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I Become A Slave Owner (Mark Andrews)

I Become A Slave Owner by Mark Andrews

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I knew I was different from my fellows from an early age. Our post-puberty talks always centred around a particular girl’s ‘hairy cunt’ while my thoughts centred on making them my slave. Of course I never aired these thoughts, aware, even at that young age that my fantasies were way out and as a result my succession of girlfriends were at best, lacklustre in my eyes.

Of course I persevered for not to do so would have labelled me as gay and I certainly wasn’t that way inclined, and so I breezed through private school and Bond University excelling both academically and at sports for which my body was well-suited.

But then the world changed. Criminal slavery replaced penal incarceration and the slaves were offered to the public – as long as they treated them hard and worked them to the limits of their strength. At last I could fulfil my dream…

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 7 / 2016

No. words: 35400

Style: Male Dom - M/F, Male Dom - M/M

Available Formats: Palm  MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  Sony Reader (LRF)  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle


Chapter 1

I knew I was different from my fellows from an early age. Our post-puberty talks always centred around a particular girl’s ‘hairy cunt’ while my thoughts centred on making her my slave and of making her dance obscene dances before me and my mythical guests and punish them with horrible tortures when they erred. Of course I never aired them, aware, even at that young age that my fantasies were way out and as a result my succession of girlfriends were at best lacklustre in my eyes and I know I was a disappointment to them too as I never wanted to go the whole way with them, their ‘hairy cunts’ being things of horror to me. There was no way I could even think about making love to them in the normal way and I didn’t even know of any others back then.
I persevered with these unsatisfactory liaisons, though, for not to do so would have labelled me as gay and I certainly wasn’t that way inclined, and so I continued on and breezed through private school and Bond University excelling both academically and at sports for which my body was well suited.
I knew I was going to have to face up to my weird peccadillos in time but right then, I just put them on the back burner and went on in the same vein as I always had, trying new girlfriends but losing them when I failed to deliver what they wanted.
I was lucky to be born of wealthy parents (very wealthy, as it happened) and they had built a beautiful home on one of the many private islands in the Broadwater of the Gold Coast of Queensland, Australia. The island measured five hectares and the house stood on a small knoll in its centre, the rest of the estate being landscaped into beautiful gardens and a park. It was accessible by a private bridge (and gate) and was surrounded by huge rocks that prevented boaties from landing (our private marina was protected by a sea-gate).
At university, I studied economics and commerce as my father’s investments took up most of his time. He didn’t interest himself in owning outright any enterprise or in their management but knew almost instinctively which were going to do well and which not. It seemed appropriate to me to follow on in his footsteps and he was well pleased with my decision.
So far as sports were concerned, I liked them all and played football, cricket and athletics in season, and tennis the whole year round. But my true love is gymnastics, not only for the beauty of its various routines, but also because that sport above all others, hones and tones the human body, female as well as male to the absolute peak of perfection and that was always important to me.
I am tallish, at 180 cm, with fine silver-blond hair, blue eyes and a smooth skin. I have been told I was a model’s dream both physically and in the looks department. Sorry for seeming immodest but my looks figure in my story so I needed to say it. Oh and there’s another thing. I mentioned the hairy genitalia that figured so prominently in my friends’ discussions: well with me that extended to the hair on most of my friends’ bodies as well. I didn’t like it, thinking it made them look like animals. My own body is almost completely hairless with only small tufts under my arms and a small patch of fine hairs at my pubes and these I had permanently removed at a clinic as soon as I discovered it was possible.

And so now I come to the two major events that shaped my life and turned it into a completely different path than I had expected.
The first of these was a sudden about-face by the governments of the world relating to crime and punishment. Everyone knew prisons didn’t work but no-one had come up with anything better until the UK, together with its ally the USA, and with China and Russia on side, too, began top-secret negotiations with other countries and finally announced in the UN, that prisons, as the primary punishment for all serious crime, were ineffective, costly and breeders of more crime and were going to be abolished, razed to the ground, and replaced with a new institution: Criminal Slavery.
Under this regime, any prisoner, female as well as male, convicted of major crime, would be sentenced to slavery, either for a term from five years upwards, or to life – and that meant until the prisoner died as a slave. Remissions were also abolished.
Each capital city and major regional centre would have what was to be called a State Slave Centre where would be delivered all criminal slaves from the courts (where they would have been stripped naked – for slaves were not to be permitted clothing of any kind – ever!)
At the SSC, they would be permanently depilated nude of all facial and bodily hair and then, on the following Saturday, put up for sale by public auction to the highest bidder.
There were going to be rules, though. A friend or family member was not to be permitted to bid on the slave and if one slipped through the net and was found to be enjoying an easy life, he (or she) would be confiscated and the friend/family member arrested and more than likely end up as a life-slave himself.
Furthermore, a slave was to be worked at the hardest labour possible and for long hours. These rules were to be overseen by a new Department of Slave Management, which would replace the former Department of Corrections and whose officers had right of entry without warrant to any premises and had the power to take a cossetted slave away for resale and charge his owner with the crime of slave lenience.
The reason for this somewhat draconian policy was that governments (and their peoples) were heartily sick and tired of the rise of major and middle-ranking crime and of the burgeoning religious terrorism that was now threatening whole nations. It was suggested that the only way to combat these horrors where people were afraid to go out alone at night, and dozens of innocent peoples were attacked by the terrorists, was by similarly extreme punishments.
And when the news broke right across the world, it was acclaimed by ninety-nine percent of the population, and the do-gooders who had brought this parlous state on us with their ridiculous curtailment of ordinary domestic and school discipline so that children were no longer able to be properly shown the rights and wrongs and corrected when they erred, were publicly ridiculed.
This is not to say that brutality would be condoned. Parents and teachers were to be subject to rules but reasonable corporal punishment was to be restored into the home and school.
I was ecstatic at the news. And no, I would not be buying female slaves, for my parents would have been horrified, but at least, at some time in the future, it might be possible and now my nightly dreams centred about me and my bevy of naked female slaves and what I was going to do with them.

The second momentous event occurred a year later and was very much more sobering and in fact tragic. My father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and in six months departed this life. He was just fifty-one years old. I had loved them both equally for they were wonderful parents to me but then I had to try to console Mother once we had buried Dad.
This proved impossible. They had been childhood sweethearts and had never had another boy or girlfriend and had been happily married for thirty years. She spent her days in bed, weeping constantly and I had no idea how to help her. I sought medical and psychiatric advice but it didn’t help. I got her friends to come and visit; she wouldn’t see them. And in the end she took her own life only a month after Dad’s funeral.
I was of course their heir. There was no-one else close to us and so I now took stock of my situation. There I was alone in that huge house with only Mrs Danvers as housekeeper/cook and Bob Jones who had chauffeured for Mother and looked after the gardens at other times. I knew Mrs Danvers had been making noises about retiring over the last few months and that she and Bob were going to move up to Cairns to make a new life together there and once we had buried Mother and had settled down a little, she came to me and told me she and Bob wanted to retire as soon as I could obtain replacements.
I thanked her for all her dedicated service and then advised her of the superannuation fund Dad had set up for them both and also advised that I would add another hundred thousand to it to enable them to buy a nice little house in Cairns.
I also told her they could make their plans immediately as I would be investigating purchasing slaves to replace them and I didn’t want to distress them by the sight of naked slaves about the estate. Of course I didn’t mention that the slaves would all be female – that would have shocked them both!
They were as pleased as punch about their superannuation, though, for together it now amounted to a substantial sum and they could now retire and live in some comfort. They made plans to leave in a week and in that time I went looking for three female slaves.

Why three, you wonder? Well, I wanted a personal slave to look after my rooms and the rest of the upstairs part of the house, a downstairs maid and cook and an outdoors gardener and handyman (woman). This last, I was going to ensure had the physique and musculature to undertake the hard labour involved in that role.
And all three would be gracing my bed when I wished it.
There had been no restriction placed on what a slave of either sex might be required to perform and that included sex. Thus a male slave might be ordered to offer his backside to his male owner despite the fact he was straight and the same thing applied to a girl owned by a lesbian woman.
In my own case, it would be interesting for my first night with one of them would be my first with any woman. Yes, I was still a virgin at age twenty-six having used my own right hand to pictures of naked female slaves under discipline or even real torture whenever the urge hit me – and that was at least daily.
But now that I would be able to choose muscular or at least athletic female slaves to serve me and that they would be totally hairless and possessed of the closed variety of sexual organs (for I dislike intensely the open kind), I was truly looking forward to bedding them.
I started out at the local (Robina) State Slave Centre, set up to take the output from all the courts on the Gold Coast but I was well aware of the private dealerships that had sprung up all over the world immediately after the establishment of criminal slavery to complement the SSCs and I would be visiting them, too, once I had established the quality of those on offer at the state centre.
I’m not sure what I was expecting at the SSC. Probably a prison-like place with cells for the slaves and stark, brown-painted corridors and an air of gloom and despair, I suppose.
It was anything but that. It is a quite attractive building on the outside and freely accessible on certain days to the public interested in acquiring a newly-made slave, for these were all raw material. They arrived during the week, were processed (more about that later) and then displayed in various rooms so that potential buyers could move around them, staring up at the naked bodies ranged on short plinths and all acting out a pre-arranged display to piped music.
There were six such rooms, three for males and the others for female slaves. These then were further divided by physical characteristics so that on the male side, the first room displayed musclemen and athletic types, the second more average physiques while the third featured smaller, younger (but none under eighteen as that was the minimum legal age for enslavement) and, dare I say it, more ‘dainty’ types.
On the female side, yes, the first room displayed aggressive, butch women; the second, the same average build as on the male side; while the third showed off their prime female stock: beauties, slender girls who were the most attractive of them all – at least to most buyers.
I first glanced through the male rooms, more to acquaint myself with what was on sale, than any desire to acquire a male slave. But then I moved over to the big, butch female room and here I noted some who might indeed interest me for my outdoor/handywoman slave.
They were of course all totally naked and nude. Slaves are stripped naked in the court upon sentence and then transported in that state high up on the back of the Slave Transport Vehicle (STV) that visited each court on its sitting days and collected all slaves for delivery to the SSC.
The STV is a large, flat-top truck with two gantries erected on its tray-top. These gantries are simply a fore-and-aft rail each supported three metres above the tray-top by sturdy steel poles. Each rail is preloaded with two dozen runners from which dangle sets of cuffs on the ends of a half-metre long bar.
Upon delivery to the SSC, they are depilated nude of facial and body hair in an electronic booth that takes only seconds to achieve this pleasing result, then front the nurse who inserts the tiny, wafer-thin silicon chip that acts as a GPS locator and punishment device and glue it onto their right testicle or (if female) clitoris, and are then issued with their ration of Slave Chow, a product rather like the old chook pellets but designed to adequately but cheaply feed slaves, and are then cleaned in the race, an arrangement of jets and rotating brushes as in a car-wash and then allocated their sleeping place on the concrete floor of the huge dormitory.
They are allocated a vacant space, painted in red lines on the floor to form two-metre by one rectangles and ordered to lie down and sleep. They are also warned that if they allow any part of their body to stray over the line, they will be zapped – and here the guard demonstrates to all the new slaves, the horrible agony of a shock to their sexual organ, whichever kind it may be.
This introduction, stark and severe as it is, serves to show a new slave just how bad life was going to be for him or her and that obedience and diligence were much the best course of action for them.
All this I learned from the brochure available at the public entrance to introduce us newcomers to the centre, just how it functions and what we might and might not do whilst in its environs.
The biggest no-no, was touching a slave. We were all very welcome to look to our hearts’ content; but even a finger on a slave’s body would result in our being politely asked to leave – and not to return. And it would also result in our being blacklisted at every SSC in the country.
This was to protect the slaves from an over-zealous inspection of their muscles and more particularly, their sexual organs. But as I was already known to the manager of the local SSC (by virtue of my birth, not any known interest in slavery), he invited me into his office for a cup of coffee and a chat and here told me that it if I had an interest in any particular slave or slaves, I should come to him and ask for a more intimate inspection on one of the off-days when buyers such as me were permitted access.
That was the only favour we were given, however. The auctions were held on Saturdays and the sales conducted with scrupulous fairness.
Having looked over the butch and distinctly muscular slaves in that room and tentatively selected a couple who might serve me as my gardener/handywoman, I moved to the general showroom where the majority of the female slaves were on display. Here were the least comely of all of them, at least to my mind for I would far prefer a muscular female to an average one. I didn’t find a single one there who appealed and so moved to the last room wherein were on show the best of the females.
Here were the women who might have been considered beauties; younger girls who could have been blackmailers and athletic types (rather than the really well-muscled women in the first room). And here I found three or four slim but athletic specimens who might serve well as domestics.
Photographing them was permissible as long as no flash was required and I snapped an image of those who interested me then took my leave, heading for the first of the four private dealerships I had earmarked for a visit.

Author Information

a prolific BDSM writer who lives on the Gold Coast of Australia. His books have been delighting Olympia Press customers for many years and now he is one of Fiction4All's exclusive authors.


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