This is a story using the world I established in my 'Slave Camp' and 'Gotta Pay the Piper' series where judicial slavery is a major part of society.
In those stories, my protagonists had some moral standards. Here I am pursuing some of the ideology of the general public I hinted at in those series.That being a person, once enslaved is considered a non-entity by society. Activities that might normally be considered felony assault on a free person is acceptable treatment if applied to slaves. Harsh treatment of any slave is not only condoned but encouraged. Even within some families, a family member, once enslaved, has no status. In my own imagination a family would not completely turn their backs on a family member. That being said, their actions might NOT exactly follow 'normal' standards of morality when dealing with an enslaved family member.
In this story you will see elements of incest, bdsm and certainly non-consensual activity. If any of those things bother you, then perhaps you should skip reading the story. Although this is a stand alone story, if you read my other stories/series you will have a deeper appreciation of my proposed society.
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I trudged down the hallway towards the suites the company officers occupied. My mother, the head and CEO of the company, had summoned me to her office.
I have not talked directly with my mother for about a month. Three weeks and four days to be precise. She had made it clear I was not to call, text, email, or otherwise try to contact her. I was not to speak to her. If I even saw her walking down a hallway, I was to stand quietly, head down and keep my mouth shut unless or until addressed directly. All contact would be through an intermediary. For the past month I had never seen her so I never had to respond in that manner. I suspect she was purposely avoiding me.
The same was true at home. I had not even seen my mother there even though I lived in a small room in the basement of our family home. Not even a true basement, the room I occupied had originally been a root cellar. My old childhood bedroom was off limits to me.
I was fully aware of WHY I was no longer of any importance. The two pound metal collar locked around my neck made my status clear. I was a slave. A judicial slave convicted by a criminal court, I had lost my civil rights and really had few human rights. Even after a month I was still wrapping my head around what that meant.
My family, or more accurately, my mother owned my ass. Literally. I knew full well her opinion of slaves. They were convicted criminals and deserved whatever cruel treatment they received. A slave could be brutalized and even used sexually in whatever manner his or her owner decreed. There were limits set by law of course but the latitude of what a slave owner could do was broad. My mother's ideology was not unique. It was shared by most of society. 'Don't do the crime if you can't do the time.' was a commonly held belief. And time spent as a slave was intended to not be pleasant.
Judicial slavery had taken the place of imprisonment. Jails were now short term facilities to house a defendant awaiting trial or a recent convict awaiting processing into slavery. Prisons were only for the most hardcore criminals. Virtually all there were awaiting execution. For the majority of those prisoners that meant they were mass murderers or had assaulted a free person.
Assaulting a free person was viewed as insurrection. The minimum sentence was a five year addition to the slave's sentence. Often the sentence was extended to be 'life', which was until the age of sixty five when slavery ended. For males, it could also include 'chemical suppression of violent tendencies' which was essentially chemical castration. Needless to say, attacks on a free person were few and far between.
Most slaves were simply returned to the workforce but under the jurisdiction of his owner. Taxes were taken out of their salary, social security paid which they would get at the age of sixty five. Sometimes, at the discretion of the owner, a portion of the money earned was directed into savings and retirement programs for the time the slave was manumitted or released. Otherwise, the net income the slave earned went directly to his her owner.
Until the the slave's sentence was finished their quality of life depended solely on his or her owner. What they did, how they were punished or to some, even more importantly, how they were 'used' sexually was of far more concern than the money put away in his or her name. Slaves had no right to say 'No'. There was no such thing as the rape of a slave. That included any orifice in any manner of activity regardless of sex. Of course females were the primary targets as a sex object/toy.
I knew Mom would not use me sexually like she might (and probably has) another slave, male or female. But that did not mean she would hesitate to strip me and touch any part of my body. She made that abundantly clear the first day she took possession. She made sure to let me know I no longer had any right to privacy. She also made it abundantly clear she would punish me quickly and harshly if I crossed her.
"Mom called for me." I said, reporting to Mom's secretary/personal assistant, Carol.
Carol leaned forward. "Your MOM??" she asked. "You know better than that, slave. Slave Dave. It rhymes. Maybe we ought to print that across your chest as a reminder. I have an indelible pen. I think you'd prefer that to a tattoo, right?" She laughed as she gave me a hard time. Carol was not quite forty and I'd known her for years. She was not only my mother's personal assistant but her friend for as long as I could remember and had been a frequent guest at our house.
"Ms. Angelle called for me." I quickly corrected myself. I knew the proper form of address was Ms, followed by either her first or last name. The last name being slightly more formal and I hoped, proper now.
"Better." Carol nodded. "You wouldn't want to report to her with your cock hanging out of your pants after I popped it a few times with my ruler for you forgetting your place." I shook my head hastily. "Good." Carol grinned. "I'd really hate to have to punish you. Now USING you is another manner. I always considered you a handsome young man growing up. I've wondered what skills you learned playing with your girlfriends. Specifically your oral skills. One of these days I'm gonna have you service me and I'll find out." Carol offered with a smirk.
A beautiful woman, Carol had been one of the fantasy women of my teenage years. I'd dreamed about fucking her or having her suck my cock as I pounded my pud at night. My masturbatory episodes aside, I would still love the idea of taking the woman to bed. Now though, what we did would be solely her choice for her pleasure with no regard for mine.
Carol stepped into my mother's inner sanctum. A few moments passed and she returned. "You are still wearing your clothes?" she asked. "Is that how you think a slave should report to his or her owner? Not bare and totally accessible?" My crimson face made her laugh. "I'm kidding. You can strip if you want. I certainly don't mind. I'd like to see what you are packing. Go on in."
She barely stepped to one side but grabbed my left buttock as I passed and squeezed. She had teased me good-naturedly in the past, especially in my latter teen years. Now her teasing took on a more ominous tone.
"Ma'am!" I greeted the woman who had given me life and raised me. Her summons had me on edge. I had no idea if she was upset with me or was going to relax the restrictions I had endured for the past month. To my dismay, it was the former.
"Bob tells me you have been shirking your duties," my mother stated grimly. "I would have expected you to have no problem working as a clerk. As a college graduate, I expected more. He says you are slow to accomplish your tasks, and sloppy."
Bob was my former stepfather who also used to be my mother's business partner until he was enslaved. Their marriage was annulled upon his conviction and enslavement, hence the word 'former'. Even though his slave trust now owned his interest in the company and he still occupied his vice president office due to his expertise, he had little real authority. He could 'advise' the staff but no longer had any real decision making powers. He did have my mother's ear at work and would pass along his thoughts for her consideration. Hers was now the final authority.
Unlike me, they communicated at home as well. At least they still shared the same bedroom. That was after he spent his first week of enslavement on a cot in my room in the basement. Almost every night that week he came to bed carrying the clothes he would wear the next day, his only clothing, briefs, pulled up into a tight wedgie, sporting bright red buttocks. He'd get ready for bed without saying a word to me. Neither of us addressed his humiliation nor why my mother had absolutely nothing to do with me. Her ignoring my very existence bothered me. Not that I wanted the type of attention he got.
"So why are you not doing your job?" my mother groused. "You aren't looking at online porn at work are you? I shook my head vehemently. I knew better than to attempt that. I had been too scared to indulge in any online activity such as that. I had little doubt I could get past the detection programs in place to prevent illicit use of company computers. After all, I had written those programs myself but I was too aware of my precarious position. The most I would risk was to spend a little time occasionally researching subjects of interest. I did not even open my personal email account. Computer use at home was strictly forbidden. For now at least.
"Well? Do you have an explanation for Bob giving you a bad report?" Mother asked.
I had a couple good reasons that I did not want to share with her. First, Bob semi-blamed me for the two us getting caught and convicted. Second, he was more than a little put out I had only received a two year enslavement as opposed to his twelve. I did not think I deserved my conviction in the first place as I was not really party to the crime itself. I had simply followed his instructions to help him by using my computer skills.
Lastly, I suspected he wanted Mom's attention or rather personal ire redirected towards me instead of himself. After his first week of almost daily butt beatings, he was sent to the parish Slave Camp. I'd asked him about it but he steadfastly refused to comment. His avoidance told me he was totally humiliated and subjugated by the experience. That was one of those subjects I had researched during my prohibited sojourns onto the net. Personal accounts were horrifying and I could understand why Bob refused to talk about it.
