Chapter 1
THAT I HAD BEEN framed, I had no doubt whatsoever. Of course I knew it, for I hadn’t
committed the offence. But I also knew it had to have been someone in the firm. Someone
who had access to my computer and the codes I used to access the corporate files. And
someone who knew me well enough to have been able to create that off-shore bank account
into which he or she had siphoned off hundreds of thousands of the firm’s clients’ funds
in my name.
But the evidence was there and my pleas that I had had nothing to do with any of it
fell on deaf ears. The jury convicted me without even leaving the jury-box and the judge
sentenced me to slavery for life, the standard penalty these days for serious corporate
fraud which had become endemic over the last decade.
I stood there in the box, numb to everyone and everything around me as I
contemplated my future. Slave! Slave for Life! I well knew what it could mean.
Anything from domestic service to labouring in a chain gang. And of the two, the former
was a thousand times more desirable even if, as everyone knew, it was more often than not
a euphemism for sex slave – and if you happened to be bought by a gay man and you were
straight, then your future, especially if you were handsome and muscular, was utterly
horrible.
Oh, my name is Scott Draper. I am just twenty-two years old and without wishing to
seem immodest, yes I am good-looking and as I am a dedicated gymnast. I am also decidedly
muscular. I am blond with curly, shiny-gold hair and a skin that is as smooth as silk and
as gold-coloured as my hair when I have been out in the sun. In short, I knew with a
sinking heart that I would be a fag’s dreamboat and I shrank from the thought with a fear
and loathing that in this fourth decade of the new millennium was rather strange as
homosexuality was now perfectly acceptable in Australian society.
Actually, I am a Sydney-sider, being brought up on the North Shore. But both my
parents were gone (in a car crash) and I had no near relatives. I had kept their house
but as a newly sentenced slave, I knew that it and all of my other assets would be forfeit
to the State of New South Wales, for that was the law these days. I was now a penniless
thing. A mere object, one that could be used and abused without comeback. Nothing was
beyond the pale for a slave. It was intended that way.
Slavery had been seen as a wonderful new punishment. One that wiped out at a
stroke the previously enormous costs of running the prison system and in fact returned a
profit to the exchequer, for slaves sold for around half a million dollars – and that went
straight into consolidated revenue. Oh yes, everyone and his dog thoroughly applauded the
now worldwide acceptance of slavery as the most common punishment for serious crime
although not always for life. That I had been given a life sentence reflected the
seriousness with which corporate crime was viewed and I had no argument with it – except
that I hadn’t done the deed.
I was stripped there and then. Slaves went naked. Totally and completely. And in
all weathers and conditions. No clothes of any kind; not even a rag over their genitals –
but even more than simply without clothes we were depilated of all hair on our bodies –
all of it, from the top of our heads to the tips of our toes. We were thus marked forever
as slaves and even if a person was sentenced to only a few years, then he or she would be
bald for the duration. These days the process could be reversed and the head hair could
be regrown but for his period as a slave he was absolutely nude.
It was part of his sentencing that a slave be stripped in the court, with everyone
from the judge to the court clerk and the spectators watching – usually avidly for who
doesn’t get off on another’s distress?
The bailiff moved up to me and gestured to my clothing. Of course I had worn my
best suit to court but off it came, to be taken by the official and given to the poor, as
would every other item of my clothing. Soon enough, I was stark naked. Not yet
depilated; that would take place at the Slave Pens where all new slaves were sent to be
processed and then put up for public auction on the next Saturday.
With slavery now the standard punishment for all middling and certainly major
crime, there were always dozens of us at the Sydney Central pens during any given week but
I also knew, since I had a friend who had worked there for a few months until his disgust
at the way they treated the new slaves led him to resign, that the days I spent there were
not going to be pleasant.
They weren’t. In fact they were decidedly unpleasant.
First was the way they transported us from the courthouse to the pens which were
way out west near Penrith, some fifty or so kilometres from Sydney. These days, STVs,
Slave Transport Vehicles that is, are used to move slaves from place to place and in the
spirit of the intended shame and humiliation that is a major part of criminal slavery, we
are moved about in as shameful and degrading a manner as they could devise.
STVs come in all sizes but they are all basically the same design. They range from
small, flat-top utility trucks, able to carry a dozen or so slaves, to massive
semi-trailers, capable of holding hundreds.
We, I and the five other criminals convicted and sentenced to slavery that day,
were moved early the next morning (after a night in the court cells without being fed and
therefore cold and hungry) on one of the smaller utilities. Now naked but still with our
natural head and body hair, we were each kept in a separate cell until the court sessions
for the day were over. The cells were under the courthouse but they were at ground level
at its rear and so the vehicle was able to back into the loading dock in the cell block
and then we were brought out one at a time to be loaded onto it.
The other new slaves were four males and a single girl. All were youngish – I
think older people are more careful of the law these days – but be that as it may, none of
us this day were over our late twenties. Slavery of course only applied to adults, that
is people over eighteen years. Until that age they still had reformatories and I imagine
a lot of other corrective options open to them to correct minors.
The girl was a real looker with a nice face and a stunning body, the males ranged
from a real fatty to a superbly-bodied black. Not that his body interested me sexually,
just that I can admire a good male physique. The girl’s body certainly interested me in
that way, however. She was slim and athletic, just as I like in a girl and her skin was
smooth and creamy and her boobs: well, they weren’t too big but boy, were they perfect!
Perfect half spheres of delightfully firm flesh that wobbled just a bit as she moved and I
ached to cup them in the palms of my hands.
They weren’t having any of that, though. The utility was, as I said, a flat-top
tray design and onto its tray had been erected two horizontal RSJs supported about two and
a half metres above the floor by a framework at the front and back of the tray-top. These
two beams ran fore-and-aft and were about a metre and a half apart.
An RSJ is formed as an H-beam and when turned sideways, makes a perfect overhead
rail for runners. As I was brought out I noted there were six of these runners on each of
the two rails, every one with a wheel either side of the vertical piece of the RSJ and
dangling from each of the wheel assemblies was a short rod with thumb cuffs at the base.
Note I said thumb and not handcuffs! Yes, we were to be hung up on this rail and I now
saw the runners could move freely up and down the rails so that our bodies would move back
and forth when the vehicle went up hill or down dale, or when it accelerated or braked.
And sure enough, as each of the males was made to stand on a step under the
left-hand rail, each had to raise his arms up to have his thumbs locked into the little
cuffs (which were neoprene-lined to allow circulation) and then pushed forward off the
step. I was placed behind the black and in front of another male, fortunately not the fat
man. Once all we males were in place, they made the girl climb up to be affixed to the
right hand rail and then, once they had slipped on the locking frame at the back of each
rail, we were ready to go.
That journey was even worse than being made to strip naked in the courtroom.
There, I had had to face the lascivious stares of the court officials and spectators and
that had been bad enough. Now, though, I was exposed to the thousands of pedestrians who
thronged around the vehicle when it was stopped at the dozens of traffic lights on the
long trip out west for they didn’t use the Freeway – on purpose. We travelled along the
old Western Highway which, at least for the first thirty kilometres or so, had lights
every few hundred metres – or so it seemed. And at each and every one of them, men, women
and children crowded around, staring up at our totally nude bodies and remarking quite
openly, what good or bad physiques we had, discussed our sexual equipment and general
appearance; and then how they would like (or not) to purchase us, whip (or otherwise
chastise) us into docility and then use us for their pleasure.
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