Learning to Slave Wrangle Pt. 01

(This is a fantasy occurring in an alternative world where legalized slavery is commonplace for serious crime, unredeemed debts, or voluntary self-indenture. Although there is considerable sex, the focus is on how people interact with each other within the constraints of this slavery--the essence of non-consent/reluctance, because the main characters volunteered for the collar and must now live with the consequences. Note also that terms such as "cunt," "slut," "asshole," and "sissy" are in common usage around slaves; such terms help to remind slaves that they are inferior but are not intended to be individually (or by gender) insulting. All characters in this story are age 18 or older. In the real world, slavery, objectification, and forcible sex acts are NEVER acceptable.)

(Frank Smith's perspective)

It was the fourth and most difficult week of Slave Science 101, an introductory course sponsored by the University of Texas but including many young people who, like me, were from Northern schools and just wanted to pick up a few summer credits that would satisfy their own college's multicultural or inclusiveness distribution requirements. OK, lots of college-age adults were fascinated by the concept of legal slavery, so SS 101 seemed far more intriguing than, say, "The Asian Diaspora." Besides, successful completion of this course would give me not only three transfer semester hours for school but also a slave handler's (aka slave wrangler's) license that was almost a guarantee of interesting summer employment for the next few years. The 21st Century equivalent of being a Water Safety Instructor.

At the start of the course the professor, a good-looking, self-confident blonde who normally taught slave business (aka Human Resource Utilization) at Harvard, explained the legal implications of the 35th Amendment and how the re-introduction of slavery into the U.S. had resolved the issue of consumer indebtedness, because to get a loan most people now had to be slave graded and then sign away their rights over their own bodies if they defaulted. Although actual slaves were a rarity in much of the north, almost every state had been forced to recognize federal statutes such as the Revised Fugitive Slave Act that required all interstate transportation facilities and law enforcement to assist in tracking and if necessary returning slaves to their owners.

The same professor tried to explain mental conditions such as the total passivity and eagerness to serve/ please known as "slave mind," a product of losing all control over what happened to you--and incidentally having to serve any free adult, regardless of gender or unattractiveness, as a cooperative sex toy.

After an initial week of such classes, we had been divided into small groups for the remainder of the course. My group consisted of five guys (including me) and as many gals, guided and mentored by two slave wranglers. On most days, our guide was a large but attractive African-American woman named Florence, occasionally joined by a muscular Latino whose nametag said "Francisco" but identified himself as "Frank," which caused a little confusion with my name but we sorted it out. He just smiled and referred to me as "Gringo," a horrible stereotype that the rest of the students soon adopted in referring to me. Oh, well, he was the one who came up with that label and I lived with it--no sense arguing.

During the second and third weeks, we spent most of our time touring various slavery businesses, including several major slave markets (Florence clearly worked at the Longhorn, where she was greeted boisterously by her co-workers as she confidently guided us through the place.) We also visited county jails, human pony ranches, assembly lines staffed by slaves, and even sex shops such as the back side (in more ways than one) of a glory hole and a whorehouse--too bad there were no samples given out! At first, all but two of the students avoided any contact with the slaves--with the exception of Susan and Ralph, who grew up on different pony ranches, we had no experience with actual slaves and didn't want to offend either owners or our fellow-students. Florence and Francisco kept pushing us to take a more "hands on" approach. Eventually we were cuffing and collaring slaves when necessary and guiding them from one location to another with one hand cupping a buttock, fingers goosing the defenseless butt cracks of these unfortunate people (or, at least temporarily, UN-people because they lacked any rights). The first few times, I half expected the slaves, especially the females, to protest such blatant fondling, but with a few exceptions they were so familiar with the whole situation that they did nothing except, very occasionally, mutter "Sorry, Master" if they were slow to react to me.

At the end of the third week, we had all passed the written exam on slave law and procedures for handling and securing slaves, but we still needed our host, the Longhorn Slave Market, to certify us on the practical aspects of slave wrangling.

*****

Which brings me to this week, the last and by far the most challenging part of SS 101. Last Friday, we had drawn random numbers to divide us into two groups--beginning today, Monday, the first group would sign Free In Name Only (FINO) contracts, promising to behave for 30 hours as if they were actual slaves, while the other group would process and train them. On Wednesday, the roles would be reversed, with the former "wranglers" becoming FINO slaves themselves. To make the contracts legal, that same Friday we each spent five minutes talking to this GORGEOUS slave psychiatrist so that she could sign off as our "guardian" when we surrendered our rights. With my (poor) luck, I ended up in the first group, which meant that this morning, after signing a contract, I had to strip slave naked and surrender myself to the ministrations of my fellow students, who would be expected to collar, restrain, handle, and even sexually use me and the other Group 1 "slaves" before we were freed late the next day.

The female course director from Harvard had explained why we were doing this, but it didn't make me feel any better:

"The purpose of the FINO exercise is to give you actual, hands-on [she smirked] experience as both a slave and a wrangler. Despite the short time period involved in the FINO contract, the contract is legally valid in Texas. The Longhorn Slave Market is generously providing us with the use of its facilities, and indeed Longhorn employees will be involved in your experience. That means that temporary student 'slaves' [she hooked her fingers to indicate quotation marks] will be intermixed with long-term slaves being sold and possibly with other free people who have temporarily surrendered their freedom in order to be slave-graded. Those students playing the role of slaves will wear the purple-banded shock collars normally worn by those being graded, but for the duration of your FINO, each of you is expected to perform exactly as a slave would. That includes being controlled, handled, belittled, disciplined, and probably used sexually exactly as if you were a slave, so be prepared for it both mentally and in terms of birth control!"

"Each group will remain under slave discipline overnight. The students acting as slave wranglers have a choice--kennel their slave at the Longhorn overnight or take the temporary slave, suitably restrained, to their homes. Again, no permanent injury or gang-bangs are permitted off site, but of course the temporary wranglers may use their slaves as they would any other collared property in their control. We also want each slave to experience the uncertainty of being shipped somewhere and not knowing where he or she is going, so all slaves will be blindfolded during transit. The wrangler can drive the individual around for a while and then return him or her to spend the night in a slave pen at the Longhorn OR take the temporary FINO slave home for the night. If you're going to transport a fellow student in your personal car, I suggest you clean out the trunk over the weekend. There are also a limited number of Longhorn pickup trucks, complete with poodle cages, available, but you need to sign up now to borrow such a truck overnight, and you'll have to show your license and insurance before getting the keys."

"No one is allowed to permanently injure you while you're acting as a FINO slave--unless you sign the additional waiver indicating that you want to be branded--but short of injury, the students playing the part of slave handlers or wranglers are free to do whatever they wish to the student temporary slaves. That means controlling and belittling the temporary FINO slaves, seeking to impose slave mind on those students. This may seem extreme, but it's been my observation that you can't really understand slave psychology unless you have personally experienced the naked vulnerability and objectification of being enslaved. The only people who will be excused from these requirements are those who can demonstrate, by comparing their Slave Identification Number to the National Slave Registry, that they have already spent at least one month as slaves; FINO's don't count. Those of you who can prove previous experience as slaves will act as handlers or wranglers throughout the four days. And of course, everybody gets tested for STDs both before and after this exercise."

*****

Anyone facing a time period, even just the 30 hours of our contracts, during which he/she surrendered rights and body to other near strangers can understand my sense of apprehension. In addition, though, I was particularly dismayed by the prospect of playing slave in front of Jean Scorer, another 19-year-old college student in my group. Jean had never worn revealing clothing, but even under bulky sweaters, sweatshirts, and loose jeans her body appeared to be voluptuous, and she had a cute face with honey blonde hair. At the start of the course, Jean had been very quiet and introverted, but over time she became comfortable with me, displaying a beautiful smile and a wicked sense of humor. OK, I'd developed sort of a crush on her; suffice it to say that being slave naked and under her control would feel far more humiliating than the same experience with a stranger, or so I believed at the time.

So, I gave myself an enema this morning; I'd been taught how to do this to slaves but it felt really weird to do it to myself. I then put on clothing that I wouldn't miss, wore slip-on shoes with no socks, and headed to the Longhorn before I made myself sick with apprehension. Florence (excuse me, MISTRESS Florence) had arranged an efficient process where a group of Long Horn slave wranglers who were also notary publics walked the Group 1 victims through the process of reading and initially each page of the FINO contract, then the wranglers witnessed and notarized our signatures. When I finished, the guy just told me, deadpan, "Go through that door, slave."

Someone had done some careful planning, because when I walked through that door, Jean was waiting for me, wearing a wrangler's weapons belt that made her suddenly appear menacing to me. She led me over to one of the open-mesh fenced enclosures, normally used to lock slaves up for the night. Today, however, there was another pair of students with one of them--a female--stripping quickly while turning red (I could certainly empathize). There was also a table laden with shock collars, cuffs, and other "implements of destruction." As soon as she came to a halt and faced me, Jean (obviously nervous and hesitant) simply indicated a metal locker similar to those used to store luggage in terminals, and told me, "Strip, slave, and put all your clothes in that locker."

Deep breath and get on with it. I shucked off my clothes as quickly as possible, stuffing them into the locker, and then stood at present--legs shoulder width apart, fingers interlaced behind my neck, staring at the floor a few feet in front of me while blushing furiously. I had expected to be embarrassed but hadn't realized how defenseless I would feel; I had no reason to expect violence, but with my legs spread like that, I was vulnerable to Jean or anyone else kicking my genitals or hitting me anywhere else on my body. Guys know that, at a very early age, you learn to protect your groin from any impact, even accidental; to be required to stand in such a vulnerable stance in front of a clothed, armed woman was not just humiliating but nerve-wracking, almost terrifying. The professor was correct--only experiencing the helplessness of a slave allowed me to understand the vulnerability. Watching Jean close and padlock the locker containing my clothes only reinforced that feeling. I know the word "literally" gets overworked, but she literally held the key to my freedom.

To add to my discomfort, I had a full blown boner--only nobody was going to blow it for me. I think it was part of my parasympathetic system alerting because of fear, but anyone observing me would conclude that I actually ENJOYED being a naked sex toy for this woman. (To be fair, if I HAD to be a slave, I'd much rather serve Jean than other, more intimidating figures such as the course professor.)

Fortunately, Jean seemed to be as uneasy as I about the situation, moving carefully when dealing with me. But she knew she was expected to establish psychological dominance over me. So, she walked slowly around me, her hands running gently over my exposed butt, thighs, and genitals, before commenting "Great Bod, slave! Collar."

That last command was a relief, releasing me from the Present position so that I could kneel down, one hand on my hip and the other beside my head to hold my (non-existent) long hair away from the neck. At least that allowed me to hunch over, even if kneeling in front of another student was very submissive and embarrassing. That didn't last long, of course--after putting a heavy shock collar on me, Jean ordered me "Stand, back hands," which left me with my hands cuffed behind my back, even less able to protect myself than before. Next, she gently but firmly cupped my right buttock with her fingers well up my butt crack and walked me over to one of the raised wooden platforms used to practice block moves (sometimes known as slave yoga). There, she released my wrists temporarily to join a mixed group--students like me, free people being graded, and genuine slaves; I was relieved to see that several other collared males were also sporting wood, making me slightly less embarrassed by my erection. We were under the direction of what looked like a midget wrangler--a short woman with a cute face and protruding boobs, dressed in the jeans, logoed shirt, weapons belt, and boots of a slave wrangler. Her name tag read "Shirley," but as far as I was concerned she was a Mistress.

*****

Over the next half hour, Mistress Shirley rapped out a series of commands, demanding that we follow instructions correctly and, while we're at it, shouted an appropriate slave mantra. In retrospect, she wasn't cruel but didn't hesitate to publicly shame us for any mistakes. Earlier in the course, we'd all practiced these moves several times wearing gym clothes, but now being collared and slave naked while contorting before an audience of our fellow students and temporary wranglers was simultaneously arousing and humiliating. Do I need to tell you that my dick was swinging around wildly? Well, I guess that was preferable to having it shrivel up and make me look under-endowed. After a while, the other temporary slaves and I just focused on instant obedience to Shirley's orders.

"DISPLAY!" (legs to shoulder width, head down between my legs. I bent as far forward as I could, waving my butt as if I were begging to be shafted back there.) The accompanying slave mantra was "All my holes belong to you."

"SLAVE FOURS!" (drop forward onto all fours, face down, knees, hands, and feet on the floor, then drop again from hands to elbows so that my head and shoulders were lower than my behind.) "I'm your bitch, Master--please fuck me doggie-style!"

"FLIP OVER!" (push up on one side so that the body twisted around, catching myself so that both hands and both feet were on the floor beneath me, back arched, thighs wide apart, showing everything.) "Please buy me and use me, Mistress!"

"PRESENT!" (Scramble to my feet, hands interlocked behind my neck, legs slightly more than shoulder-width apart.) "I live to serve you, Master."

"TWERK!" (thrusting my hips forward and back, three times.) "Use my body, Mistress."

"COLLAR!" (as already described, drop to both knees, one hand on hip and the other holding the hair--if any--away from the neck for a collar or leash.) "Please make me your collared slut, Master."

"PRONE!" (facing away, nose to the platform boards, hands by the sides, legs about 18 inches apart.) "I'm at your feet, Master."

"SPREAD YOUR CHEEKS!" (Reach back with both hands to pull my buttocks up and out displaying my balls and sphincter.) "I beg you to ream my ass, Master." (Something I dreaded but thought might happen later today.)

We ended the session kneeling with our thighs wide apart, hands behind our necks, staring submissively at the floor between us and our respective wranglers. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jean struggling not to smirk at the sight of a naked guy (me) visibly submitting to her after publicly contorting while begging to be used sexually.

She quickly cuffed my hands again, then led me by my rigid dick to a large wire cage that already contained several pairs of student slaves and wranglers, visibly overseen by "Frank," the Latino professional slave wrangler who had been our group's assistant instructor. He as well as all the other clothed people inside the cage were grinning. I had anticipated what was about to happen, but the sight of four metallic slave benches confirmed my worst fears.

"Slave Fours," said all the student wranglers, including Jean, almost simultaneously. Inwardly quailing, I knelt and leaned forward on the slave bench, which provided a thin raised framework for my chest with lower, wider rails to support my knees and elbows. My sense of exposure ramped up rapidly as Jean Velcro-ed my extremities to those rails and clicked on the magnetic device that held my collar (and therefore my head) motionless. I ended up on all fours like a dog, head low, butt high, and thighs widespread about three feet above the floor. In this position, my mouth, anus, and (embarrassingly-erect) dick were all exposed to whatever the clothed people chose to do to me; in particular, my upthrust butt seeming to invite flagellation or penetration. To complete my defenselessness, Jean quietly ordered me to open my mouth, after which she installed a ridged ring gag, sheathing my teeth with a strap running around the back of my skull that held my mouth open in a perfect circle. NOW I understood, viscerally, what our course professor had meant by "the naked vulnerability and objectification" of enslavement. I don't mind admitting I was quietly shaking.

For a minute or two we all knelt, completely helpless, while ominous leather creaking noises came from behind us. Then Jean confirmed my nervous speculation by appearing in front of me wearing a strap-on harness over her jeans. Attached to that harness was a large, anatomically-correct dildo. I say large--when I examined a similar object two days later, it seemed no more than seven inches long and one and a half in circumference, but when Jean pointed that thing at me it looked like a cock suitable for Godzilla was about to enter my mouth and/or asshole. I sensed the latter orifice tighten automatically in response to the implied threat; at that moment my brown button felt water-tight down there, so I had to consciously tell it to relax to avoid possible injury.