Slaveworld - An Illustrated Story of a Boy Slave

Postby Jason Toddman » Sun Sep 01, 2013 12:56 pm

SLAVEWORLD

Prelude

Hello. My name is – or, rather, used to be - Robert Neumann.

Of course, now my name is whatever my current master wants it to be. Usually that name is, simply, Slave. Or it will be something along the lines of a name given a pet dog, like Specs (because I wear glasses) or Blondie (because I’m a natural light blond). It depends on who my master is at the time. I’ve had a great many masters over my life; some nicer than others. Some kept me only a short time. Others meant to keep me longer, but didn’t or couldn’t for one reason or another.
Slaveworld 001.jpg


I see you’re a bit confused about all this. You see, I don’t live in the same dimension that you do. I live in a world much like yours, but it’s in a different vibrational plane. It’s as close to yours as your breath, but yet inaccessible to you as yours is to me. I can only tell you this story because my current master is a scientific genius who has mastered a means to communicate with other such parallel worlds. He hasn’t as yet found a means to allow travel between them however.

From what I understand, our worlds are very similar in most ways. Like you, we’re human. Our earth has the same environment, geographical layout, same animals and plants, and the same laws of physics as yours. Our society and technology is also similar to yours in most respects except in two rather noticeable areas.

The first difference is that we stop aging or changing in appearance once we enter our mid to late teens. We live about as long as you do and are just as susceptible to death by disease or accident as you are. But right up until almost the very end we remain looking the same from the time we are about 16 or so until about the age of 125; at which point we simply age all at once in a matter of days and die peacefully. Until that point, we retain our youth and health and vigor indefinitely; also perhaps our emotional maturity - or, rather, the lack of it. Someone in their second teenage-hood (113 to 119) generally acts little different than he or she did the first time. So, for instance, scientists occasionally act a little like their horror movie counterparts when it comes to experiments in human guinea pigs... or at least they would seem that way to observers from your world.
Slaveworld 002.jpg


The second difference is that we have retained slavery in our world. It’s not quite the same as the institution of slavery existed on your own world. In ours, slavery is not imposed as punishment for a crime, for failure to pay debts, or as a result of conquest – and never was, unlike your world. It is, instead, a profession – a way of life for those who chose it. And though this may seem strange to you, there are many people indeed who choose the slave’s way of life for themselves.

In return for lifelong security – including adequate food, water, shelter, clothing, medical care, love and attention, and all other needs being fully met – slaves only have to do what their masters tell them to. As a result, such ills of society such as crime, homelessness, poverty, war, rape, mental illness, and the use of poisonous recreational drugs are virtually unheard of here. I daresay that I as a slave live a happier and more secure life free of worry than most free people in your own world do. Certainly our people are in general far more content than yours. Why, I haven’t witnessed anything more violent than the routine chastisement of an unruly slave in my entire life. Murders, assaults, rapes… all are virtually unknown on my world. I love my masters, and my masters have loved me. What more can a slave ask for than that?
Slaveworld 003.jpg


Some folks become slaves only after they’re fully mature at the age of 18 and have not been able to find employment after finishing school. Unlike your world there is no ‘welfare’ for those who won’t or can’t work. It’s either find gainful employment, live on whatever money you have acquired from your family, or become a slave. Those who can’t support themselves become slaves by default, although if opportunities for something better comes along they are allowed to take it. Such folks don’t remain slaves long if they don’t want to be slaves and have the means to obtain their freedom again. There is no social security or retirement either, but since we retain health and vigor our entire lives none is needed. There is, however, disability protection for those too ill, infirm, or otherwise unable to work through no fault of their own.

Others however are slaves virtually our entire lives; either from choice or because circumstances dictate this. In my case, I was orphaned at the age of 10 when my parents died in a fire that destroyed our entire house. With no family to take me in, no personal wealth, and being so young I was placed in an orphanage. But when I was not adopted by the age of 12, I was transferred to a slave school instead - which is standard policy for parentless youths aged 12 or more.

Slave school wasn’t a bad life. It was really little different from the orphanage, except that now instead of seeking to be adopted into a family as a free person we were trained and groomed to be slaves in a household, business, or some other entity. We weren’t simply sold however; like being adopted, some of the choice was up to the child. However, un-owned slaves who reached the age of 18 lost that freedom of choice and had to accept whoever would have them as master. This usually meant employment as a drudge or laborer. Therefore, under-aged and un-owned slaves usually aren’t too fussy about who their masters are.
Slaveworld 004.jpg


Even in the orphanage, kids would often practice being slaves or slave owners with one another. In my world there’s no stigma attached to slavery, so we would play master and slave just as you would play Cops and Robbers. Sometimes I’d be tied to a chair indoors, or to a tree when outdoors, and be made to follow the orders of whoever freed me. If I refused, I’d be punished with a (not too severe) whipping or going without a meal or two, and then left tied to my bed and gagged overnight. Some slaves though – myself included – often refused to obey orders precisely in order to face that outcome. This was widely understood, and so slaves who were especially unruly often received more attention than the obedient ones, and everyone was happy.
Slaveworld 005.jpg


The slave school was even more fun than the orphanage. It was fully equipped with bondage and torture devices. All the beds were solidly built with chains and manacles for limbs and even straps to hold one’s body down. There were manacles affixed to many of the walls too. Ropes, handcuffs, ankle-cuffs, blindfolds, gags of all kinds, riding crops, small whips, ostrich feathers for tickle torture – all that and more was available in abundance.

And when I acquired my first master, well…

But wait, I’m getting too far ahead of myself now. Let me start my life story from the very beginning...
Slaveworld 006.jpg

tbc
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

Re: Slaveworld - An Illustrated Story of a Boy Slave

Postby xtc » Sun Sep 01, 2013 1:35 pm

I'll be interested to see where this goes.
Good luck with creating a consistent alternate universe.
Boxer shorts are cool,
but little speedos rule!

More by the same author: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=22729

Re: Slaveworld - An Illustrated Story of a Boy Slave

Postby kkoomm » Sun Sep 01, 2013 1:42 pm

This...is...AWESOME!

I also love your illustrations :)
Thats it... Im going to start working on a inter-dimensional craft that finds the right vibrational frequencies so that I can visit!
Perhaps I can sell tickets...
Back to your new story, I really appreciate how well thought out it is. Not an easy feat.
I cant wait to see more :)

k

Re: Slaveworld - An Illustrated Story of a Boy Slave

Postby Jason Toddman » Sun Sep 01, 2013 1:47 pm

kkoomm wrote:This...is...AWESOME!

I also love your illustrations :)

k

Thanks. I am in fact hoping to post a bunch of illustrations I've made for stories I've drawn in comic book form that wouldn't otherwise fit in this website because the stories are a tad too dark and/or too intimate/graphic. This story will be basically PG-13 rated; largely because more intimate stories seem to get a far smaller readership and I have have lots of those already drawn that I've never rewritten in regular text and posted. This story will be all new but partially derived from a combination of other stories that I've never posted.
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

Re: Slaveworld - An Illustrated Story of a Boy Slave

Postby NemesisPrime » Sun Sep 01, 2013 2:11 pm

Very interesting concept!

I'm kinda iffy on the whole idea of slavery being acceptable in society but for the sake of the story I'll put it aside. ^_^
Everyone speaks in multiple languages...But gag talk is universal and a sock in your mouth is the perfect translator!

Re: Slaveworld - An Illustrated Story of a Boy Slave

Postby Jason Toddman » Sun Sep 01, 2013 2:15 pm

NemesisPrime wrote:Very interesting concept!

I'm kinda iffy on the whole idea of slavery being acceptable in society but for the sake of the story I'll put it aside. ^_^

It's a quid pro quo kind of thing, where slaves have a right to expect their masters to support them. But of course the fact that no one ever loses their youthful looks to become ugly, hairy hobos probably makes this whole arrangement a lot more workable than it would be here.
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

Re: Slaveworld - An Illustrated Story of a Boy Slave

Postby NemesisPrime » Sun Sep 01, 2013 2:27 pm

Jason Toddman wrote:
NemesisPrime wrote:Very interesting concept!

I'm kinda iffy on the whole idea of slavery being acceptable in society but for the sake of the story I'll put it aside. ^_^

It's a quid pro quo kind of thing, where slaves have a right to expect their masters to support them. But of course the fact that no one ever loses their youthful looks to become ugly, hairy hobos probably makes this whole arrangement a lot more workable than it would be here.

Good point. I'm more in the camp of a caring master that takes care of his slave and while he may punish him he still loves him and wants him to be happy serving him.
Everyone speaks in multiple languages...But gag talk is universal and a sock in your mouth is the perfect translator!

Re: Slaveworld - An Illustrated Story of a Boy Slave

Postby Jason Toddman » Sun Sep 01, 2013 2:53 pm

NemesisPrime wrote:I'm more in the camp of a caring master that takes care of his slave and while he may punish him he still loves him and wants him to be happy serving him.

There's that too, since I'm in that same camp!!! :)
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

Re: Slaveworld - An Illustrated Story of a Boy Slave

Postby Jason Toddman » Mon Sep 02, 2013 10:11 pm

CHAPTER ONE – SLAVES I KNEW IN CHILDHOOD

Long before I became a slave myself of course, I’d seen many others on television and in the movies too, and read about many others both real and fictional. I think my favorite TV show when I was growing was “The Adventures of Timmy and Laddie”, and I’ve read I don’t know how many Harley-Queen romances about slaves and their masters. But as I originally grew up in an upper-middle-class family in a well-to-do neighborhood, I’ve also known a fair number of slaves whom various other kids I knew – or rather their families owned or at least rented.

One of these families lived next door. When I was five years old, an older kid named Chris showed his slave off to me one day when my parents and I were visiting his. His slave had his own private steel-walled cell adjacent to Chris’s own bedroom. The cell was a good ten feet to a side, with a padded bench and sturdy shackles connected to the wall right beside it. His slave, a handsome slender black-haired youth named Slim, was inside at the moment. He was sitting bolt upright on his bench, wearing only the standard minimum speedos for slaves; and being held in place by arm and leg shackles. Slim was gagged, ear-muffed, and blindfolded with a leather mask… but despite his sensory deprivation I felt he was dimly aware we were nearby. I watched him through the cars of his locked cell door for a few moments admiring him – and admiring Chris for having him.
Slaveworld 007.jpg


“Is he being punished for something?” I asked Chris as I continued to watch Slim sitting there quietly and apparently without discomfort or noticeable signs of distress or complaint.

“He forgot to get me some chocolate milk when he went grocery shopping this morning,” Chris told me mildly. “Only a minor infraction, so he’ll only be like that for about six hours.”

“Aw, I was hoping to see him perform slave stuff,” I said almost with a pout. “My family doesn’t have any slaves of our own at the moment, and I’ve never seen any do any tricks.”

“Well, he’s been here for three hours now already, so we can let him out for a little while I suppose,” Chris told me; evidently eager to show off his slave/pet. “Besides, that’ll give him time to go back to the store and get the chocolate milk for me and some more for you.”

Chris took a key from his pocket, turned it in the lock of the cell door, and opened it. Chris entered the cell and walked over to the bench where Slim sat, with me following close behind. It was only then that I noticed that the cell was furnished with its own toilet, sink, and a small shower enclosure so that Slim could always keep himself clean – at least, when not being restricted as a punishment. The far corner had a small but reasonably comfortable-looking bed; it even had a pillow! There was also a well-stocked bookstand and a small TV. Obviously Slim was a well-pampered slave who could usually enjoy his free time when locked in his cell.

Chris walked up to the bound slave and began to pet him on the head; rubbing his short curly hair like I would pet my dog. Slim responded in much the same way as my dog would at my own touch; rubbing his head against Chris’s hand in evident enjoyment and making small noises of pleasure rather than distress. His whole body quivered with evident happiness; if he had a tail like a dog he’d have been wagging it vigorously.

Chris removed the blindfold and ear-muffs. “We have company, Slim,” Chris told his slave. “So you’ll be on your best behavior, all right?”

Slim glanced at me and then looked adoringly back into the eyes of his master; nodding his head up and down as happily as a free child receiving presents.

Chris used another key to free Slim from the bonds attaching him to the wall but leaving his gag on. He removed the handcuffs and ankle-cuffs for the moment however, handed him a set of shorts, and bid him put them on. 'Can't have him go shopping in just Speedos," Chis explained to me.

Once Slim had put on the shorts over his Speedos, he put the handcuffs (locked in front of him) and ankle-cuffs back on when Chris bid him to. All this time he'd remained seated, as there was also a leash tethering a sturdy padlocked-on leather collar around Slim’s neck to the wall. Chris detached the leash from the wall but kept the other end attached to the collar; instead clicking on a second, longer leash that had been hanging from a peg on the wall to give Slim about eight feet of leash space. Through it all Slim remained seated quietly; as he was a well-trained slave he would not stand up nor move until Chris told him to.

“Up!” Chris told him as he held his leash loosely in one hand.

Slim immediately stood up and attentively awaited further instructions.

Chris gave the free end of the collar to me. “Want to take him for a walk?” Chris asked me.

“You bet!” I replied and began tugging eagerly on the leash to get Slim to heel. Slim didn’t move, but simply looked at his master Chris with a questioning look in his eyes. I was somewhat disappointed. I was too young then to realize that slaves are supposed to obey *only* their masters; that in fact it’s a crime to order about someone else’s slave without the owner’s express permission.

“Slim, heel to Robbie,” Chris told his slave, and pointing to me to indicate who Robbie was – as if there were any doubt.

Slim immediately stepped over to my side and just behind me as bidden. Until Chris gave him a countermanding order, Slim would continue to follow me as if he were my own – moving as I moved and stopping where I stopped. He would of course have followed none of my own instructions otherwise though unless Chris bid him to do so first. Slim was, indeed, a well-trained slave.

The three of us exited the slave’s small cell, crossed Chris’s bedroom to the outer hall, and went outside into Chris’s backyard.
Slaveworld 011.jpg


Slim was about as big as Chris and I combined, but he obeyed us as meekly as a small child. Chris removed his slave's gag and had Slim fetch a ball in his mouth and return it to us going on all fours, roll over to play dead, beg for tasty tidbits like M&Ms, and give me a ride on his shoulders - walking around the backyard for a few laps.
Slaveworld 012.jpg


Afterward Chris play-wrestled with him with the restraints removed while I watched. It was like me wrestling with my dog. Although Slim was big and strong enough to have easily subdued Chris, he only resisted enough to give Chris a good workout – as he knew would be wanted of him. Whenever he finally gave in, Chris would playfully roll him on his back and bully-pin him, and then rub his trim body as I’d rub my dog’s fur and tickle him in the ribs. Slim evidently loved that just as much as my dog did, and would even look appealingly at Chris for more of the same after Chris stopped; again just as my dog would. Oh, and when Chris tousled his hair or scratched him behind the ears; his expression was one of pure bliss!

After a little more play, Chris bade Slim to go to the nearby grocery store and purchase some chocolate milk and some candy vars for us. Slim would not need money of course; the electronic scanners would simply read the purchase codes invisibly tattooed on his hand as Chris's lawfully registered slave and debit Chris's own financial account for the amount. Slim could be trusted not to purchase anything for himself without permission, since of course he'd be severely punished if he did so; it would be impossible to conceal it from Chris's knowledge once he checked his accounts log. but I think such an idea would have never even occurred to Slim; he was simply too devoted to Chris as well as too well-trained.

Slim ran off (for all the world like a dog playing 'fetch'). Chris and i idly talked as we waited for him. Slim soon returned at a run with the bag containing the purchased items and knelt in front of his master again. "Good boy," Chris said to him as he took the bag and rubbed Slim's shoulders while I patted him on the back. Slim was very happy that he'd pleased his master; especially when he was given a little chocolate milk for himself. Afterward Chris gagged him and tethered to a tree to take a nap on the lawn in the shade while we went for a swim in the nearby pool.

It was evident that Chris loved his slave very much; and that the love was returned with interest.

I looked at Slim again and felt stirrings of envy. Not for Chris for having such power over a slave, but for Slim – for being the slave of a boy like Chris. I knew of course that Chris enjoyed having power over his slave, but also that he’d never really abuse it. He never beat Slim, nor worked him hard or failed to feed him properly or keep him clean, or meet his other needs. Of course it’s a crime to mistreat a slave (just as it to mistreat a pet only much more so) so that he or she becomes sick or injured. Owners who mistreat or neglect their slaves have their slaves taken away from them (which are hopefully given to kinder masters) and barred from owning slaves for life. But looking at Chris and Slim, I knew that Chris would sooner die than harm his slave or let anything bad happen to him; just as I would concerning my dog.

But slaves are so much better than dogs. Oh, maybe they’re not always quite as cute or cuddly as a furry animal or quite as exuberant in their affection (though I *have* known slaves who’ll lick their master’s face like any dog if at all encouraged to do so). But slaves live as long as their masters (instead of the piddling few of any animal pet), can be talked to, can talk back when desired so you can always know how they’re feeling or to give you moral support when you’re sad, are as smart as anyone else (if not always as well educated or skilled of course), and can do things no pet could possibly do (like clean your room, do your chores, or shop for groceries). And a good slave, if decently treated, provides just as much love as any dog.

Not all slaves are contented with their lot, off course. Some, usually those with bad masters or too strong an independent streak, escape from their masters and live out in the wild. Such ‘wild ones’ as they’re called are about the only sources of such crimes (theft, vandalism, and so on) that occur on my world. Sometimes there are expeditions to hunt down and capture wild ones and re-train them to fit back into a proper place in slave society. Usually it works; especially as wild ones usually find their existence to be an unpleasant one and often give themselves up after a while. Wild ones are actually pretty rare, and I’ve never even seen one until recently; but they appear here and there. They’re tantamount to a rabid animal in our society, but are treated far more kindly – as anyone with a curable mental condition would be (at least on *my* world). And of course, once they’ve been taken to a hospital and had a session with the psych helmets, they become as docile and placid as any well-contented slave *should* be.

I think it was right about then, watching Chris play-wrestle with his slave, that I decided that I wanted to be a slave myself when I grew up… well, grow up as much as anyone in my world ever does of course. We stop aging the same rate you do at about the age of twelve or so (or when we’re sexually mature, anyway), and from then on only age about as much in one year as you would in fifteen. So anyone who looks like a 15-year-old in your world is probably actually about 50, and someone who looks 18 is more likely to be 100. Three people who looked like siblings a couple of years apart on your world would more likely be child, parent, and grandparent (or even great-grandparent or great-great-grandparent) on ours.

Anyway, as I was saying, I decided I wanted to be a slave when I grew up. But I didn’t tell Chris or anyone else this. For a child to declare his/her desire to be a slave was considered somewhat abnormal at the time; much as someone preferring intimate relations with someone of their own gender used to be on yours (another aspect of *your* world’s society that seems utterly incomprehensible to me, but no matter). Even as a small child I knew this desire to be unusual and frowned upon, so I kept it to myself. But I knew that becoming a slave was the easiest ambition in the world to fulfill; all I needed to do was become indigent when I was 18 or enroll in slave school in place of high school when I was 12 (it is, of course, illegal to enslave a child under the age of 12).

And so I was content to keep my desires to eventually be a slave a secret.

Not all slaves are treated the same of course; their treatment can vary depending on the owner. Another boy I knew named Jack also lived in my neighborhood, and he was given a slave for his twelfth birthday. Jack loved his slave Blacky (so named for his black hair) as much as Chris did Slim, but he treated his slave in a somewhat different way.

Jack liked to keep his slave tied up more often than not when Blacky was not doing chores or being exercised to stay in shape. This wasn’t too unusual; even when a slave isn’t being punished for some infraction many are often kept in a cage, tethered, hobbled, or otherwise restrained in some way. But Jack did this much more often and more stringently than most; keeping his slave tied up so securely that poor Blacky often couldn’t move at all. Moreover, to further assert his domination over his slave, Jack would sit on top of his slave as if he were a chair – often for hours at a time while watching television, reading a book, and whatever else a kid does when relaxing in his favorite chair – even using Blacky’s face for a stool for his bare feet.
Slaveworld 008.jpg


But, like a good slave, Blacky never complained. In fact, I am quite sure that he enjoyed the attention so much that he felt sad when his master wasn’t around; just like a pet dog would.

Jack once invited me over to his house when I was seven. He had Blacky tied up securely to his bed, and let me use his slave as furniture while he went out of the house to visit other friends his age. It was really a rush to have this bound and helpless slave boy twice my size squirm underneath me and lick the soles of my feet while I sat with my entire body weight (such as it was) on his bare belly. But much as I enjoyed having a slave under my control, I realized suddenly that I’d much rather be in Blacky’s place – eager to be a comfortable seat for my master and lick his feet, or do whatever else was required of me.


Not all boys who had slaves were able to give them such luxurious accommodations that Slim had. Whereas Slim had his own cell almost the size of a regular bedroom, Blacky only had a closet to live in when his master didn’t require his services. I once saw him in there when jack was showing him off to some of his friends. Blacky was secured to the back wall of his closet as if he were a prisoner inside a medieval dungeon, and I gathered this was his usual state except during bedtimes. A sleeping bag on the floor served as his bed. The closet door was a thick, sturdy one and was often closed and locked when Blacky was inside it; with his ankle securely tethered to a post inside the closet. And yet Blacky seemed about as happy with these Spartan living conditions as Slim was with his luxurious cell.
Slaveworld 009.jpg


But even that pretty luxurious compared to some I’d seen even before I became a slave myself. For example, another boy named Gary kept his slave, Blue Eyes, inside a small cage out in his yard; at least during the summer.
Slaveworld 013.jpg


And still another boy named Phil often kept his slave Fido hanging by his wrists or his ankles from a sturdy rafter set into the reinforced ceiling of his bedroom. Of course, he used regulation slave suspension restraints, so being suspended like that for hours at a time didn’t hurt him at all. It sure didn’t look very comfortable either… but Phil never seemed to mind.
Slaveworld 010.jpg


I sometimes watched as some of the neighborhood boys walked their slaves out in the park for exercise; after all, no one wants a flabby, out-of-shape slave. Occasionally one of them would let me or one of the other younger kids ride on his slave’s shoulders like they were horses. It was fun for us younger kids, and the slaves seemed to enjoy the attention as well.
Slaveworld 014.jpg


I envied each slave I saw more and more as time went by. I could hardly wait to be a slave too!
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

Re: Slaveworld - An Illustrated Story of a Boy Slave

Postby kkoomm » Tue Sep 03, 2013 4:23 am

Hi Jason

Im just loving this.
You capture childish innocence and the budding interest in domination and submission so well.
What a great world to live in!

k

Re: Slaveworld - An Illustrated Story of a Boy Slave

Postby xtc » Tue Sep 03, 2013 6:14 am

I think it's unfair that you are just seeing if we're paying attention!
I've pm'd you.

I presume this is way of using up a lot of your past catalogue. If so, I'm glad you have the platform to share once more.
Boxer shorts are cool,
but little speedos rule!

More by the same author: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=22729

Re: Slaveworld - An Illustrated Story of a Boy Slave

Postby Jason Toddman » Tue Sep 03, 2013 6:53 am

More like I'd rushed a but too much to get it done before I went to bed last night and forgot to include certain details. I've re-written the text (rather than redrawn the pictures) to account for the errors you so kindly pointed out in private this time. :D I left out some lines where slim actually goes shopping like Chris had mentioned he was going to do anyway, so i inserted some new text in there. Nothing critical though.
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

Re: Slaveworld - An Illustrated Story of a Boy Slave

Postby Jason Toddman » Tue Sep 03, 2013 6:56 am

kkoomm wrote:Hi Jason

Im just loving this.
You capture childish innocence and the budding interest in domination and submission so well.
What a great world to live in!

k

Glad you like it.
Giot your latest chapter you PMed to me. I'll read it (with great interest i assure you) and send back the proofread copy ASAP.
Gotta have a late breakfast first though! :D
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

Re: Slaveworld - An Illustrated Story of a Boy Slave

Postby Ossassin » Sat Sep 07, 2013 2:14 am

This is really cool, your pictures are a nice touch
Roses are Red
Violets are Blue
Give me a minute
I'll duct tape you

Re: Slaveworld - An Illustrated Story of a Boy Slave

Postby Equinox » Mon Sep 09, 2013 1:28 pm

Will more be posted soon?

Re: Slaveworld - An Illustrated Story of a Boy Slave

Postby Jason Toddman » Tue Sep 10, 2013 2:51 pm

Mirae wrote:The boy in the first picture looks really underfed! Hope he's okay. xD

Some slaves are kind of skinny there, yes; but all are healthily and naturally bred to be. In fact, long-term starving of slaves leading to malnorishment and health problems is a serious criminal offense.

Ossassin wrote:This is really cool, your pictures are a nice touch

Thank you. Glad you like them. I hope you don't mind that the text of this chapter is rather short but there are plenty of pictures.

Equinox wrote:Will more be posted soon?

Yep.Right now. I'll also soon be posting chapters of a concurrent story about Slaveworld about a boy from our world who winds up there; and isn't as happy about being there as some of us would be.

CHAPTER TWO – THE ORPHANAGE

I was ten when my family died in a fire that destroyed our entire house. I survived because I was not home at the time. Instead, I was playing master and slave with some of the local kids in my neighborhood. Master and slave is much like your world’s game of Cops and Robbers, but the slave is not only captured and tied up but must obey his masters or be punished. Naturally, the younger, weaker kids playing the game are usually the ones who are slaves, and I was the youngest and smallest boy in the neighborhood. So naturally I was always the slave when we played; which suited me just fine.
Slaveworld 015.jpg

When the authorities started looking for me, I was tied hand and foot, gagged, wearing the standard minimal slave-gear, and hanging upside-down in another kid’s garage while the others were gleefully taking pictures of me and the others standing around me. One searcher found me like that and the others had to take me down. I thought they’d get into trouble for tying me up, since it’s illegal for anyone to be a slave before they turn twelve, but fortunately the police knew a mere kid’s game when they saw one and simply let it go. Besides, they had a far grimmer task; informing me that I was an orphan – and a destitute one at that.

Having no family, no resources, and being under the age of enslavement I was sent to the State Orphanage, where I could hopefully be adopted by a kind couple or family before I turned twelve. If I were adopted by my twelfth birthday, I’d be taken to slave school to receive training in being a slave and then sold.

I asked to be immediately taken to slave school, as I wanted to be a slave anyway. But rules were rules; I’d have to turn twelve first. And so to the orphanage I went.
Slaveworld 020.jpg

It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I expected conditions to be like those described in such books in your world like Oliver Twist, but they weren’t. The quarters were cleaner and more spacious than I’d thought, the food was much better, our caretakers kinder, and my fellow orphans much friendlier than I had imagined. In fact, they also enjoyed playing Master and Slave there, and I was tied up and made to act as a slave virtually every night I was there.
Slaveworld 016.jpg

Occasionally one or another of my former playmates would call me on the phone, and I’d have a chat with them; usually I’d be tied up at the time while one of my current playmates/pretend-masters held to phone to my mouth and ear so that I could talk (since I couldn’t hold the phone while I was tied up, of course).
Slaveworld 024.jpg

I also spent a lot of time locked up inside one cage or another, which the orphanage was well-stocked with. It had all sorts of fun recreational equipment like that, as well as roomy lockers and chests, a recreational dungeon complete with racks, wall shackles, more cages… all sort of thing. There as always an attendant on duty – sort of like a lifeguard at a swimming pool or a lake – who always saw to it that none of us kids really harmed one another. As long as all was done in good fun and commonsense safety procedures were seen to, the attendant didn’t interfere and sometimes would often offer suggestions as well.
Slaveworld 019.jpg

It wasn’t too much like slave school of course, but it was well-known that many of us orphans would wind up in one eventually rather than be adopted; so there was no reason why we shouldn’t eventually be prepared for the possibility before it actually happened. And I personally was eager to prepare just as much as the attendants and my fellow orphans would let me.

Some were quite eager to do just this.
Slaveworld 018.jpg


And so oftentimes I would just be hanging around during recreational periods, or even during mealtimes when everyone else was in the cafeteria, and later would be fed scraps some of the others saved for me and fed me by hand as I remained suspended from the ceiling.

And there were many nights when I slept inside a small cage rather than (tied) in a bed. But it was fun and good practice for my eventual goal to spend life as a slave.
Slaveworld 017.jpg

But alas, long before I could achieve my goal of going to slave school, I was adopted!

John and Sylvia Myers were a nice couple, and as they were unable to have children of their own they wanted to adopt a child who would eventually inherit their estate. They were also a rich couple with a fairly large mansion on twenty acres of land and a household staff comprising over a dozen slaves.

I didn’t want to OWN slaves; I wanted to BE a slave!!!

I tried to tell them that, but they wouldn’t listen. The adoption proceedings were initiated, and I went home with the Myers on a trial basis.

They sure had plenty of slaves. Some of them were there for mere decoration. One of them for example spent all his time as a planter; hanging upside down by his feet and holding onto two flower pots that were chained to his wrists. I’m sure he must have been let down from there every so often to rest, eat, go to the bathroom and such; but every time I passed his station there he was – hanging there contentedly and as quietly as any chandelier.
Slaveworld 021.jpg

But I couldn’t endure being treated like a master; I wanted to be a slave.

And so I commanded some of the slaves to hang me up by my wrists one day and whip me without mercy; when one slave got too tired to keep whipping me another would take over for me.
Slaveworld 022.jpg

My adoptive parents caught us at it and weren’t pleased; no adoptive child of theirs would act like a mere slave – and especially not as a slave of other slaves. The slaves who whipped me weren’t punished of course since they’d only been following orders, but the Myers took me back to the orphanage and cancelled my adoption.

Once again I got to hang around the orphanage with all my friends; eagerly awaiting the day when I turned twelve and could be carted off to slave school.
Slaveworld 023.jpg


I was so happy!

tbc
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

Re: Slaveworld - An Illustrated Story of a Boy Slave

Postby kkoomm » Tue Sep 10, 2013 4:05 pm

Such a happy boy indeed :)
You cant change a persons nature I guess!
Thanks so much for the continuation and the great illustrations

k

Re: Slaveworld - An Illustrated Story of a Boy Slave

Postby theonerope » Tue Oct 01, 2013 3:21 pm

Great Story!

Re: Slaveworld - An Illustrated Story of a Boy Slave

Postby Zandor » Thu Oct 03, 2013 2:31 pm

More please.
You are q immortal

Re: Slaveworld - An Illustrated Story of a Boy Slave

Postby Jason Toddman » Fri Oct 04, 2013 10:37 pm

Thanks for the feedback, everyone. sorry it took so long to get back to this, but various distractions in real life keep me from it until now.

CHAPTER THREE – ARRIVAL AT SLAVE SCHOOL

My twelfth birthday party was a very special one for me, as I knew it would be my last full day at the orphanage. The next day, the slave trainers would come to take me away to Slave Training School. I was really looking forward to that!

The staff at the school even threw a party for me; just as if I’ve been adopted by a family rather than going to Slave School. They knew that being a slave was what I had really wanted all along anyway, and as I had many friends among the staff as well as among the other orphans they threw a party to congratulate me.

Since I was going to be a slave, they gave me a present. They dressed me in the minimal Speedo of a slave, chained me up just like a slave, and then treated me much like a furniture slave (the kind I most wanted to be) would be; except they talked with me and wished me Happy Birthday. Everyone that came to the party spent some time sitting on me as they wished me a Happy Birthday; there were so many of them that the party lasted all day – with me kept chained up the entire time. I was so happy, and everyone said that I would probably make the best piece of furniture anyone ever owned once I was properly trained and licensed as a full-fledged slave.
Slaveworld 025.jpg


The next day; the handlers from the slave school arrived to take me away. The first thing they did was to unchain me from my bed; only to chain me back up of course. The fact that I was perfectly willing to go with them made no difference; it was standard procedure for new slaves-in-training. A slave boy had to have it drilled into them that their circumstances in life had greatly altered. The first lesson was that they had to be chained up so that they could not move, taken away on a carrying pole, and placed inside a small cage their first night as if they were a dangerous animal.
Slaveworld 026.jpg


Well, I wanted to be a slave anyway and had studied about it for years. So I had long since known to expect this, so of course I didn’t put up a fight. Quite the contrary; I started chatting my handlers up the very moment they started to get me ready for transport. Of course, the handlers had encountered docile slaves before, but I was told that my eagerness for what awaited me was highly unusual. At first they thought that I must be mentally deficient, but they soon realized that I simply had a cheerful attitude. They even expressed some regret when they placed the obligatory ball gag into my mouth to quiet me, but they had to do what they had to do. They treated me very nicely though; just like a kindly vet would treat a friendly puppy even though it had to be muzzled.
Slaveworld 027.jpg


Once I was properly secured in a hogtie with leather-padded handcuffs and leg manacles, my handlers eased me into a carrying pole, and lugged me away like a pair of hunters with a deer they had shot. Of course, I was still alive and perfectly conscious. I was as happy as I’d ever been, even though being carried that way for several hundred feet along the orphanage grounds to where their van was parked was somewhat uncomfortable. I looked this way and that eagerly as if I was seeing the place for the first time rather than the last.

A crowd of my fellow orphans had come to see me off, and they all waved and said their good-byes to me. I couldn’t of course wave back or even say goodbye back, but they all seemed to understand. They cheered me and wished me luck as my handlers took me to their van and gently slid me into the cage I would be riding in all the way to Slave School.

The back of the van was large, and had several other cages inside of it. One of the other cages was already occupied by a brown-haired boy somewhat older and larger than I was. Unlike me, his hands were cuffed in front of him, he wore no gag, and he got to sit on a stool rather than on the floor of the cage like I had to do with mine. He seemed a bit scared to see me as if he thought I would somehow be able to hurt him, but calmed down when he realized I was not only no danger to him but wanted to make friends.
Slaveworld 028.jpg


I tried to talk to him as the handlers closed the van door on us both, got into the cab, and drove away with us. However, I still had my gag on and couldn’t make myself understood. But seeing that I was docile, the other boy began a friendly monologue. He told me he name was Gary, and explained that he was himself a slave in training, but one with some experience rather than a beginner like me. He was along to help the handlers with any routine tasks that might come up during the trip; such as calming down unruly new captures, fueling up the gas tank, carrying equipment and supplies, and so on. He was training to be a mechanic’s assistant-slave when he graduated. He was new at this particular job however; hence his initial shyness. Some new slaves tended to be too angry and violent to make good company, but he and I hit it off at once.

Our handlers picked up three more candidates for the Slave Training School along the way. All three were older than me. One was newly orphaned (but, unlike me, already of slave training age when it happened) from an indigent family with no resources and no relatives to take him in as their own. He took his fate calmly enough; if less enthusiastically than I did. He was gagged like me and couldn’t tell me his name at the time, but later I learned his name was James.
Slaveworld 029.jpg


The other two though were punks who had been caught in the robbery of a store and had been sentenced to slavery. These two were *not* at all happy to be chained up and tossed into cages, and they had vowed (before being gagged of course) to kill anyone who dared to try to make slaves out them! But, of course, candidates like these would be subjected to rehabilitation therapy first; once the psycho-helmets and hormone readjustments were completed, they would be as docile as any slave you could wish for… even if still not as eager about it as I was.
Slaveworld 032.jpg


But in the meantime poor Gary was having an awful talking them down; the more he tried to soothe them the angrier they seemed to get. Eventually he must have given up and did something to signal the handlers, because finally they pulled over, opened the rear door, climbed in, and injected them both with some kind of knockout drug. They were soon sound asleep, and the rest of us slaves were given a short break where out gags were removed and we were given some water and a little food. The rest of the ride to the school was much less unpleasant after that.

After about an hour after we picked up the two unruly punks (during which time being cooped up inside that small cage got very uncomfortable), we arrived at the Slave Training School. The punks were left inside their cages while the handlers removed the rest of us from ours; unlike those two we required no rehabilitation to make us more placid prior to initial training. Gary was left outside to guard the van while James and I were walked (rather than carried on poles) into a building marked Slave Registration; still hobbled, cuffed and gagged.

It was only a short walk to that building, but along the way I could see a lot of the wide-open campus that the Slave School was a part of. Everywhere I looked I could see slave students being trained to obey orders, or being punished for either disobedience or carrying an order out sloppily or too slowly. I saw several chain gangs at work on various chores, such as painting houses, yard-work, gardening, and so on.
Slaveworld 030.jpg


I also saw a slave being punished for a breach of discipline. He had had an argument with another slave and punched him. Striking a fellow slave was far less serious than striking a free person or one’s own master, but it was still a serious offense that called for immediate punishment. His sentence was to be suspended upside down and receive twenty lashes; not with a mere riding crop but with a real whip. Worse of all, he had to take it from the same slave he had struck! I’ll bet that taught him to control his temper!
Slaveworld 031.jpg


I looked all around as much as I could as we walked; eager to see everything I could. But soon we had reached the building and of course I had to go promptly inside; I imagine slave handlers don’t like being kept waiting by their charges and I didn’t want a reprimand before I was even enrolled in the school!

Enrollment was simplicity itself, as I didn’t have to say or do anything; the handlers did all the work answering the registrar’s questions about me while I simply remained quietly and patiently inside the slaves' waiting area. It was a long wait, but the furnishings were reasonably comfortable and I had nowhere else to go anyway of course.
Slaveworld 033.jpg


But finally the enrollment was finished and I was taken straight away to meet the Headmaster of my new school.

tbc
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

Re: Slaveworld - An Illustrated Story of a Boy Slave

Postby Zandor » Fri Oct 04, 2013 10:46 pm

Loved it, I want more if you will, whenever you can!
You are q immortal

Re: Slaveworld - An Illustrated Story of a Boy Slave

Postby Jason Toddman » Fri Oct 04, 2013 11:08 pm

Zandor wrote:Loved it, I want more if you will, whenever you can!

Boy, it didn't take you long to spot the latest chapter, did it? You posted less than ten minutes after I did!
Anyway, I'll try to post new chapters more often than I did between this one and the one before; always intended to do at least one per week but something always keeps getting in the way.
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

Re: Slaveworld - An Illustrated Story of a Boy Slave

Postby kkoomm » Sat Oct 05, 2013 7:42 am

Thank you ever so much for the latest chapter!
I gotta it gives me all sorts of ideas for my story :quirk:
Im really enjoying the little universe that you created here :)

Re: Slaveworld - An Illustrated Story of a Boy Slave

Postby Jason Toddman » Tue Nov 26, 2013 1:42 pm

CHAPTER FOUR: A SLAVE-IN-TRAINING

The escort brought me before the Headmaster’s desk. I knew immediately what would be expected of me, and even before I was commanded to do so I knelt down the moment I arrived and bowed my head and upper body in submission. This seemed to surprise both my escort and the Headmaster, who apparently usually had to command new slaves-in-training to do such a basic, elementary thing as this first. But I’d already been studying to be a slave for years by then and wanted to make a good first impression.

I succeeded, judging by the Headmaster’s reaction. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” he stated mildly. “I don’t often see trainees show the proper respect right on their arrival.”

I made no visible reaction and said nothing; just as I knew I was supposed to do.

“Did you coach him?” the Headmaster asked my escort.

“Certainly not, sir!” my escort replied proudly, as if denying a breach of regulations – which in fact he was. He said nothing more, nor did he need to. The headmaster evidently took him at his word, and – from what I gather – looked me over carefully.

“I think I’d like to spend a few moments with this one,” the Headmaster said to my escort. “In fact, I’ll tend to his processing personally. You may go.”

I remained quiet and unmoving as the escort left; again, I knew that was what was expected.
Slaveworld 034.jpg


There was dead silence for a few moments, and I began to get nervous. But I wasn’t fooled. The Headmaster was waiting to see if I would break the proper slave protocol and look up at him, fidget, make a noise, or otherwise react to an outwardly uncomfortable situation. I’m not stupid though; I couldn’t be tricked that easily into a mistake. I’d kneel there with my head bowed all day if I had to; patience is a virtue, and that goes especially for slaves and slave-trainees.

“Look up at me,” the Headmaster told me.

I did so, but of course remained on my knees since I hadn’t been told to rise.

“How old are you?” the Headmaster asked me. Not as silly a question on my world as it might be on yours, since a person my age can pass for anywhere from 10 to his mid-30’s because of the way we age – or, rather, don’t age - once we hit puberty.

“Twelve as of today, master,” I replied quickly, quietly, truthfully, and with the proper respect for someone I knew to be infinitely my superior.

“Have you been a slave before today?” he asked me mildly.

“No, master,” I replied promptly. “At least, not officially.”

“And unofficially…?” the head master prompted me.

“Uhhh…” I mentally flailed around for the proper answer. “I practiced being a slave with anyone who would let me, master.” I finally said.

“Why?” the Headmaster asked me tersely but evidently not without approval.

A host of possible answers flew through my mind, but it was easy to decide which one sounded the best. “Because I want to be a good slave,” I answered simply.

The Headmaster paused; perhaps expecting me to elaborate. But I knew that no one likes a slave who talks too much; if he wanted more details, he would ask for them. Otherwise, he would not.

The Headmaster arose from his chair and walked around his huge desk to stand beside me. I did not move; after all, I hadn’t been told to. It was too difficult to keep looking toward him as he shifted position, so I decided the best action to take was to look back down at the floor in front of me again without turning at all. If I was mistaken, he would tell me so.

But the Headmaster said nothing; indicating I had made the proper choice. He simply stood beside me for a moment; evidently looking me over. Then he must have activated his intercom, because he suddenly asked for someone named Overseer Michael to come into his office, and to bring the usual trainee gear.

The headmaster spoke no further to me, so I remained quiet and as motionless as a statue for the next few minutes; not moving even when there was a knock on the door and the headmaster bid whoever it was to enter. The door opened, I heard someone walk in, close the door, and leisurely walk over to stand beside me. I could hear the jingling of numerous keys on a ring, but not the usual clinking of chain restraints rattling together as I would have expected.

“Michael, I want you to prepare this new slave for Class-3,” the headmaster promptly told the newcomer before the other could say a word, “and I want you to train him personally.”

“Class-3, sir?” Michael asked with evident surprise. “That’s unusual for a new trainee, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ve started a slave that high before. I can’t even think of the last time I started one at Class-2; let alone Class-3!”

“This one seems to be an usually advanced newbie,” the Headmaster told him frankly. “He hasn’t made a single one of the usual mistakes a first-day trainee makes starting here. I think we can skip the basic starting sessions with this one and begin more advanced training. But try him out and see what you think. I want you to devote the rest of the day to showing him the ropes.”

I was certain that this was not simply a figure of speech.

“Very good, sir,” Michael replied respectfully. “I’ll have him tagged and registered at the office immediately.” He then bent down over me and placed a new leather slave collar around my neck; locking it on with a small padlock. He then connected a rope leash to my collar and stood up. Throughout it all I didn’t budge nor make a sound. I remained motionless; I hadn’t been told to do otherwise.

Michael made a slight upward tug on my leash. “Up!” he said to me quietly.

I immediately stood up as quickly as I could; considering that my feet were still hobbled and my wrists cuffed behind me. Michael did not offer to help me, nor did I expect him to; I managed to get on my feet on my own almost as quickly as a boy my age who was not fettered at all. I faced my body toward Michael, but kept my head bowed and my gaze on the floor and on my feet rather than look upward at him.

“Heel,” Michael told me next; this time with no tug on the leash. It was not needed. As he turned and began to walk out, I immediately followed behind him; remaining two steps behind him and to the side that held my leash in hand. No one said a word to me as we left the headmaster’s office; just as no one would have talked to me had I been a dog.

Once we were outside, I sneaked a quick look at Michael. Slaves are typically allowed to look around when they are walked; provided only that they look at no free person in the eyes. So I was committing no breach of slave etiquette as I looked at the person who was, for all intents and purposes, my new master for the time being. He was tall (perhaps six foot one), and slender with well-developed muscle definition; weighing perhaps 160 pounds. He was evidently of mixed Asian ancestry; giving him an exotic and pleasing physical appearance. On your world he would have seemed to be about 16 or 17; which, on my world, meant he must have been about 75 to 80 and therefore middle-aged. My first impression was that he was a firm but fair disciplinarian. If so, I was very fortunate to have him as my initial trainer.
Slaveworld 038.jpg


I looked around at the school training grounds as he led me along and I took in all the sights. There was very much to see, and I wished I could have stopped to see more of it; but my master had places to go and things to do, and of course I had to follow him at his own pace. Even so, I managed to glimpse quite a few interesting aspects of slave-school life as we went along.

I remember in particular seeing a slave bound to a tree; his back facing outward while three boys – trainers in training – beat him mercilessly with towel slaves. A fourth, older boy was casually instructing them in how to punish a slave by inflicting pain *without* damaging him in any severe or permanent way. And indeed, although the slave was in obvious distress, none of the numerous blows he received inflicted more than reddish bruises that looked very painful but nevertheless would heal quickly. He was undoubtedly being disciplined for some infraction, as slaves are generally never beaten by even the harshest masters – let alone by professional slave trainers – without cause. I had no doubt he’d never again repeat whatever offense had gotten him into this predicament.
Slaveworld 042.jpg


The route Michal and I followed was apparently along a regularly-used exercise path, because I saw slaves being walked and/or ridden everywhere. Most of the slaves were male, as female slaves usually had different kinds of training. however, there were a number of females present as well; most considerably older than me, and therefore appearing to be in their mid-teens by your standards. One athletic-looking female was being led along by one boy while another boy at least as heavy as she was rode on her shoulders. This must have been quite a burden for her, but she showed few signs of strain and none of complaint (unless these were hidden by her gag). As, of course, would be expected of a good riding slave.
Slaveworld 037.jpg


Michael abruptly stopped and turned to look at me. Someone my age who had studied slavery less extensively than me might have been caught by surprise and run right into him. Luckily for me I was looking more or less in his direction when he stopped and I was able to react quickly enough to avoid such a horrible blunder. Instead, I immediately stopped at the right distance and stood at attention; head bowed inn submission as protocol demanded.

“So, what is your name?” Michael asked me suddenly; if he’d noticed my near faux pas he chose not to mention it; which was a good sign. He’d correct real mistakes, but wouldn’t chastise me for imaginary ones.

“My name is whatever my master chooses,” I answered glibly.

“What is the name you were born with?” Michael clarified patiently.

“Robert Newman, master,” I answered at once.

“Very well, Robert,” Michael replied. “I prefer to use the names slaves are already accustomed to when I start out. It removes unnecessary distractions. I’ll assign you a new name later if it suits me, but for the time being you’ll answer to Robert.”

“Yes, master,” I replied when he paused.

“So Robert; what kind of slave do you wish to be?” Michael asked me.

“Whatever kind my master wishes,” I answered immediately.

Michael sighed patiently. “Robert, look at me,” he told me kindly. I did so of course; getting a good look at his face for the first time. It was a firm, handsome and kindly face; lit with a smile that a slave always desires to see directed at him by his master.


“This isn’t a test to see if you know basic protocol;” Michael explained to me. “I can already see that you do. So does the Headmaster; that’s why you’re skipping three months of basic training and starting as a Class-3. I’m not trying to trick or trap you into a mistake; at least, not at the moment. I just want to know what you feel your role is a slave is. We don’t just arbitrarily assign slaves to certain tasks without finding out what they’re most suited for first; that would be a waste of human resources. The best slaves tend to be those who enjoy what they do. Cooks; mechanics; grounds-keepers; janitors; assistants to the disabled; companions; the list goes on and on. Now then, answer me as honestly as you can… what you think you’d be best at? What ways to serve a new master would make you happiest, and the best slave you can possibly be?

Well, I had to admit I had never given that much thought. I had never realized before that slaves even had the freedom to make personal choices like that. I thought a slave simply did whatever his master told him to do! And so I was thoroughly stumped to give Michael an answer to his question. I bowed my head again; this time in shame and embarrassment rather than merely to show my current master the respect he was due.

“I – I don’t know, master,” I replied honestly. “I – I was thinking mainly as a house-pet and playmate, I suppose. At least, that’s what most of the slaves I’ve known personally were. Or maybe as one of those who are used as furniture or decoration.”

“Really?” Michael replied neutrally; not judging me personally but only my answer. “Well, you seem like you might be suitable for such. But such slaves often face severe restrictions on their freedoms; more so than most. They must be very patient, and willing to endure treatment that borders on abuse without complaint. Do you think that you can do that?”

“Yes, master,” I replied without hesitation.
Slaveworld 043.jpg


Michael looked at me without expression for a few moments. Then, without a word, he turned and resumed walking. He had not told me to heel this time, but I assumed (correctly) that the previous command to do so was still in effect (since there had been no countermanding order) and so I immediately resumed following him at the same pace and distance as before. I made no attempt to renew the conversation of course; it was not my place to do so.

We came to a building with a sigh that read “Tags and registration” on it and went inside. There I was fitted with a metal collar and tags that read “Slave Class-3: Robert”. Michael then led me to a fitting room where I was bid to remove the shorts I had worn here and put on a set of plain black briefs (with a red ‘3’ stitched on either side); the usual clothing for slaves-in-training.

I was then taken outside to a beginning of a rugged, rocky path through a small stretch of woods that was full of numerous obstacles such as half-buried tree roots, rocks, small bushes, numerous pieces of broken glass, and so on. It was the kind of path that was easy to walk along in broad daylight but which would have been hazardous to anyone walking along in the dark. It was here that Michael removed my new metal collar for the time being, tied the rope lead snugly but not tightly around my neck, and – after I had gotten a good, long look at the hazard-filled path -blindfolded me. I could not see a thing, and was still hobbled, barefoot, and cuffed as well.
Slaveworld 039.jpg


“Heel,” Michael told me suddenly, and began to lead me along the unseen path.

I realized at once that this was a test of trust. I was expected to trust my master to guide me safely along this hazardous path so that I would not trip, stumble, cut my feet, bump into anything, or otherwise come to harm. A true newbie slave would have hesitated or even balked at being led into such hazards. But I had every confidence in my new (if temporary) master and trainer by this time, and followed along at the pace he set as if I could see where I was going as well as he could. Even when he increased the pace to a slow jog, I kept up with him as well as my hobbles would allow. And my trust was fully justified; never once did he lead me to any spot where I could trip, stumble, cut my bare feet, or otherwise hurt myself unless I was careless, clumsy, or lose trust in him. Nor did he go any faster than my hobbles allowed me to go.
Slaveworld 036.jpg


“Excellent, Robert,” Michael said to me with a pleased voice as we returned to our starting point and he removed my blindfold. Then, somewhat to my surprise, he turned me around, unlocked the handcuffs from my wrists, and removed them; clipping them to his belt. “I think you can manage without these for a while.”
Slaveworld 035.jpg


Unsure of the proper response, I simply said, “Thank you, master.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he told me with a grin as he suddenly stepped behind a tree and pulled out a metal box (about one foot high, one foot thick, and about three feet long) that I had not noticed sitting in the tall grass there. It was attached to a chain that was in turn tethered to the tree, locked with a padlock, and marked: “Rope Cache Number 54”. Michael got down on one knee beside, took a belt from his belt, opened the padlock, and flipped open the box. Inside it was a generous supply of white rope.

“Stand against the tree facing me and then stand perfectly still,” Michael bid me. He said it kindly and conversationally, but it was nonetheless an order I dared not question.

I remained where I was bid to stand while Michael took the rope and tied me securely but not uncomfortably tightly to the tree. By the time he had finished, a good portion of my body was covered by the ropes that bound me to the tree. He then used my former blindfold to gag me.
Slaveworld 040.jpg


“You just stay here and guard this tree for a while,” Michael told me with a sardonic grin as he put the metal box back where he had found it. “Don’t let anyone steal it until I get back. Oh, and if anyone comes along to play with you, you have to let them do whatever they like without making ANY noise. You can squirm all you like, but no noise. No moans, no crying, no trying to talk, no sighing, no laughing even if you’re tickled… nothing! No sound from you until I return! Understand?”

I almost tried to say “Yes Master,” through my gag, realized just in time that this would be a direct conflict with my orders, and simply nodded my head in affirmation while keeping my gaze aimed downward as usual when spoken to.

“Good boy,” Michael said approvingly. “I’d have added two hours to the time I have planned to leave you here if you’d tried to talk. You may be the brightest beginner I’ve ever trained. Well, see you when I get back.”

And with a jaunty wave of his hand, Michael left me tied to the lonely tree out in the middle of the woods. I watched him go; making not a single sound… just as I’d been told.
Slaveworld 041.jpg
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

Re: Slaveworld - An Illustrated Story of a Boy Slave

Postby kkoomm » Thu Nov 28, 2013 12:02 pm

Hooray!!!

I have been looking forward to the next chapter :)
It takes a whole lot of work for those drawings too!
I cant wait to see what phase three entails, and what kind of slave Robert decides to become :mouthopen:
So much to look forward to...

k

Re: Slaveworld - An Illustrated Story of a Boy Slave

Postby Jason Toddman » Thu Nov 28, 2013 12:33 pm

kkoomm wrote:Hooray!!!

I have been looking forward to the next chapter :)
It takes a whole lot of work for those drawings too!
I cant wait to see what phase three entails, and what kind of slave Robert decides to become :mouthopen:
So much to look forward to...

k

Thank you. And speaking of looking forward to something, I'm still waiting with bated breath for the latest word about Steven and the Masterson Brothers!!! Makes me wish you were my slave just so i could... encourage... you :spank; to speed it up!! :D
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

Re: Slaveworld - An Illustrated Story of a Boy Slave

Postby tony2 » Sun Feb 23, 2014 11:26 pm

Cute play of story around pictures? Fun read in any case.
If you believe in yourself enough -
nobody else will figure out you're faking it.


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