Slavery - Full Circle

by Mark Andrews

  Title Page

  Slavery - Full Circle

  By Mark Andrews

  Kinks Books is an imprint

  of W&H Publishing LLP.

  Publisher Information

  This eBook edition published by Kink Books is an imprint of W&H Publishing LLP, Foresters Hall, 25-27 Westow Street, London, SE19 3RY.

  Digital edition converted and published

  by Andrews UK Limited 2012

  www.andrewsuk.com

  Previously published by The Olympia Press

  PO Box 148, Ryde, Isle of Wight, PO33 9BE.

  Copyright © Mark Andrews

  The right of Mark Andrews to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead and is purely coincidental.

  This eBook is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by the way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, electronically copied, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent.

  Chapter 1

  Madeleine Albrecht was never my friend. School-fellow, yes, but never friend. We were in the same class and were both mentally bright, usually vying for the top of the class position right through our school careers. We were also both good at sports, too, again always at the top of the tree.

  These two accomplishments made us popular although in her case, her circle of friends tended to be those who sucked up to her because of her wealth. Her father had spoiled her rotten and doted on her right up to the time of his death a year after we both graduated from school, making her one of Australia’s richest women. By this time she was a socialite of some note while I was at Queensland University, studying law.

  It was in our last year of school and we were both showering after a particularly gruelling session in the gymnasium. By this time, female gymnastics had gone past the old balance-beam type disciplines and we now competed against men in exactly the same events and were thus hot and sweaty after working out on the horizontal and parallel bars.

  We were alone in the showers and she moved up to me, grabbed my head and body and kissed me - hard, rubbing her naked upper body against mine. I am not and never have been gay. I had never given her, or anyone else for that matter, any indications that I might be interested even in experimenting in gay sex. I therefore fought her off with every resource at my disposal and then warned her that if she ever tried anything like that again, I would report her.

  Of course, she scowled, muttered something about ‘getting me’, and then stalked off.

  It wasn’t that she wasn’t beautiful. She was possibly the most attractive of any girl in the school and her body was something else: shapely, curves in all the right places, very athletic and with a skin as smooth as the proverbial peaches and cream. She had high cheekbones and wide-set, baby-blue eyes, a small aquiline nose and facial features that made everyone turn and look at her. Mind you, my own body was just as good although I didn’t have her beauty. I was what is called ‘fresh-faced’; the girl-next-door type although I think I was probably more muscular than she was for I really put my all into the gymnastics and other sports.

  I didn’t follow her life. I was just glad to be rid of her when we left school, but she hadn’t forgotten my rebuff to her sexual advances to me and it was in my second year of law that it came home to roost.

  I was doing legal work part-time, working in a law firm in Brisbane some days and attending lectures at others. What I hadn’t realised was that she had a mole in the firm whom she was paying handsomely to cook the books and paying the proceeds into an off-shore account in my name.

  The trial was sensational but neither the judge nor the jury believed my protestations of innocence for one minute. The evidence was there and while it was clear I hadn’t touched the account, living as frugally as I had ever since leaving school, that didn’t sway them either.

  I was found guilty and sentenced to ten years’ penal slavery - which was exactly the result she wanted. Penal slavery had replaced the prison system some years earlier when it was realised that jails didn’t work and were very expensive. Converting a citizen to slave not only allowed the jails to be closed down and the land they stood on sold, but it actually returned an income to the exchequer for the proceeds of the sale of slaves went straight to the government. It was also more effective in other ways, too.

  Slaves could not be bought by relatives or friends. If you managed to fool them and then went easy on your slave, the sale was annulled and they were confiscated and resold and you quickly found yourself in the same boat. No, all slaves were to be worked at hard physical labour all day and half the night, fed as cheaply as possible and, if clothes were provided at all, they were just rags. Many owners didn’t bother with even a rag around his slave’s middle, keeping them stark naked for the duration.

  There was no prohibition on enjoying their bodies. however. Many an owner worked his slaves hard all day, then raped them at night. And their sexual predilections were of no moment, either.

  Many a male slave owner had a stable of muscular young male slaves whom he raped at night - and vice versa, wealthy women enjoying their female slaves similarly. Of course, since the ratio of homo- to heterosexual people is about five to ten percent, most didn’t; but it all came down to the luck of the draw.

  Of course I didn’t know then that Madeleine was responsible for my downfall. From the very first moment when the firm’s office manager first detected the fraud, right through to my conviction, sentence and subsequent sale, I had no idea who had wrought this dreadful fate on me. I didn’t even think of Madeleine. I hadn’t thought of her since the end of my school life and had even forgotten that awful night in the gymnasium shower block.

  It wasn’t until I was actually put up for auction that it dawned on me. There she was, sitting right in the centre of the front row. She was staring straight at me, a big grin plastered across her beautiful face, her blue eyes as cold as ice and clearly displaying her triumph at my ruin.

  I have said that slaves could be provided with any or no clothing. But that was after the sale. From the moment I was unloaded from the prison van at the Slave Centre, they made me strip naked, there and then, my clothes confiscated and given to the poor while I underwent a medical examination - a public medical exam for it took place on a sort of assembly line in a long room where we slaves moved up the line from the entrance while various doctors or technicians prodded and poked us, or administered other tests on various machines, recording their findings on keyboards which apparently inputted the data onto our files which would then be available to potential buyers when we were all sold on the following Saturday.

  On either side of this room were tiered benches and the public could come in (if they had the price of the entry ticket) and watch us stripped and then put through the various procedures which evaluated not only our health but also our physical strength and stamina.

  It was incredibly shameful and utterly degrading - on purpose. They wanted us to feel shame and humiliation as a deterrent to crime and this was another reason they admitted the public, of course.

  We weren’t separated as to sex, either. Male and female criminals were mixed up. All had to strip in front of the others, the guards and the paying public and submit to being fingered - yes, our sexual organs particularly, the males being teased to full erection and ejaculation (and the results recorded) and we females the same until we gushed and screamed in our shame. Our breasts were mauled and both sexes had their backsides probed w
ith various objects and fingered digitally, too.

  Oh yes, it was awful alright.

  I don’t know if Madeleine was there to watch that event. Probably, but if so I suspect she disguised herself. There was no such attempt to hide herself from me or others at the auction however. There she was, front and centre and gloating quite openly at my naked display.

  Here too, there was no segregation of the sexes. We were sold in the order we had arrived at the Centre and of course, as I said, stark naked except that now, in line with government policy, we had all been depilated nude as well.

  I don’t know when it was decided that slaves would bring in more money if their body hair was removed, but it was very definitely the practice by the time I was processed. They didn’t shave us, nor did they use a chemical spray or dip to achieve this so shameful and permanent treatment. Actually, now I come to think of it, it was probably the development of this so cheap and effective method that made them adopt it as the standard for all slaves - of both sexes.

  We were merely lined up before the machine, issued with helmets that went over our heads and protected our head hair, our eyebrows and eyelashes, then walked through the U-shaped gleaming metal frame. As we came out the other end, we were clean of all hair except where the helmets had protected it. Males lost their moustaches and beards and all of us, the rest of our body hair, even at our pubic area (which was probably the main reason for it anyway).

  It took just a second or two and zap, they were all gone. It didn’t even hurt. There was just this tingling feeling and then we walked out, more naked than we had been since our birth.

  They inspected us all on the morning of the sale but very few required a re-run. Of course, with this machine so cheap and so effective, many free people had opted to have their bodies treated themselves, but that was their choice. With us, it was mandatory.

  For the sale, we were displayed in about the most shameful way they could devise for us. Can you guess how it was? I’ll bet you can’t! It was by one ankle! Yes, truly. We had to line up on the loading gantry in the anteroom, some two metres above the floor and have the noose slipped over the left ankle. This rope was attached to a little bogey that ran on an overhead rail around the outside of the ceiling in the huge and very lofty auction room at the Centre. It was designed like a very large lecture room at the university with tiers on which were placed the comfortable chairs for the buyers. Each chair had its own bidding unit attached to its right armrest and each registered buyer was issued with a number to encode into the unit.

  Once all the registered buyers were seated and had tested his unit, they started up the motor that drove the bogeys, all of which were connected together by two metre long rods. As it took off, the guards merely pushed our bodies off the gantry and we fell downwards to hang upside down beside it, but well free of the floor below us.

  Can you imagine it? Hanging by only one ankle with our bodies, heads and arms dangling down while the other leg waved about while we tried to find a comfortable place for it.

  We moved slowly along the rail, stopping when the last of this batch reached the front of the loading gantry so that the next batch could be loaded to their bogeys. About five metres past that point, the rail sloped up so that by the time it entered the auction room, it was right up near the very high roof there. They could do twenty of us at a time and the first twenty moved off until the next empty noose reached the front end of the little station and the next lot were prepared.

  The movement around the huge auction room was therefore in stages and as we stopped and started I could see the faces of the buyers staring up at us, no doubt assessing those he or she was going to bid on and whether they could afford the high price we would cost them.

  I was in the third section so there were forty-plus slaves to be auctioned before me and so, as each slave reached the proverbial ‘block’ (yes they actually had a wooden block on the floor of the podium), he came to rest hanging with his upside-down head right over that ancient symbol of slavery and there he stayed while the electronic bidding took place.

  This was rapid. You only had ten seconds after the last bid to get yours in and then, after the ten seconds had elapsed, the machine knocked the slave down to the last bidder. He then had another ten seconds to press the button which effected the transfer of funds and it was done. Each sale lasted less than a minute and then the motor started up again and the next slave moved up until his or her head was over the block.

  As a result of all this, I didn’t see Madeleine until I was very near the block itself, or at least not well enough to identify her. But when I did, it hit me as if with a hammer! It was she who had framed me, probably with an inside accomplice, but she had been the brains behind it, I was certain of that.

  There I hung, stark naked, my body hair permanently removed and dangling by one foot in just about the most shameful pose any human being could possibly be, watched by the hundreds of bidders in that huge room - and by hundreds of thousands, possibly millions of others who tuned in every Saturday to see the latest batch of state slaves sold to private individuals for the term of their sentence - in my case, ten years.

  Ten years, I thought, my mind now in a panic as I tried to grapple with her as my owner. I think it was then, too, that I realised that she must have kept that grudge all this time and had been so enraged about it that she had actually gone to the trouble of framing me.

  Yes, of course it was she who had bought me but I wasn’t to know that for sure until the auction was over and we could be collected by our successful buyers.

  Even this was an assembly line process. As each slave was sold and the machinery moved him or her on into the delivery room, once more the rail dipped, allowing them to pull us over to the receiving gantry, stand us up and remove the noose. We then filed down the sloping end of the gantry - it really was like a platform at a country railway station - and there line up in the same order.

  Our buyers came in following the same order and once the clerk had checked that the payment had been received okay, we were handed over to them, still stark naked and of course smoothly nude as well.

  There was no question of a rag to hide our genitals, even. We were criminal slaves. If our owners didn’t want to look at us naked, then it was up to them to provide something to cover out bodies.

  Of course, few did. Why would they? For the most part we were young and fit and as probably ninety-five percent of them were going to use us sexually, why bother to cover us now?

  I stood there waiting, as did the others in front of me, but then, as I approached the clerk’s desk, there she was, openly gloating now as she signed the receipt for my body, snapped the metal electronic collar around my neck and then bade me follow her.

  I did, very smartly. We all knew about those collars. They were tuned to a controller which was actuated by her voice, rather like the badges pinned to their uniforms and used by the officers and crew of the Starship Enterprise in those old science fiction shows. The standard use allowed a slave tuned to one of them only two metres distance from the controlling unit and the penalty was a dreadful shock to either side of the slave’s neck. Believe me, we had all had these demonstrated to us and would have run a hundred miles flat out rather than taste it again.

  Of course they could be programmed to make us do just about anything. Another use was to keep us working, say at digging. The very sophisticated programme was able to determine whether our bodies were doing what they were supposed to and even to gauge our sweat levels and thus we could be left alone at a task, quite unsupervised, for hours at a time.

  Madeleine didn’t speak to me. Not yet. She was heading for her car, a current model Rolls Royce that of course was a hovercraft as wheeled traffic was now a thing of the past, but it was as beautifully crafted as the original models were.

  Waiting beside it was a tall, athletically muscled black slave, obviously
her chauffeur. I could see how magnificent a physique he had for he too was stark naked but I also noted the absolute terror in which he held her. As we had approached the car, I noted that his cock was now engorging, a fact she also noted and sniffed. I had an idea that if he had been a second later in achieving a full erection, he might have been scheduled for some diabolical punishment.

  “Get in and lie down on the floor, slave,” she snarled at me.

  I did. I had watched her fingers stray up to the brooch, which I knew was the controller for my collar (and that of the male slave as well). She got in after me and rested her pointy heels on my belly then dragged them down to my naked vagina, grinning down at me as she worked them deep into my gash while I squirmed in pain and shame.

  “Lie still, slut!” she screamed. “That cunt of yours is mine now and if I want to tease it, you had better just get used to it!”

  I knew better than to respond. That she hated me with a venom even greater than when she had spat those words to me in the gymnasium showers so long ago, was now eminently clear. And so I lay there, trying to put up with her spiky heels delving into my quim.

  But then she ordered me to remove her shoes and stockings. I reached up and then half sat up to achieve this difficult operation but then she ordered me down again while her now bare feet explored the whole of my body, her toes moving into my mouth, which she ordered me to open, my vagina and even my anus.

  For this she made me draw my knees up onto my breasts to open it to her questing big toes. It was horrible. But I knew it was going to get a lot worse...

  Meanwhile, the big hovercar had left the Centre and was on its way to her house. I wondered, as I lay there, sometimes with my legs down flat so her feet and toes could explore the front of my so naked body from my feet up to my face, or up so she could work them into my anus (after which she made me suck them clean, of course).