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Our Little Slave School (Mark Andrews)

Our Little Slave School by Mark Andrews

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I and my wife are relatively wealthy heirs. We are both business management graduates and advisers and when our respective parents all died (together) in a plane crash and we both inherited small fortunes we took stock of our situation.

Our little slave school was going to be our new vocation…

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 4 / 2017

No. words: 35500

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

Penal slavery was seen right across the globe as the greatest boon to mankind since God knows when.
It began about fifteen years ago when the leaders of the US, Russia, China, India and Europe got their heads together and decided that the ever-growing incidence of major crime including a seemingly unstoppable religious terrorism of epic proportions that had whole nations paralysed, major fraud and theft, street crime including attacks on the elderly and defenceless by teenage streets gangs, physical assaults including wife-bashing and child abuse (especially paedophilia) to name but a few, had to be addressed and that they must not baulk at developing a system that would address the problem fast and definitively.
They came up with criminal penal slavery for all major crime – and that it should be draconian in design and execution.
With no opposition, the proposal was agreed to by the Security Council and then the General Assembly of the United Nations and twelve years ago, it came into being.
The horribly expensive, and so useless prisons were all abolished and razed to the ground, their land being sold to be replaced by State Slave Centres that would process the newly-made slaves. The former prisons had been not only costly to run but were bursting at the seams and absolutely useless as a remedial organ. Yes, they kept the worst criminals off the streets but they were so overcrowded that the courts were reluctant to send any but the very worst offenders there and the whole judicial and penal system was seen as a joke.

My name is Andy Somers and I am (or was) the only son of loving parents who moved to the Gold Coast about thirty years ago. My dad was an insurance broker who did pretty well for himself but never updated his house or bought expensive cars and clothing, etc. Mum worked in a real estate agency and was licensed so their joint income was pretty good.
They invested heavily in real estate which at the time was relatively cheap on the Gold Coast and used the rental income to pay off the loans they required – and did so pretty rapidly, too, I might add. They chose the properties wisely, and by the time of their demise had twenty-one of them, all now worth an average of around $800,000. Dad had also arranged substantial life assurance policies for them both (as a backstop in case anything went wrong with the property market).
Dale and I are of an age and we both studied business management at Griffith University and then luckily both secured employment at a reputable business advisory firm here on the Gold Coast. We intended to marry but wanted to wait until we had a substantial deposit to put down on a house. We thought another year of hard-headed saving might do it.
And then tragedy struck.
My parents and Dale’s had become good friends and we had seen the four of them off on an aircraft headed for Singapore where they were to join a cruise liner to make its way back to Australia via Southeast Asia. Alas they never even made it to Singapore. In yet another of those awful terrorist hijacks, the plane was flown into a mountain and everyone on board died.
We both went over to recover the bodies and bring them home and of course mourned the loss of two sets of wonderful parents. But then it was time to take stock of our lives and what we wanted to do with them.
I haven’t yet mentioned that both of us are keen gymnasts – this was actually how we got together in the first place, joining the Griffiths University Gymnastics Club and training twice-weekly at the sport. This branch of sporting recreation creates the most athletic-looking bodies of any sport and that was another factor in the development of our relationship – but it also qualified us as physical trainers and over the months and years as we had watched the introduction and development of institutionalised and legal slavery, we had slowly come up with the idea that there was something missing from the mix of levels in the slave marketing, training and sale system.
The state slave centres, already mentioned above, were set up under the Department of Slave Management that replaced the old Ministry of Corrections, but their purpose was merely to receive the newly-made slaves from the courts, strip them naked and denude them of all hair below their eyes (both for cosmetic as well as identification reasons) and then sell them off the next Saturday.
But for the most part, they were an unprepossessing bunch: overweight or skinny, ugly and of a surly disposition. Except for the white-collar, younger criminals, they were therefore not at all expensive to buy as training and guarding them was seen as a rather expensive burden for little reward.
But of course private slave dealerships also sprang up and they took this raw material and tried to condition and train them to return a profit. Dale and I, in our discussions on this subject envisaged something much more sophisticated. We would select only the best of those on sale each Saturday and then really get stuck into their bodies and minds in order to create top-class personal slaves as valets/body-slaves, exponents of the very best sexual pleasure and perhaps slave-ponies.
I mentioned above that the institution as envisaged by the governments of the world were to be draconian in design and execution. This meant, among other things, that they were to be worked as hard as their bodies were capable of for at least fifteen hours a day, every day of the week, every week of the year – no exceptions!
But the cost of keeping a slave or slaves was also of prime concern. The catering departments of the old prisons had been expensive operations and so the dieticians and food-processing boffins were charged with finding a cheap but adequate means of feeding slaves.
They came up (even before the institution was actually legalised) with a product they called Slave Chow which was produced from cheap but still nutritious cast-off foodstuffs including meat, vegetables and grain that could be measured in the right proportions into the cauldrons of giant machines that first steamed, then masticated the resultant food to a mash, partially dried it as it was extruded in one-centimetre thick tubes and cut off at the two-centimetre mark, then fully dried and either bagged in paper bags (for single-owner slave-holders), sacks for a few, or in bulk for large slave-owners.
For this latter system, dispensing machines were invented that were affixed on the inside of an outside wall of the slave quarters, and on the outside and at the same place in the wall was attached a medium or large-sized hopper accessible to a bulk delivery truck to feed the actual dispenser. The hopper/s could then be topped up as required.
With these dispensers, the slaves merely lined up night and morning and moved forward, placed their cupped hands under the chute and leaned forward to press the delivery bar with their foreheads. They then moved off, swallowing the pellets as they did and then drank copiously from a water fountain nearby. And that was it. No cooking, no mess room, no cleaning up – and as cheap as chips. And best of all, as it was totally tasteless in its pelletised form, it was not at all satisfying as regards flavour. Yes, once the pellets reconstituted as whole cooked food in their bellies once more, their physical hunger was assuaged, but certainly not the pleasure of eating a meal.
And they also had to learn that there were now only two meals a day. One before they started work, usually at 6:00 a.m., and then they worked right through the day, non-stop until nine that night and then were again fed and moved to their sleeping quarters.
These too, were as basic as it was possible to make them. There were no beds – no furniture at all, as it happened. Just a long wooden bench with a series of stocks to secure the wrists and neck at the head – and there they lay, naked, probably cold and enjoined not to speak a word to their neighbour during the night.
In fact, speech for slaves was restricted to conversations of an essential nature with their immediate supervisor and this was enforced automatically by another item I haven’t yet mentioned: their genital chip.
This is a tiny, wafer-thin silicon leaf nor more than a centimetre square. Its insertion is simplicity itself and is undertaken on the first day of their slavery at the SSC. All that is required is for the genitals to be thoroughly cleaned with methylated spirits (an horribly painful process in itself), a tiny slit then to be made on a male slave’s scrotal wall; the peeling off of the wax paper on the adhesive side of the chip and then it is placed onto the gonad itself. A small Band-Aid is all that is then required. With a female, the chip is glued to the inner, moist area of her clit.
These chips are initially linked to the master computer at the SSC but upon sale, are transferred to the new owner’s tablet or smart phone.
They are truly ingenious in their application. In their standard mode, they not only act as GPS tags but also function as an attention getter or as a punishment device. In the former role, they reveal the wearer’s exact location to a tablet or iPhone and in the latter, give a short, sharp zap indicating to the wearer that he or she must report to his immediate supervisor of the moment. This is not painful, unlike the punishment zap which is extremely so. It sends a series of highly painful shocks to a male’s testicle or a female’s clitoris and it lasts for thirty seconds.
But there are other functions that may be programmed into it quite easily by its owner. For example, if the slave has been ordered to undertake a labouring task, say digging a trench, the computer system controlling the chip will be fed information on the bodily movements of the slave and if that class of movement is not repeated for as long as is programmed into it, he will automatically be zapped in the punishment mode.
Or perhaps he has been ordered to undergo repeated exercise for a specified period. The program can remember the sequence of movements and zap the slave if he or she deviates from it.
Yet another function is to program a destination and timetable for an errand and if the slave deviates from either the route or the timetable he first gets a warning signal that if he doesn’t quickly return to the proper course on time he will be zapped with a punishment shock.

But to return to Dale’s and my plan, as mentioned above, we believed there was room for a rather upmarket type of dealership where top-class slaves only, would be available to the top end of society.
We would be selecting the best of the younger end of the slave herd at the SSC, probably mostly white-collar criminals, and we would train them in the domestic arts and in the practice of good sex, while utilising whatever skills they may have possessed prior to their criminal acts.
We thought it politic to start small and in that regard as we had immediately moved into my parents’ house upon marriage, this we undertook once our mourning for our respective parents was over.
As our discussions continued we both recognised that continuing our work at the firm was now superfluous to our needs. But we would start small. Buy two or three likely candidates, train them as indicated above until we were satisfied they would be perfect personal slaves to a man or woman and then market them privately.
If we were successful in this trial operation we might try five or six but still keeping them in my house. And then, once we were happy with the results of our operation thus far, we might consider building a dedicated slave training school to cater for perhaps dozens at a time.
As a result of our parents’ deaths, we were both very wealthy people, her parents having admired my father’s investment strategy, had followed suit and while they hadn’t had the time to achieve the same success he had, they had managed to purchase and maintain ten properties. They had also followed him in taking out life assurance and so we were both property and cash rich once all the legal stuff had been taken care of.
We had decided that the property market still looked secure and would leave the properties as they were but the insurance policy moneys we placed on short-term deposit intending to use it to finance the building of our school and dealership if that was what we decided to do with our lives.
Accordingly we both resigned from the firm and then did the rounds of our two nearest SSCs, one here on the Gold Coast and the other up in Brisbane. They are pretty basic buildings. Here in Australia as in most countries the message to be imparted to new slaves was that they were no longer considered as human beings and in fact rather less than animals. The buildings were consequently made of stark, un-faced concrete with iron bars for windows (and open to the elements); the bedding, simply concrete benches and no other facilities other than a vast exercise hall where they were put through their paces all day (except during the inspection period) until the Saturday when they were to be auctioned.
There is one other room however: it is the display room, where from ten in the morning until three in the afternoon, they are made to stand on one metre high columns and pose their naked bodies to the visiting public. It was very early recognised that there would be hundreds and perhaps even thousands of gawkers who would delight in coming in but with no intention of later buying a slave. And so to get in you had to register your genuine interest in purchasing a slave but even so, when Dale and I looked at the other people inspecting the slaves when we visited, we were pretty sure many of them were not genuine buyers.
The auction room and this display room are the only ones in the building that possess any creature comforts at all. They are panelled, carpeted and have decent lighting as well (in the case of the auction room) as a quite attractive stage from which they are auctioned.
On our first visit to the Gold Coast SSC, we strolled up and down the passageways between the columns bearing the slaves on display and stared up at them with interest. As I indicated earlier, most of them were unprepossessing souls, especially the middle-aged and older men and women. But the staff in the centre had graded the slaves, firstly by sex with the considerably lesser number of females on the right-hand side of the room, but also by age and appearance.
Because of this, the number of people inspecting the younger, more appealing slaves to be sold was considerably more than with the others. Nevertheless, we were able to tentatively select one male and one female whom we thought might be suitable candidates for our fledgling school.
There was a placard placed into a holder at the foot of each column indicating the slave’s name, age, his crime and the sentence. In many cases, this was for life, for governments around the world were determined to stamp out once and for all the crimewave in the classes I have mentioned earlier in this account and being sentenced to slavery for the rest of one’s life was seen as a most salutary means of achieving this very rapidly. However there were some whose term was either ten or twenty years but nothing less than ten.
Both of the slaves we earmarked were lifers, one having been convicted of major fraud (the male) while the female had been a rather successful cat-burglar. She particularly already possessed a superb body which of course is necessary in her chosen nefarious profession. But even the male had a good figure. We could improve them both, we thought, and we would.
Of course in our own lives, our gymnastics had always been performed either in the gym at the University or in the local one here at Miami, near us on the Gold Coast. But we had immediately commissioned a building to house one in the quite substantial back garden of my parents’ home and stocked it with appropriate gymnastics equipment. The building did not cost that much and the equipment we could take with us to our new school if that’s the direction we were going to take in the end.
The male’s name was Carl; he was just twenty-three years old and yet had been at his fraudulent activities for the last three of them, netting some $300,000 over that period. And yet he was a quite charming-looking fellow, the old saw about ‘butter not melting in the mouth’ being particularly appropriate in his case. He was blond with gold curly hair and bright blue eyes and a nice face. His skin was to be envied: smooth and velvety and without blemish.
As the genital organs of all of our slaves were going to be a highly important part of their new role as sex-slaves – we were both very interested in his. It was both long and thick with the rather large testicles dangling attractively below its root. We both wanted to see it in its erect state but touching the slaves in any way was forbidden although we learned that it was possible to see the manager and ask for a personal inspection if one wished.
The female was called Fran and she was a real beauty: she was black or rather a dark chocolate and her skin was absolutely stupendous; so was her body: slender but as athletic as you could wish for. Her face, like her body, was long with high cheekbones, flashing black eyes and a cheeky smile that never seem to leave her face.
Her sex was of the closed type which pleased me personally for I dislike intensely an open vagina with the inner organs openly visible. I had been so pleased to find Dale was of that form or variety but that’s rather by the way.
No other of the slaves on display here appealed to us but having discovered that a private inspection was possible we made our way to the office and asked if one could be arranged for these two slaves as we were definitely interested in purchasing them come the next Saturday.
The manager was most friendly and helpful and he personally arranged an immediate inspection of the pair of them at which we both ran our hands over their bodies, assessing the tone of their muscles and of course their reaction to sexual stimulation.
The expression on their faces was comical. Remember they were both new slaves and had only been convicted days before so the whole concept of their slavery was very new to them.
The manager had made them take up the pose known as the Position of Inspection. It involves a slave spreading his legs apart so as to expose his or her sexual organs and then clasping his hands up behind his head with his elbows pulled right back to show off the whole of his body for a hands-on inspection of every aspect of it.
As we gazed at this display presented to us we were both in a state of awe at the splendour and sexual excitement we both felt. I knew that because I knew Dale very well (and of course she, me).
Not that I was tempted to have sexual relations with either of them but especially the so beautiful Fran (for I am not at all gay or have ever had thought of having sex with a man). In this regard, Dale is all I could ever want, however we had discussed this aspect and had agreed that as we were both pretty full on when it came to our own sex, we would research this matter with experts and seek their advice as to whether we should hire specialists in this field or whether our own competence would suffice.
The manager had assured us that as we had indicated that we wished to train these two as sex-slaves it was therefore perfectly acceptable for us to check out their sexual responses to stimulation. For a start, I took Fran and Dale, Carl.
I stood side on to the girl and with my right hand stroking her so muscular and boyish buttocks, allowed my left hand to cup her vaginal mound and to wiggle my finger against her clit, watching her face carefully to mark her responses.
They were, as might be expected given her incredible body and cheeky disposition, rather spectacular, giggling, squirming and clearly delighting in my actions.


Very good really enjoyed reading this book. Good story and well written 4 out of 5

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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