Chapter 1

 

Unlike many victims of being sexually violated, my sister Anne did not let it get to her mentally. She was angry. Very angry, however, and together we planned her revenge on the young punk who would not take no for an answer.

Anne and I live together in our parents' palatial home in Brisbane. They died in a freak sky-diving accident three years ago but they had given us both a really good upbringing which included chores, good manners, ethics and a sense of noblesse oblige.

Both of us attended the University of Queensland, Anne completing a mechanical engineering degree and I became registered as a medical practitioner. I am now aged twenty-seven and Anne is two years younger.

I am currently working as a locum on call to various practices around our location while Anne decided she wanted to stay at home and research and develop mechanical gadgets, tools and machines with a view to setting up a production company in the future.

We are both independently wealthy and don't have to work but our upbringing had taught us to be useful and so we work hard at what we do.

Neither of us has a permanent boy or girlfriend, Anne because she is wary of gold-diggers and me because I am gay but too self-conscious about it to go seeking a male partner. In any case, we are comfortable in each other's company and, at least at the moment, are quite happy to share our parents' house which, although mine as part of my inheritance, is nevertheless hers to use as long as she wants it.

That isn't to say we don't go out with friends, sometimes together; more often separately, and it was on one of these outings that she, while dining with one of her girlfriends, was approached by Frank Owens while she was on her way to the Ladies Room, dragged out into the car park behind the restaurant, and when she refused his sexual demands, was violated by him.

It was an open and shut case, of course. He was known to the restaurateur and as she called the police immediately, and had the usual medical examination which resulted in his semen being identified, he was quickly arrested and charged. These days, a conviction for this crime results in automatic slavery-for-life and as we sat together in the courtroom, we exulted. It wouldn't matter how much we had to pay; we were going to buy this scum and then put him through the hoops-and how!

As it happened, we didn't have to pay anything. Madam Justice Reynolds had noted our presence in the court at sentence and asked us if we had any notions of acquiring the prisoner. Anne stood up and said very calmly and clearly, that yes, we did have such an intent.

"In that case, I will additionally order that he be awarded to you, Anne Francis Willows as a reparation for the abominable hurt he has caused you. Court is adjourned!"

Anne duly thanked her of course but then as she stood and left the courtroom we turned and looked at the prisoner-now a slave for the rest of his life-who stared back at us in horror. I think he knew, even then, that Anne was no simpering female and that his life from now on was going to be hell.

It would be, if we had anything to do with it for we had already begun planning his fate.

It would start with diabolical hard labour and we had already asked Peter Jones, our young gardener to plan some horribly arduous tasks for him and to be prepared to keep him at it without breaks for hours on end. Actually, that wouldn't be difficult for Anne had already researched the various implants possible these days for slaves and we had decided on a testicular chip that had some truly remarkable attributes: it was a GPS tracker so we would know where he was every second of the day. It could also be used in three punishment modes: Attention (just a tiny tingle); Punishment (a very painful shock); and Extreme (which is so bad that it would bring a slave to his knees within seconds). Another function, which would be useful to Peter, was that it could actually monitor the amount of effort its wearer was expending at a given moment and if he dropped below the level set as a minimum, would give him a punishment shock. After three of these, he would get an Extreme shock and alarm bells would sound in every computer, tablet, iPhone or Brooch attached to the chip.

We took him home with us that very day but of course he had first to be initiated as a slave. The laws on slavery are very clear. No slave is permitted any clothing at all. Not even a rag over his or her loins and certainly no shoes or boots. They are to be exposed naked in all weathers and if they succumb to the cold, too bad. They are also to be stripped of all body hair below their eyelashes. This is to make it very apparent that they are slaves as well as abiding by the notion that hairy naked human beings are not a pleasant sight.

He was stripped in the bailiff's office and he was brutal about it, tearing off his clothes and ripping some of them in the process while we stood around and watched in glee. He was then manhandled into the depilation booth, his wrists secured up above his head and the controls set for his height.

Anne and I watched in more glee as the bluish zaps snaked out from the glass walls of the machine and his contortions as he tried to avoid them were comical. They also showed off his beautiful body to a tee. Yes, he is handsome and has a truly splendid physique but that's no reason to desecrate a girl when she refuses her body to him.

He is tall, beautifully muscled and with a skin as smooth as cream and soft as velvet. He has brown curly hair and big brown eyes and yes, I was attracted to him physically. Whether I would violate him was moot at the moment, for reasons I will detail a little further on but I certainly had thoughts about it, even if it was only as a punishment for what he did to Anne.

This was something I had discussed with her. I had never hidden my homosexuality, either from her or from Mum and Dad and they had all accepted me for what I am. But as I said to her, "Yes, he has a fabulous body, Anne, but he doesn't appeal to me as a partner; certainly not after what he did to you. However I could abuse him if you would like to watch him on the receiving end of what he did to you...?

She had grinned at me. "I'd love to see you violate him, Scott, you know how much I admire your body ... but I have already nearly finished the design of a machine that is going to do it far more brutally than even you could manage and I think you will be pleased at it when I finish it off...?"

I knew she was thinking about such a machine, but hadn't been aware she had already nearly finished it in her workshop down in the cellars of our huge house, as I am not mechanically-minded and wasn't into machinery all that much. I didn't press her about the design, either, preferring to be surprised when she decided to unveil it to me.

The last item of his processing was the insertion of the chip to his right testicle and this was completed in less than a minute by the court MO. Once he had placed the Band-Aid over the tiny slit and had programmed our tablets to it, he grinned and asked if we wanted a prostate stimulator inserted as well.

Neither of us was aware of this item (I should have been) and I asked what its function was. He grinned. "It totally controls his erectile function, Doctor. It is tied to the chip we've just activated and you simply use the erect tab on your device (or say the slave's name followed by 'erect' or 'slack' and his penis will almost instant follow your order. It can be a very useful punishment, too, for to keep it erect for an hour or more will become extremely painful for him..."

"Do it," we chorused in one voice and he then had the guards force the new slave up onto the surgical chair, his ankles up in the saddles and locked there and then proceeded to delve into his anus to insert the new chip near his prostate (but actually onto the nerve that controls an erection in a man) and then programmed it into our tablets as well. Once we got home, it would be an easy matter to copy the control programmes to our master computer and to the brooches we had bought for ourselves and our staff.

 

Our house is in Spring Hill, which is right next to the Brisbane CBD and so we had decided to convey him home in as public a manner as possible. We had already decided we were going to acquire him but hadn't expected the judge's largesse and so had been driven into the city by our chauffeur, Tony Armstrong. But we had prepared for his acquisition and had asked Tony, who is a mechanic (and who helps Anne with a lot of her experiments and designs) to erect a frame on the back of the estate utility with pulleys fitted to its top corners. As soon as we heard the verdict and sentence, I had rung Peter Jones and asked him to bring this vehicle into the city to pick up our new slave.

Because he was collecting a slave, he was permitted to drive into the court's yard and once Frank had been duly processed and handed over to us, we took him outside.

Of course he hadn't been silent during the trial or after it and he had resisted the bailiff and his men at every stage of his processing.

Anne had looked at me meaningfully, as if to affirm that we had the means to control him. I smiled and nodded to her and the moment he resisted me as I grabbed his muscular right arm to lead him out of the office, I said, "Frank-Punishment".

His face drained of blood, his body started shaking and he looked at me desperately.

"Are you coming, slave?" I said quite pleasantly once the shocks ceased and he immediately nodded vigorously, apparently now eager to obey, and came out to the yard to be met by our gardener. Peter is a very pleasant young man of twenty-five, of muscular build and a most knowledgeable and keen gardener and like every one of our staff, hated Frank with a venom shared only by Anne and me.

He grabbed the boy's arm (he was just twenty-two years old then) and when I asked him to, "String him up by his heels, Peter. Leave his arms to dangle free," he nodded and proceeded to do just that.

The frame is two metres high and wide and the ropes that were made of that thick soft nylon and had loops on the ends were reeved through pulleys at the top corners. He threw the slave down on his face on top of the tray and slipped the loops over his two ankles, drawing them tight. Because of the material, they would not cut off circulation and then while he pulled on the free end of one rope, I did the same with the other and when he was dangling upside down, stark naked, nude and duly implanted with the two chips and we had tied off the ropes, we were ready to take him home.

Peter drove off and we travelled along behind for Tony had brought our car up near the entrance to the yard and we were thus able to follow him all the way home while his naked body swung this way and that in the wind and from the ute's movements.

His trial had been well reported and the city crowds booed him-and cheered us, as we drove through the city and the streets of Spring Hill.

What a sight he was! I've already said he was handsome and beautifully built, even if I didn't want to make love to him. Well in that position, with his tanned body (except for the triangles over his buttocks and his genitals) on open display to the hundreds of people in the streets, he must have been feeling terrible. I hoped so. For we were going to make the next few years as bad as we could. After that, well, we would see...

Once home, we asked Peter if he had anything really arduous for him. You see, we hadn't realised Anne might have been awarded him to her as reparation for his crime against her but Peter had obviously been thinking about it over the last hour or so and grinned at us.

"I have, yes. What about that pile of new gravel you got in for the front drive, Scott? There's enough to do the whole drive and that's a few hundred metres; it'll take a couple of days at least, I should think."

"Excellent. Put him on it straight away. Now, do you know how to set his workload with your brooch?"

"I do. I'd suggest we set a medium load this time. After all, it's to be non-stop; even a break of more than a few seconds-say we set that to twenty seconds-would be an overkill, I think."

Anne and I nodded. "Yes, that sound fair, Peter. Do it."

He spoke into his brooch: "Frank. Workload, medium. Punishment level, Punishment. Break, twenty seconds. Start, five minutes; finish, six PM.

"Now, we've only got five minutes to get him started," he said to us. He then turned to his charge: "You, get that barrow and shovel and come with me..."

We watched as he put the slave to work and grinned that he had already learned the commands to control him, then followed them along to the huge pile of heavy gravel and how he attacked it with his shovel, loading the barrow and then pushing it at a fair pace along to the start of the driveway and emptying it, then returning for another load.

I've already said he was muscular but that doesn't mean either that he was strong or that he had stamina. Those two attributes are a function of training. Similarly, neither did he, or we for that matter, know precisely how the computer in my tablet would interpret Peter's commands. Only trial and error would do that and at the moment, he was working at a pace that he felt would keep the shocks at bay. But how long could he keep it up?

He had been sentenced at 10:00 in the morning. His processing had taken an hour or so and it was now twelve-noon. He had six hours of non-stop work ahead of him. We all knew it was impossible. No labourer was ever expected to work like that; but slaves were. Yes, he was now a slave but he wasn't yet conditioned to it. That would take days or even weeks, depending on his body and how his mind coped with this radical change to his life.

No free man ever accepts slavery just like that! It takes a rigorous and determined overseer to achieve this turn-around. Oh it works. It works very well but it sometimes takes some time.

He was our first slave. Our parents hadn't liked the idea of naked slaves working in and around the house and had retained our paid servants and we had just followed on from them. But we knew that as time passed, and slaves became common everywhere, domestic service would more and more become their lot and paid servants would not wish to be identified with them and would thus opt to train for other work. We would not be encouraging them and had told them as soon as we became their employers that they had positions with us for as long as they wished.

Anyway, we now went inside for our lunch and Peter stayed to watch over the slave for the first hour. I asked Tony to take over then to allow Peter his lunch. There would be no noon meal for the slave. They were fed night and morning only and we had already got in a couple of sacks of Slave Chow, the pellets that look rather like chook pellets. Two handfuls followed by a half litre of water (which then allows the pellets to swell up in the belly, fill it and allow normal digestion of the re-formed food) every morning and night, made feeding slaves cheap and easy. Tasteless and uninteresting for the slave, but then they were now considered as less than animals, so that was okay.

We had just finished our lunch when we both received a communication from Peter. This was by means of the brooch. They had another function: they served as a communication device between wearers, rather like those worn by the officers and crew of the Starship Enterprise of science fiction fame. Peter advised us that Frank had worked solidly and non-stop for an hour but had then taken a break and had received a punishment shock for it. He was back at work now but looked pretty well pooped.

"Right, Peter," I said. We'll be straight out."

He was still working but he looked careworn. Those fine muscles were shaking, the white parts of his body were red and his face was really haggard. I winked at Peter and then threw scorn at the slave. "Just look at him, Anne. He's only been at it an hour and he's already just about done in. Give me your cane, Peter. Let's see if a few strokes to those really red buttocks can't smarten him up?"

He grinned back at me and handed me the rattan, a dozen of which we had bought in, just for Frank.

I now moved up to the shaking slave, raised the cane and brought it down, right across those two shapely nates, at which he yowled, jumped in the air but then attacked the pile of gravel as if the devil himself was after him.

Of course he was tired. Muscleman and labourer, he was; but even top class labourers were not expected to work at slogging hard labour such as this without breaks-and fairly long ones at that. We had allowed no more than twenty seconds, well knowing it would mean a pretty rapid debilitation. But the cane across his already sunburned buttocks gave him a new life, even if it was only for another twenty minutes.

Another couple of strokes of the cane resulted in ten more, but after that, he fell to the ground, right across the huge pile of gravel, staring up at us in exhausted horror, waiting for another stroke of the cane but now powerless to force his muscles, now quivering in fatigue, to move a millimetre.

"Hose the lazy bastard down, Peter. A muscular body like that should be able to work for a few hours without collapsing...!"