Gi Bill Benefits

GI Bill Benefits

(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: the

REAL LIFE J.R.

(or rather ONE of the real life J.R.s; my favorite was Sergeant First Class J. R. Sanders who served two tours in Vietnam as a 12B combat engineer, wrecking his back when a bridge fell on him and losing much of his hearing before teaching me when I was a lieutenant)--the real-life J. R., as I was saying, requested that I write this study based on his superb plot device.)

*****

He never bitched about it, but Jeremiah Raymond (J.R.) Roberts had a tough time during his six years in the Army. He'd gone through two deployments into Afghanistan, each of them 13 months long, so he wasn't impressed when Marine veterans talked about their "long" 6-month tours. J.R. had been what was called a "light infantryman," but there was nothing "light" about humping 240 rounds of 5.56 ammo for his M-4 carbine, one smoke and two fragmentation grenades, flak jacket, helmet, gas mask, canteens, and (the cherry on the cake) a pack that weighed about 130 MORE pounds, including spare clothing, a minimal bedroll, chemical protective suit, a Claymore mine, and three days' worth of MREs. (In basic training, he'd learned that an MRE, or Meal Ready to Eat, gave him enough calories to carry all that crap, but the MRE was neither a meal, nor ready, nor edible, three lies in one, sort of like the Holy Roman Empire.)

Dragging all that junk up and down mountains in freezing or boiling temperatures turned out to be the easy part; the HARD part was watching innocent children and good friends being splattered across the landscape by explosive devices, mortar fire, rocket-propelled grenades, and plain ol' dumb bullets. Not to mention air support that fell short. (One time, his lieutenant went to the village elders to apologize because one of their trucks had gotten stuck and damaged the local dirt road; the tribal leader told him "Don't worry about it; the Russians always got stuck in the same place!")

J.R. finally realized that the Army would keep sending him "down range" again and again until there wasn't enough of him left to fill a body bag, at which point he would get a permanent change of station to the veterans' cemetery nearest his home--a "Real Estate deal." As it was, his left knee still throbbed when the humidity was high, and he'd lost 30 percent of his hearing--you couldn't wear earplugs and still listen for the telltale "click" of an AK rifle being cocked, so he went through 8 or 9 firefights and a dozen mortar attacks, each lasting about 4 minutes and every second of that time exceeding the 145 decibels that was the maximum safe level for the human inner ear. So, J.R. felt lucky to walk away with all his limbs, most of his brains and hearing, and his three stripes as a sergeant E-five; lots of his buddies didn't have that much to show for being a One-One-Bravo Infantryman.

J.R. also gained some imponderable but valuable skills, such as prioritizing tasks and a willingness to work hard to achieve difficult goals. Those skills made it simple (if not always easy) for him to excel in college. And he got to attend college because he had an Honorable Discharge that qualified him for the so-called G.I. Bill, which offered him a number of benefits from no-closing-cost home mortgage to tuition and limited subsistence costs for college. Lately, the big talkers in Congress had added a number of bells and whistles onto the G.I. Bill, but he never thought about those add-ons until the events of this story, which occurred when he was a junior at the University of Texas at Austin.

*****

Loneliness was almost a given; his experiences were so different from those of non-veterans that he had difficulty relating to them socially. He'd learned the hard way that sufficient quantities of alcohol or pot could temporarily blot out his pain and make him the life of the party, but they also caused him to do stupid things and be physically ill, so he avoided such things--once again, the Army had been right to crack down on substance abuse, even though he missed the self-medicative properties of such things.

He had finally fallen into a loose collection of younger students--hell, almost ALL of the students and even some of the professors were younger than he--with whom he could study and occasionally share a pizza or a movie. But there seemed to be an invisible barrier around him that made serious friendships, let alone romance, impossible, so he had to settle for a few laughs and casual acquaintances.

One of the girls really got to him, though. Jacqueline (Jackie) Haralson had dirty blond hair, a cute nose, and a curvy body. She was a bubbly young woman, neither arrogant nor stupid, who seemed to enjoy J.R.'s company but showed no romantic interest in him. Instead, she treated him like an older brother who was fun to be around and an (occasional) source of advice and help. He hated the Friend Zone, damn it.

Jackie was on her second try at college, having flunked out the first time with a D plus average. She didn't like to talk about that failure, but J.R. got the impression she had lacked writing skills and spent more time partying than studying. That false start made her closer in age to J.R. than most of their friends. Now, she was taking only one course at a time while trying--on a waitress's salary!--to pay at least the interest on her previous student loans. It seemed to be a race between finishing her degree and being foreclosed on her loans--and her degree was losing the race.

Good sergeants almost instinctively take care of their troops even when the troops screw up--it was genetically encoded in all non-commissioned officers. Against his own better judgement, J.R. had given her a number of small loans and a lot of good advice about how to succeed, not to mention photocopying his own notes in their courses together when she missed class, but privately he worried about her future. Like most other students in the new world of the 35th Amendment, Jackie had been slave graded (Choice) and put up her cute body as collateral for her college loans. Defaulting on those loans meant losing her freedom, her clothes, and even her "virtue;" the bank could just take her to court to establish how many years of servitude she owed in return for her loans and accumulated interest. Even after she regained her freedom, society regarded all ex-slaves, especially ex-female slaves, as insatiable sluts who had lost their brains along with their rights. She might be a screw-up, but she didn't deserve THAT--at least she was trying.

J.R. wanted to help her, of course, but his savings were far too small to satisfy the bank; Jackie owed something like $46,000, and the interest was making that number grow rather than shrink. He worried about her but couldn't see any way for her to avoid a collar in the long run.

Then one day, out of the clear blue, Jackie telephoned him: "Hey, J.R.--I know you're a veteran, right? Do you have one of them vouchers to cancel indentures for debt? 'Cause I really need it--I think my bank is about to foreclose on me."

"Well," he replied, hesitantly. "I think I know what you mean, that the G.I. Bill now includes a voucher system, but it doesn't quite work that way; it doesn't simply cancel your debt, but... "

Jackie cut in. "J.R., I'm desperate. I really need your help and I'll do ANYTHING to make it up for you." She knew or at least guessed that he cared for her, and so she was pushing all his buttons, implying that she would sleep with him in return for help. Hell, she would be HAPPY to fuck him, but he seemed unwilling to coerce a free woman like that.

J.R. sighed audibly, then tried yet again to talk sense to her. "Yeah, Jackie, I have that voucher, but you REALLY need to read what it does before you ask me to use it. I get that you're desperate and I'd be glad to use it for you, but again this isn't what you want. If you insist, I'll use the voucher for you, but..."

"That's great--thank you SOOO much, and I'll do anything to make it up to you." He silently thought that she would, indeed, do "anything" but she wouldn't like it. "Anyway," she continued, "I made an appointment at the State Agriculture Department office for tomorrow at 2 p.m.--can you meet me there and bring your voucher?"

"OK," he replied, But before we do this you REALLY need to read the ENTIRE law about this thing, because I doubt that you'll like the outcome if we use my voucher."

"I will read about it tonight," she promised, in the same tone one might say "Yeah, yeah, whatever" when your mother was remonstrating with you. Jackie was too stressed and excited to listen to him. "I'll see you tomorrow at 2 p.m.--the building's at 1700 North Congress, 11th Floor. PLEASE, J.R." she begged.

"I said I'll be there, Jackie. See you then."

*****

Carrying a file folder that contained his DD 214 Discharge certificate and his poorly-named "Manumission Voucher," J.R. pushed the "11" button on the elevator the next afternoon, about 10 minutes before 2 (one of the first things he learned in the Army was that "if you aren't five minutes early, you're late, trainee.) He wasn't sure exactly what would happen this afternoon except that he knew that the BEST outcome would leave Jackie disappointed.

Congress had reasoned, with more electoral emotion than logic, that anyone who risked his body to serve his country deserved a reward in the form of the country giving him ANOTHER body in return. In origin, that meant exempting a veteran from debt indenture, but very few veterans ended up in slave collars anyway--not only did they get preferential home and auto mortgages as well as free college tuition, but (with the exception of a few guys suffering from PTSD or brain trauma) most veterans were so cautious and responsible that they rarely got themselves enslaved anyway. So the bill had been modified to give the veteran the option to pre-emptively take over the enslavement of a civilian who was at risk of being enslaved for debt or non-violent crimes. In the case of indebtedness, the government would pay the actual creditor a fixed amount per year for 10 years, with greater payments given for higher-graded slaves who would otherwise have brought in more money at auction. And creative accountants could list the difference between the debt (including interest) and the government payments as a business loss on taxes. This also meant that the veteran avoided the customary fees and commissions charged by slave markets when registering and auctioning new slaves.

Jackie met him at the elevator; she was practically bouncing with a mixture of fear and nervousness, and in this case that meant that her prominent breasts were bobbing along with her. Caught between fear of foreclosure and elation and the possibility of finally escaping that debt, she was so excited that her nipples poked out; J.R. tried not to stare. She seemed oblivious to the contemptuous looks of the various employees they passed and especially from the director's executive assistant.

J.R. attempted one more time to bring her back to reality, but no sooner had he asked her whether she had read the law governing this voucher than they were summoned into the director's office. Once they had shown this Mr. Simmons the relevant documents, including the latest statement of her college loan, he got down to brass tacks.

Looking at J.R. and almost ignoring Jackie, Simmons asked, "I understand that you wish to exercise your Veteran's Manumission Voucher with regard to this woman's collateralized debt."

Correctly interpreting this bureaucratic mumbo-jumbo, the ex-infantryman replied, "Yes, sir," waiting for the explosion to occur.

Finally looking at Jackie, with an expression that suggested she was mentally incompetent, Mr. Simmons then inquired, "And do you understand the effect that this voucher will have on your legal status?"

Fearing (irrationally) that the bank might foreclose on her at any minute, Jackie was anxious to finish the transaction, so she said, in a tone that was just short of disrespectful, "Yes, yes--this cancels the debt I owe to the bank, and I'll do anything to reimburse Mr. Roberts for this action." So saying, she unwittingly sealed her fate.

Simmons rolled his eyes, shook his head, then summoned two of his staff members to witness the process (which was also videotaped) by which J.R. and Jackie signed documents applying his voucher to her educational indebtedness. The officials all signed as witnesses, and the boss ran the paper through a little machine that embossed the cancellation of debt with the Texas State Seal. Handing the document to J.R., he said, in a formal voice that sounded as if it were a procedure he did three times a day, "Congratulations, Mr. Roberts; for the next four years, you are the proud owner of a Choice-rated slave."

"WHAATT?" screamed Jackie (or more correctly, the slave slut formerly known as Jackie), looking imploringly at J.R. "The whole point of this process was to ensure that I was NOT a slave."

"Nope, you're definitely a slave for the next four years." Replied the ex-infantryman. "Didn't you hear me tell you, several times, that you needed to read what the law said? You told Mr. Simmons that you understood what was happening here, but I can tell that's not the case, is it?" Wide-eyed and staring, Jackie slowly shook her head.

"Let me see if I can put this in a way you'll understand, and I'll ask Mr. Simmons, who's dealt with it much more than I have, to correct me if I'm wrong: somebody told you that if I used my voucher you wouldn't have to be auctioned off in a slave market, right?" She nodded again.

"What that meant is that you've just agreed to be MY slave, with the Department of Veterans Affairs reimbursing your bank for what you owed them. And before you suggest something illegal, No, I can't just let you go--that would be defrauding the government and we'd BOTH end up as slaves for a lot longer. Isn't that correct, sir?" He asked, looking at Simmons.

The Ag official nodded his head, adding "And if at any time the veteran owner determines that you're uncooperative, you will be re-sold at auction for a total of eight years enslavement." Her brain shut down. Being enslaved to J.R. was bad enough, but the thought of being sold to a total stranger for eight years was truly terrifying!

J.R. resumed his train of thought: "We still need to get you chipped and numbered and put into the national data base--can you do that here, or does she have to go to a slave market anyway?" he asked, looking at Simmons.

"We can do it here."

"Thank you, that simplifies a process that she's obviously unprepared for. Jackie, this isn't the end of the world, you can survive this, and we'll talk a lot more tonight. But, unless Mr. Simmons knows something different, there are still two things you need to do RIGHT NOW, BEFORE we do anything else," he said, his voice becoming firm as he looked at her. "First, I hate to say it, girl, but you need to strip nekkid right here, this instant, and no arguing, got it?"

Jackie was terrified, humiliated, and on the verge of fainting, but J.R.'s combination of sympathy and 'I-will-be-obeyed' leader's voice propelled her to start unbuttoning her blouse.

"And Jackie, darlin'?" he continued in a softer voice, prompting her to stop and look up. "You need to hurry it up, you've already wasted several minutes of the time of these gentlemen," (he gestured at the two witnesses and at Simmons.) "They're busy men who expect slaves to be completely naked except when the slave needs some kind of protection from extreme cold or heat, so get on with it, don't hesitate."

THAT got her going. Blushing furiously, she tore all her clothes off in about 20 seconds, leaving a messy pile of fabric (and a few popped buttons) at her feet while the nipples on her surprisingly-large breasts protruded proudly. Prompted by her new owner, she spread her feet slightly apart and interlaced her fingers behind her neck, leaving every inch of her well-endowed body on display. A suspicious gleam of liquid showed between her thighs.

"For the next thing you need to do, girl, I must check with MASTER Simmons, here. Am I correct that there's a traditional ceremony whenever a woman loses her freedom...?" He whispered something to Simmons, who nodded, saying, "It's customary but up to you as the owner."

"You've been very patient, Mr. Simmons, so you deserve every courtesy. If you agree, let's do that." J.R. replied, then looked calmly into Jackie's face and said, "I know this is tough on you, but the more we follow the rules, the easier it will be for you to adjust to your new situation. I'll take care of you as best I can, BUT: right now, no hesitation, you MUST crawl over in front of Master Simmons and ask him respectfully if he wants you to pleasure him with your mouth. It's a tradition--OK, an ORAL tradition [he couldn't help smirking]--for all newly-enslaved people as they leave their freedom behind, a way of thanking the official for taking the time to process your request. Plus it will help put your mind in the right place."

By now, Jackie has started to believe that nothing more could surprise or shock her, but at this point her mouth fell open and she looked blank, almost catatonic, at her new owner. Seeing no hesitation in his eyes, she quickly dropped to her knees, crawled over in front of the agriculture official, and asked, very quietly and timidly, "Please, Master, may I please such your huge cock?"

"Yes, you may--that's a good slave girl."

She took a deep breath and then carefully wrapped first her hand and then her mouth around the end of his rigid shaft. Gulp, she thought--gulp in more ways than one! She had called it a "huge cock" because she knew (from slave yoga) that slaves were expected to flatter free men about their equipment, but in this case no flattery or exaggeration was necessary! In seconds, Jackie realized that his already-large dick was swelling rapidly and threatening to stretch her mouth. Trying not to choke, she began breathing between in- or down-strokes on that massive organ. Falling into a rhythm, the new slave zoned out, focusing on just breathing and enduring. She was actually startled when he blasted a huge amount into her mouth.

*****

(

six months later, Jackie's viewpoint

)

You've heard the foolish way that I backed my dumb ass into slavery when I was so terrified that I thought I'd found an escape hatch. Once I adjusted, though, it hasn't been that bad, mostly due to the kindness of Master J.R.

I'll admit that when I first became a slave I freaked out. Walking naked, collared, and with my arms bound behind my back, I was so dumbstruck that I said nothing when my new owner (man, did that sound horrible!) took me to another office for processing: a computer chip was inserted (ouch) between my boobs, while the leering bureaucrat who did it obviously enjoyed mashing my breasts. I was trying to pretend that I was just a spectator, but my treacherous nipples suddenly became erect as if I LIKED that kind of mauling. Besides, I was already learning that clothed, free men were naturally intimidating, putting us slaves (there, I said it!) into a very submissive frame of mind. Then this total stranger tattooed a Slave Identification Number into the inside of my lower lip, took really embarrassing photographs of me, and uploaded all that, along with my record of enslavement to a veteran, into the National Data Base.