. or Ag. official had ever visited us. Jackie had told me within the last 6 weeks that she had the fantasy of this being close to married life -- with her cooking, cleaning, and having sex at any moment's notice, and her husband being a strong, silent, and task driven provider who takes total control of her. I took the compliment, but then the insecurity in my own mind started to bother me.

I focused on my cognitive behavior therapy, which I had done because of all the friends I had lost in the army. I knew, logically, that if Jackie hadn't let me use my voucher, that she would probably (OK, 96% surely) had ended up on an auction block, and because of her Choice rating been a slave for twice the time period she was with me. I also knew, logically, that now Jackie was making the best out of her situation. She couldn't date, she couldn't reject me, and she was treated with more kindness and respect than 95% of female slaves. The only ones who possibly had it better were the ones who caught the attention of a corporate businessman, who was married and wanted a slave to do everything his wife couldn't or wouldn't. (I had yet to find ANYTHING that Jackie wouldn't do willingly and with apparent pleasure.)

Still, with my PTSD, and hers, I wanted to make sure that we liked one another. And, I couldn't get the nagging feeling out of my head that, "If you hadn't let her sign the voucher, you wouldn't have ever even gotten to see her tits. Let alone hear her saying that she loved you. This is all because she HAS to, she doesn't have a choice, and the minute she's free, and she graduates, she will be out of here like every other woman you've ever dated." Yeah, that's my inner voice -- it doesn't feel good to have the mental depression and PTSD.

I was writing this, while she was doing dishes after we had eaten. I had cooked tonight, and after she finished dishes, I considered my next few tasks to give her carefully.

She plopped on the couch with me, her boobs bouncing enticingly. Her body had really taken to the 30 minute treadmill, 30 minute resistance training program I had her on. When she was initially processed, she was not heavy, but, like most college age people, didn't exercise or diet because they didn't have time--the result was sometimes termed the "freshman 15" (15 pounds, that is). She curled her head on my arm, and I hugged her bare body and then said, "Jackie, I think I'm going to have three tasks for you, over the next 90 days." I continued to speak, softly, but she interrupted with a quip, "Will you please fuck this slave while you tell her what else you wish, Master?"

I wanted to resist, but the sight of her, naked, all the time -- well, it didn't keep me hard, but every time that she was forward enough to ask for sex, in her blunt way, I couldn't help but do it. I was undressed, and breathing gently to prolong the sex, her riding on top of me gently, and then she reminded me of where we left off, "What would Master like me to do over the next 90 days?" Damn her, she could talk during sex, and I couldn't concentrate with her boobs bouncing slightly as she rode me. What was it they called that on the "BIG BANG THEORY" -- 'Noise cancelling breasts?'"

I grunted, "I'm going to give you some books to read, and I'll give you time to read them, but we will discuss whether you like them or not. It's not like college, not reading for memory or learning, but just because I want you to share my favorite books with me." I breathed, making sure I wasn't getting close. She was very comfortable with rocking her hips back and forth and pulsing her pussy to make it feel like she could squeeze me like a glove.

She then said, "Very well, Master. What is my second task?"

I then started focusing on rubbing her nipples with my thumbs and fingers, rolling, not quite pinching them. I was building towards orgasm even with the slowed tantric breathing techniques. Then I responded, "Over the next 90 days, I want you to make a playlist of your top 100 songs. I don't have to know why you like a song, I just need the song title and artist." (This was one of the things I was sure about, if a woman and I didn't even have a 20 song overlap, we weren't going to make it long term.)

She then slowed dismounted, taking her pussy off me, and flipped around to reverse cowgirl. She knew that I loved grabbing her breasts as she rode me like this, and she also got off more in this position than she did standard riding. "Yes, Master, I will make your list..." she was breathing harder now. "And what is the third thing you wish..."

I was delirious. This happened sometimes, but when she was riding me, enjoying it, and about to cum herself, I couldn't think straight. I gathered, myself, and then said, "The third task is, start a journal. Every day, write a paragraph, or something about how your loss of freedom is affecting your life. It doesn't have to be long, but I'll check on it sometimes....."ooof. I was losing control, and she was squirting all over my cock. I was still deep inside her, and when I felt those spasms and squirts I pulled her hair firmly with my right hand while my left hand gripped and pawed at both of her tits. She didn't slow down at all, wanting me to come at the same time, she cooed, "Yes, your wish is my command Master. Cum for me. Fill your slave's pussy with your cock and your cum, Master. You feel sooooo good."

We were lying there, spent, a little sweaty, and very damp, when my cell phone rang. It was the V.A., doing a check-up on --"If I felt the manumission voucher was fulfilling your needs as a military vet." They said they would have a person stopping by later that week... After the person hung up, I told Jackie what they wanted. She started giggling--"Do you suppose I can demonstrate 'fulfilling your needs' [her fingers wrote quotes in the air] by having you fill ME again?"

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To be continued?

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