Istari

Tales from a World of Slavery 1:

Processing Garret

I'm really scared, dad," Garret Weathers said from the back seat of the family mini-van.

"I know you are, son," his father replied as he pulled into the parking lot of the Hopewell County Slave Processing and Transfer Center. "But this is your own fault. You got yourself into this, now you're just going to have to deal with it."

Garret looked out the window at the large gray brick building. It was clearly a government facility. In fact, to the twelve-year-old's eyes it looked a lot like his school, big and cold with flags fluttering out front in the breeze. Yes, it could have been his school, with the obvious exceptions that its few windows were narrow slits and that it was surrounded by a tall fence capped with razor-wire. Garret's young heart began to race. Yes, it could have been his school. But his days of going to school were over for the foreseeable future.

"Wish I hadn't broken that stupid window," he muttered glumly.

"I know, honey," his mother replied. "But you and your friends all knew that playing baseball in the streets is against the law."

Garret's errant throw that day four weeks ago had resulted in the smashing of a storefront window; a charge of willful vandalism, a class 1 juvenile offence lodged against him; a swift trial in which his only defense was his age and the fact that he was the only boy who stuck around to confess to his crime; his equally swift conviction; and to everyone's surprise, his sentencing to spend the next four years of his life as a slave.

'Since there were ten other boys involved, but you are the only one standing in front of me,' the judge had told Garret angrily as the slender trembling boy stood shackled in his white juvenile offender jumpsuit, 'you will serve all the time I would have given each of them, as well as your own. I hereby sentence you to public slavery. Four years hard labor at a facility to be determined once you have been processed into the system. Processing is scheduled for one week from this date.'

And that had been it. Four weeks ago he was a happy, smart, well-adjusted if occasionally rambunctious twelve-year-old boy. Now he was going to be spending the next four years of his life as a public slave. Even at his relatively tender age, Garret knew enough about the system of child slavery to know that he was in for a very difficult time.

"Just try to be brave, Garret," his father suggested. "We'll be here with you today while they're processing you."

"I don't want to go away, dad," the boy said, his pre-teen voice choking back a sob. His ten-year-old brother Tristan giggled in the seat beside him, enjoying his big brother's misery.

"Is Garret really gonna be a slave for four whole years, dad?" Tristan asked.

"Yes, son. He did something very bad and he is being punished for it."

"What will happen to him when he's a slave?" the curious little boy chirped. "Will he have to be naked all the time like those other boys we saw yesterday?"

As part of Garret's pre-sentence requirements his family had to take him to the local Child-Slave Registry office to have his picture taken and his sentencing documents scanned and stored for future reference. Their eldest son was still allowed to wear clothes since he had not been officially processed yet, but most of the other slaves the Weathers family encountered there were naked. Tristan took a certain wicked delight in staring at all the penises of the boys and young teens chained to the wall in the waiting room.

"Yes, Tristan. Your brother is going to be naked for the next for years. They'll be keeping him busy doing all kinds of hard work and teaching him to behave better."

Garret let out a frightened little sob. "Mom, I don't wanna do this. Please don't let them make me a slave!"

"It's too late for that, son," his father replied sternly. "You should have thought of that before you broke that window."

Garret smacked his hand in frustration on the seat and started to cry. "But I'm the only one who stayed and confessed!"

"Yes, and we're very proud of you for that, sweetie."

"It's not fair!"

"Well, it won't be that bad, dear," his mom replied. Saddened though she was that her son would be spending his teenaged years as a slave, she was at least relieved that they'd sentenced him to hard labor and public service rather than turn him over to the pharmaceutical or sex industries, both of which demanded, and received from the state, a continual influx of young boys. "We'll get to visit you three times a year, and your attorney says you'll probably end up on a public maintenance crew with other boys your age, right here in town, so we'll still be able to see you once in a while."

Tristan had a huge smile on his face. The idea of taking all of his little friends to see his twelve-year-old brother working as a naked slave was just too cool to believe.

"Alright, we can't be late," Garret's dad broke in as he turned off the engine. "Everyone out. You go in first, Garret. Stand up straight. I don't want you slouching. You're in enough trouble as it is. Take your court papers with you."

Garret was a good looking kid. Light brown hair worn longish over the shoulder and down into his soft blue eyes. He had a winning smile currently being improved by braces and a light dusting of boyhood freckles across his sweet button nose. He was a bit small for his age, standing just short of four-foot-six [1.37 m], but very well-built and good at a variety of team sports, especially soccer. He had the deep Mediterranean complexion he shared with his mother. He was a kind-hearted boy who loved his dog and his mom and dad and even his annoying little brother. He got good grades in school and was popular with all the kids in his class. If this apparently perfect twelve-year-old boy had a flaw it was the ease with which he allowed himself to be led into mischief by others. His friends had goaded him into joining that game in the street. Breaking the law certainly hadn't been his idea. But his friends were all still free boys, and Garret was here at the local processing center to begin his new life as a slave. He stood in front of the reception desk dressed in his best school clothes and handed his papers to the uniformed officer stationed there.

"Weathers, Garret A.," the man read and entered the name into the computer. "Ah, here you are. Mmmm," he looked over his console at the small slender boy. "Four years hard labor. Too bad, kid. Well, that'll put some meat on those skinny bones anyway. Take out your earring. Boy slaves of your classification are not allowed to have them."

Garret obeyed and handed the little silver loop over the guard. "You can just give that to your mom, then go over there and have a seat." The officer pointed to a low bench on the opposite side of the room. Another boy a little older than Garret was already sitting there, his wrists cuffed behind him, his head bowed in shame. He was wearing only a pair of very thin white gym shorts and nothing else. Garret looked around wondering who this boy belonged to. There were no other families here. This poor lad had simply been dropped off and left to face his new life on his own. "You'll be called when a processing team is ready for you," the guard told the frightened boy. "Wait. Come back here. Are you wearing a locator?"

"Yes, sir," Garret spun back toward the desk. "It's around my ankle, sir."

The man motioned to one of his fellow officers who came round the large oval reception station and removed the boy's ankle-band with a set of special magnetized pliers. It had been placed there immediately after his sentencing to ensure his whereabouts were tracked at all times. History had shown in that in the short week between sentencing and processing, future boy slaves often tried to run, often with the help of their families. The ankle-band ensured that Garret would not have gotten far if he'd tried to take off. "There," the officer said as he deactivated the micro-chip inside the small cuff. "They'll be giving you a permanent one inside."

Garret swallowed hard. This was it. He handed his earring over to his mother's care and walked toward the bench. His family was on the other side of the room. He looked over to them, suddenly so ashamed that he'd brought this on himself and his mom and dad. Tristan, of course, was staring back at him with an evil expression. His mom looked sad. And his father seemed distant as always.

He sat down next to the nearly naked boy and obediently held his wrists behind his back to be cuffed by the waiting guard.

"Hi, I'm Garret," he said to the kid.

"Tyler," the boy in the gym shorts answered back. His voice indicated he was in the early stages of puberty. He had a good body on him, trim and lean and devoid of hair.

"I'm twelve. How 'bout you?"

"I'll be thirteen next month," Tyler answered.

"What did you do?" Garret asked in a soft whisper. He got the impression they really shouldn't be talking to each other.

The boy looked at him with red eyes. It was obvious he'd been crying just moments before. "I didn't do anything. My old man just got sick of me, so he sold me."

"Damn," Garret said in a low voice. "Sorry, dude. That's harsh. What's gonna happen to you now?"

"I don't know. They told me I'd probably end up being sent to some company called PharmaTech Research. They won't tell me anything else."

"Oh."

Garret didn't get a chance to talk to Tyler any longer, as the older boy's name was called. Nervously clutching his enslavement documents in his cuffed hands, clad only those tight white shorts, he sniffled and bravely marched through the door to the right marked 'Processing Rooms'. Garret would never see Tyler again. In fact no one would, except for the team of researchers running medical and genetic experiments at PharmaTech, sixty miles [100 km] from here.

Garret heard his name called a few minutes later over the loudspeaker. "Weathers, Garret A. Report to Processing Room 7 immediately."

With his parents and younger brother following behind him he walked through the heavy electronic doors, knowing that he would not be coming out that way again.

Two men were waiting for him when he got to Room 7. It was a rather small space, plain gray walls, with a computer workstation, several tall metal cabinets with pass-code locks and in the very center two metal posts running from floor to ceiling about four feet [1.2 m] apart. On the floor, between these posts was a red circle, lit by a bright spotlight from directly overhead.

"Weathers?" the taller of the pair, with the last name Branch printed on the shirt pocket of his uniform, asked sharply without turning around. The entire family noticed that both men had side arms holstered to their belts.

"Yes, sir," Garret answered, fighting the desire to start crying.

"Stand in the red circle."

"Okay," the twelve-year-old replied. He was generally obedient anyway, and certainly had no desire to upset these two large and scary looking men. He noticed as he took his required place, that three chairs had been set out for his parents and brother. The rest of the family took their seats and were addressed by the man called Branch.

"I am Officer Branch. This is Officer Fletcher. I assume this boy," the gestured back to Garret, "is your son."

"Yes, Officer Branch," Garret's dad replied, offering up his ID to confirm that he, his wife, and younger son had a right under law to be here to witness Garret's processing.

"Very well then. We will be processing your son according to Article 3 subsection H of the Juvenile Male Enslavement Act of 2027. All precautions will be taken to ensure that your son remains secure and unharmed during this process. Several of the procedures are both humiliating and painful. That, I am afraid, is normal and unavoidable. If you feel the need to leave the room at any time, you may certainly do so. Simply buzz the reception desk and you will be allowed back in. If you have any questions about what we are doing to your son, or why, please don't hesitate to ask. We find it makes it easier on the parents in the long run if they understand the 'whats, whys, and hows' of their son's processing."

"Thank you, Officer Branch," Garret's mom said, feeling at least some relief that her son was clearly in the hands of a dedicated and seasoned professional.

"Now, I see from his papers that Garret has been sentenced to a four year term of public servitude with a special stipulation for hard labor. That is considered a long-term punitive sentence by law, and so several additional procedures will be necessary. Let us begin then."

Branch turned to address Garret directly for the first time. "Look down, boy. Do you see the edges of the red circle?"

"Yes."

"Good. You are not, for any reason or under no circumstances to set your feet outside that circle. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Excellent. Now firstly, you are not addressing me correctly. In this jurisdiction all juvenile male slaves begin and end each sentence with 'sir' or 'ma'am'. If you fail to use the proper address again, you will be punished. Is that understood?"

Garret felt his knees going weak as the man stared at him with stern eyes. "Sir, yes, sir," he replied, his soft pre-teen tenor sounding thin and weak in the room.

"Good. Now, a requirement of your sentence is that you be naked at all times. Remove your clothes and place them in the box that Officer Fletcher is putting at your feet right now."

Garret hesitated for a moment, looking over at his family. He'd have to get naked in front of all of them. He blinked a tear out of his eye, said, "Sir, yes, sir," in the bravest voice a twelve-year-old could manage, and began to unbutton his shirt.

It was cold in the room. That was the first thing Garret noticed as the air hit his bare chest. Shirtless now he next took off his shoes and socks. He unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down his narrow little waist. The twelve-year-old was left now just in his red-striped boxers. He was a slim, lean, wiry little creature, having lost all his baby-fat last year. He could probably be called skinny, although he did have some attractive young muscles just starting to develop in his arms and legs. His tummy was flat and taut highlighted by a tiny adorable outtie-style navel, his chest was still narrow and child-like, his pectoral muscles just hinting at definition. His nipples, hard from the cold, were small and pink.

Garret stopped there in his boxers, hoping against hope that this was naked enough for them.

"What about the word naked don't you understand, boy? Now take those boxers off right now!" Branch looked squarely between the boy's trembling legs at the tiny little innocent bulge covered by soft cotton. "You can't have anything worth hiding in there that's for sure."

Garret blushed, looked in horror at his mom, tucked his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers and with a deep courageous breath shucked them down his legs and into the box. Standing back up he quickly clasped his hands over his boyparts, not wanting anyone, especially his mom or dad to see his twelve-year-old wiener.

"We'll have none of that, Weathers," Branch said to him sternly. "Another rule you must learn is that boy slaves are not allowed to cover their genitals or touch them. You will be punished if I see you doing that again. Hands behind your head until I tell you different."

Garret sniffled miserably, but obeyed, offering another "Sir, yes, sir!" just be safe and standing there now in all his twelve-year-old glory. His cock was at most average for his age, really a bit on the small side if truth be told, a thin soft two-inch [5 cm] circumcised penis. It was beautifully shaped though, with a cute sexy saucy little curve that give it the appearance of being semi-erect even when it wasn't. Garret's balls were a bit more impressive. Plump, ripening orbs in a soft pink scrotum held closely to his body for the moment due to the cold. Under warmer circumstances they would have been dangling quite low, as loose low-hanging ball-sacks were a trait shared by all three male members of the Weathers family.

Garret did have a small amount of pubic hair, just a tiny wispy dusting above and around his penis, but it was certainly something his mother had not expected to see. She let out a soft gasp. Ten-year-old Tristan, who had seen it before and found it very amusing, let out another little giggle. Garret's proud little patch of pubes however marked the only hair on his otherwise smooth body.

"There, now that wasn't so bad, was it?" Branch asked the naked boy.

"Sir, no, sir," Garret replied meekly, offering the answer he knew the man wanted to hear.

"Get used to being naked, boy. You're going to be that way for the next four years."

Garret bit his lip but said nothing more. To his sudden surprise and humiliation his penis began to swell. It did not become fully erect, much his to his relief, but had obviously lengthened and thickened from its previously dormant state. Branch ignored this development for the moment, and returned his attention to the boy's family.

"Now we're going to being the real work of processing. First we must restrain him, as some of the upcoming procedures often meet with resistance from the slave."

Branch's assistant Fletcher carried out this duty. First attaching leather cuffs to the twelve-year-old's wrists and ankles, then locking them to sliding adjustable rings on the two posts on either side of the boy. After several moments of adjustment, Garret found himself standing in a spread-eagle position, his feet wide apart, his slender arms raised high above his head and separated to the point of placing a painful strain on his young shoulders.

"Why are they making him stand like that, mom?" Tristan asked.

Branch overheard the younger boy's question and helpfully answered it. "Well, young man, we need access to all parts of your brother's body. This makes sure he can't keep any part of himself away from us. Slaves don't own their bodies. In your brother's case, the state now owns him. And there are certain things we must do to him to make sure he's a safe, happy, obedient little slave. You want your brother to be a good slave, don't you?"

"Um, I guess so 3;" Tristan replied thoughtfully.

"We have some preliminaries that need to be taken care of first. I see he's already circumcised. That is a real time saver. Rules vary throughout the state, but in this county all boy slaves must be circumcised. Was it done for religious purposes?"

"No, Officer Branch. We discovered he had a very tight foreskin when he was ten. It was causing him quite a lot of pain whenever his little penis got hard, so the doctors recommended we have his foreskin removed."

"Ah. Sensible. Well, as I said, that will be a time saver, and spare him the added pain of a circumcision on top of everything else we'll be doing to him today. I see he has braces. Those, I am afraid, will have to go. Your son will be gagged most of the time during the next four years, and braces tend to interfere with them."

At this news, Mr. Weathers was visibly upset. They'd just written their final check to the orthodontist and now all that money was going for nothing. He shot a rather angry glare at his bound and naked twelve-year-old son. Garret got the message and went red in face.

"This procedure only takes a moment, and is a lot less painful than having them put on in the first place."

Officer Fletcher approached Garret with a rather frightening looking dental clamp designed to force the boy's mouth open, his lips back, and his tongue down and out of the way. He then pulled a clear spray bottle from a nearby supply cart.

"We simply dissolve the glue holding the braces to his teeth and off they come," Branch explained, and sure enough after just five minutes nearly 3,000.00 dollars worth of dental work was simply thrown into the trash can.

"There. Now we can begin the processing routine. Everything we are going to do today is done to all boys with his particular sentence. Your son is not being singled out in any way. These procedures are for his own well-being and meant to ensure his quick and easy adaptation to his new life as a slave. It is important that you understand that."

Mr. and Mrs. Weathers both nodded.

"The first thing we will be doing is shaving his head."

"What?! No!" Garret couldn't help himself. At twelve he was starting to become more and more self conscious about his appearance and he was particularly fussy about his long beautiful hair being just right. The thought of losing it when he became a slave was something that had not occurred to him until now.

"Slave, you've just earned a punishment for disrespect. Now apologize to me and your family for your outburst."

Visibly crying now, the bound and naked twelve-year-old, with his cock still half-hard, sobbed out an apology. "Sir, I'm sorry, sir. Mom, Dad, I'm sorry 3; please don't let them cut my hair, please 3;"

"There's nothing we can do about that, son," his father told him with considerably less sympathy than Garret was hoping for. "You brought this on yourself."

"You're a father after my own heart, Mister Weathers," Officer Branch said approvingly. "Officer Fletcher will now proceed. We will use an electric clipper first. Then remove the remaining stubble with a razor."

"Garret's gonna be like totally bald now, right?" Tristan asked with an evil grin on his face.

"For the next year at least. Hair is a privilege a boy slave must earn, and even then he will only be allowed a very close buzz-cut. Once we've removed the hair on his head, we'll be shaving off what little pubic hair he's grown so far."

"Can he grow that back too?" Tristan, always a curious boy, asked again.

"No. We have a procedure that will keep his pubic hair from growing back for the duration of his sentence. Slaves are not allowed to have any hair down there."

"Cool. I don't have any down there either. You're not so big now, are you, shit-head?"

Garret glared at his pesky little brother. Branch slapped him hard across the face.

"Don't you dare be impertinent, slave. Your brother asked you a question. Answer him."

Garret could barely form the words. "Sir, no, sir, I'm not so big now, sir," he forced himself to say as he continued to glare at Tristan. Calling his little brother 'sir' was so humiliating. The ten-year-old knew it, and he glared right back and stuck his tongue out at his big brother.

Garret closed his eyes tightly when he heard the electric clippers coming at him from behind. In just a matter of moments his hair was gone, lying in piles at his feet. Branch himself then did the honors of shaving the boy's head clean with a razor and some rather smelly blue shaving gel.

"Keep your head still, or I'll end up cutting you."

"S 3; sir, y 3; yes, s 3; s 3; sir," Garret cried.

Branch had done this hundreds of times before and soon Garret's head was completely clean-shaven, the beautiful locks of the free boy he had been simply swept up and tossed away. The symbolism was not lost on his family, nor on the now bald and thoroughly ashamed twelve-year-old.

They did his pubic hair next. This only took a few seconds since there was so little of it, but the proximity of Officer Fletcher's hands next to the boy's groin caused Garret's penis to stiffen to all its three and one-half inch [4 cm] glory.

"Ha! Garret's got a boner!" Tristan laughed and pointed, even as his own little dick was rock hard in his shorts and had been for some time. "Garret's got a boner 3; Garret's got a boner 3;" the ten-year-old teased and taunted his older brother in a sing-song fashion.

Branch smiled at the eager and clearly sadistic little boy. "Yes, young man, your brother does seem to have an erection. That's the next thing we're going to work on. Little boy slaves are not permitted to use their penises for anything but peeing, and they are never permitted to have erections. This is the last one your brother will be having for a long time."

Branch turned his attention to Garret's parents. "This will probably be difficult for you to watch, but history has proven that boy slaves your son's age work best and hardest when they have their little penises locked up. We will be putting a cock-cage around Garret's penis which will prevent him from having erections or from touching his penis in any way. Instead of thinking about playing with himself, he will be more inclined to think about working hard for his new overseers."

"Seems sensible, really," Garret's dad said. "Don't you think, dear?"

Garret's mom was not nearly so convinced, but then again, she'd seen the trouble her son's increasingly rambunctious nature had gotten him into. And she, like every man, woman and child across the country had seen the naked brigades of publicly owned boy slaves working from dawn 'til dusk with their young sex organs locked away in cages, pods, chastity belts and other strict devices. It did seem to make a certain amount of sense to her after all. "I suppose it will help him focus on his work as a slave. It's just his penis is still so small. I didn't think they made chastity devices for boys that little."

"Mommmm!" Garret turned beet red at his mother's casual dismissal of his boyhood. His outburst earned him another slap to the face, another promised punishment, and another "Ma'am, I'm sorry, ma'am".

"That's all right, sweetheart," his mother replied, resting her eyes on his still erect penis. It actually looked just like a much smaller version of his father's and she quickly ushered away the rather impure thoughts she'd just had about her oldest son's admittedly cute and adorably sexy twelve-year-old body.

"And to answer your concerns, Mrs. Weathers," Fletcher spoke for the first time, "we have chastity devices here suitable for boys as young as eight. Your son will be getting one of our smaller models to be sure, but I can assure you it will be completely effective in keeping his penis soft and his mind focused."

Officer Branch then took a few moments to examine Garret's penis and testicles. In spite of its meager length and girth, it was a beautiful twelve-year-old cock, perfectly shaped, the skin just beginning to darken a bit with the onset of puberty. The boy's glans was pink and beautifully rounded, the frenum completely removed by the circumcision. Branch noticed a tiny drop of pre-teen pre-cum glistening on Garret's piss-slit.

"Can you shoot, boy?" he asked abruptly as he cupped the twelve-year-old's balls in his right hand. They had a tell-tale weight to them that already gave him the answer.

"Sir, shoot what, sir?" Garret asked softly, still blushing.

Branch rolled his eyes. "When you play with yourself, do you make sperm?"

"Sir, you mean my white stuff, sir?"

"Yes. And you just answered my question. He's a cummer, Fletcher. Bring me an extra-small cage, pre-teen class, with training spikes please."

The device that was presented nearly made poor Garret pee all over the floor. It was a cage made of lightweight aluminum and it was certainly small. In fact it was very small. About an inch-and-a-half [4 cm] long and no more than an inch [2½ cm] wide at its widest part. The metal bars of the cage were covered all around with small spikes. A flanged base-ring scarcely an inch [2½ cm] diameter would open to allow the entire device to be anchored snuggly around a boy's cock and balls, once his penis had been fed carefully into the cage itself. The specially placed training spikes on the inside would of course press into the young wearer's penis whenever it attempted to harden. The spikes on the outer surface of the cage, considerably sharper than those on the inside, ensured that the boy made no attempt to touch the device which imprisoned his penis.

"Have you masturbated recently, Weathers?"

A new round of blushing began on Garret's sweet innocent face. "Sir, yes, sir."

"When?"

"Um 3; sir, this morning, sir."

Branch shook his head in disapproval. "So you knew you'd be coming here today to become a slave, and you still found the time to jerk off. Shame on you. Well, I hope you enjoyed yourself, because that was the last time you'll be doing that for the next four years. Put it on him, Fletcher."

The silent Fletcher, who seemed younger, though every bit as strong as Officer Branch, quickly performed this particular procedure, forcing twelve-year-old Garret's still half-hard penis into the cage then closing the flange around the base of the boy's now hairless genitals. The base ring was tight, forcing Garret's balls forward and out from his body even as the cage held his penis in a permanently downward angle.

"Be still now," Fletcher spoke for only the second time. "I have to apply a weld to the flange. If you move, it could burn you."

'A weld,' Garret thought.

"A weld, Officer Branch?" Garret's dad voiced his son's mind.

"Naturally. Permanent enforced chastity is a standard part of your son's sentence. The growth of his reproductive organs will be monitored on a monthly basis and his penis will be placed in a larger cage as the need warrants. Other than that, his penis will remain locked up for the duration of his sentence. When he is deemed mature enough, probably within the next six months, he will be subjected to a regular routine of prostatic milkings to keep his testicles functioning properly, but under no circumstances is he permitted to have an erection or an orgasm."

"What about accidents, at night?" Garret's father asked. "I'm sure he's had a few of those already."

Garret felt his ears burning. He hated the fact that everyone was talking about him like he wasn't even in the room.

"Nocturnal emissions are forbidden as well. His overseers will monitor him for such occurrences and he will be disciplined for them quite severely. Your son is a slave. His reproductive capacity and his reproductive organs are of absolutely no use or value to the state. When he has served his sentence and been returned to you, you can decide if the chastity device should be removed or not."

"I see."

Officer Fletcher was ready now with the soldering gun. Since the flange on the ring at the base of the boy's genitals was beneath the scrotum, Officer Branch assisted by lifting the boy's newly encaged package, providing his partner with easy and safe access. Fletcher was obviously quite close to the trembling little twelve-year-old now and could appreciate the smooth soft hairless skin of the pre-teen boy's perineum. In spite of the cold, young Garret had started to sweat, and the sweet clean odor of boy filled Fletcher's nostrils. Working with expert care so as not to permanently damage the young slave, Fletcher applied two welds, one on each side of the locking flange, ensuring that the tiny cage could not be removed, permanently imprisoning young Garret's penis for the next four years. Tears streamed freely down the twelve-year-old's face. Any semblance of putting up a brave front was long gone.

"Now we must insert a plug into your son's rectum. This can become a rather unpleasant experience for family members to witness. If you'd like to excuse yourselves for the next few minutes, I will certainly understand."

Garret's dad and mom did exactly that, but young Tristan was determined to stay and watch. Only his father's forceful grip on his hand could drag him from his seat and out of the room. When the family was gone, Branch turned to the bound and naked boy.

"I gave you a break, slave. No twelve-year-old boy wants his parents to see what's about to happen, especially not his mother. Say 'Thank you.'"

"Sir, thank you, sir."

"Good. Some of the Processors at this facility prefer to take this step slowly. I am not one of them. Fletcher, bring me a size 8 plug."

Officer Fletcher returned from the secured supply cabinet a moment later with a five-inch [12½ cm] long metal cylinder, two-inches [5 cm] wide at its widest, tapering down to half an inch [12 mm] then widening again at the very base. There was a steel ring attached to the base of the plug, which would allow the young slave to be secured to the floor, or wall or any public place that had a suitable sturdy hitch for slaves. Garret's eyes were huge and filled with terror as he stared at the very first butt-plug he'd ever seen, or even heard of for that matter.

"Spread his ass-cheeks, Fletcher, and lube him up."

Garret closed his eyes tightly in shame and humiliation as the other officer parted the twelve-year-old's cute little bubble butt and squirted some gooey liquid into his hole. Garret had never had any concept that something might actually go UP INTO his butt. Things were only supposed to come OUT of there. He stared at the shining metal plug again in rising terror, his little heart pounding in his chest. He was sure there was just no way anything that big was ever going to fit inside his butt.

"Sir, is this going to hurt a lot, sir?"

"Yes. A great deal. Scream all you want, I won't punish you for that."

Branch moved behind the young slave, worked the lubricant in a bit more deeply with his finger, an act that caused Garret to moan and wiggle his toes and to feel the bite of the spikes on his hardening penis for the very first time.

"Oh, so you're a little faggot, are you? Get that dick soft right now!"

At twelve, Garret, of course, could no more control his penis than he could make himself stop breathing, but he tried his best to make his dick go soft again, and the spikes were certainly helping him along. He yelped and screeched as they dug deeper into his penis until finally his young organ gave up its futile attempt at becoming erect and began to shrink once more. The boy was so mesmerized by the pain in his misbehaving little wiener that he didn't even notice when Branch pressed the rounded end of the plug against his backdoor.

However, once Officer Branch began forcing the large metal plug into the boy's butt, he definitely got Garret's undivided attention.

"Ooooh! Oooaaaggghh 3; take it out 3; ppppplease 3; it hurts!"

But Branch was not about to do that. Nor would he be allowed to. All enslaved boys had to be plugged, and Garret Weathers' sentence required a size 8 or higher. Unknown to Garret, Officer Branch had shown him mercy, selecting for him the smallest plug allowed by law, but it was still quite a bit too large for such a small, innocent virgin boy to take without shrieking in absolute agony. Big anguished tears were rolling down the boy's cheeks when his parents and little brother were invited back in.

"You may inspect the plug, if you wish," Branch said. "You will see that no permanent damage has been done to him."

Garret's parents were forced to agree that their crying son had survived his plugging more or less unscathed, at least physically speaking. Tristan was a bit more inquisitive and a bit more vocal.

"Why'd you put that plug thing up his butt? I mean, what's it for? Does it keep him from pooping?"

Branch smiled at the little blonde-haired ten-year-old once more. "That's one reason. You see, young man, your brother will not be allowed to use the bathroom like free boys do. From now on, he'll be getting enemas. Do you know what that is?"

"No."

"Well, when a boy gets an enema, that means we put a special kind of hose in his butt and put a lot of water inside him, then he craps it all out. Sort of like washing his insides. He'll be getting one every day from now on, so he won't have to use the toilet the normal way anymore. So that's one reason he has a plug inside him, so he can't go on his own."

"Cool," Tristan said, taking a moment to inspect the tiny cage that imprisoned his brother's penis.

"It's also a good reminder to him that he is a slave now. Your brother's plug is big and it reaches way up inside him. It's very uncomfortable. He'll probably never really get used to it. It's doing something else to him too, but you're really too young to understand that kind of thing."

"I guess," the ten-year-old said wrinkling up his cute little button nose, a trait he and his brother both shared. "Can I touch the cage thingy on his wiener?"

Branch nodded. "Just be careful of the spikes on the outside."

Tristan took the opportunity to carefully poke and prod at the little cock-cage that imprisoned his older brother's penis.

"Does it hurt him?"

"Only when he tries to get an erection," Branch replied. "Here, I'll show you." Having years of experience in the workings of the bodies of pre-teen and teenaged boys, Branch quickly squeezed both of Garret's nipples, then twisted them hard. Garret shouted out in protest, but his cock, predictably, responded by quickly hardening inside its cage. Garret let out a loud hiss through clenched teeth and then a high-pitched groan when his swelling boyhood came in contact with the spikes once again. Young Tristan watched in fascination as his brother's penis continued to swell against the bars of the cock-cage for a few more moments and then slowly shrank back down to its normal flaccid state. The ten-year-old had only recently become aware of his own little erections and he was aware that he was having one right now. He stepped back from his brother and adjusted the hard little worm in his pants.

Branch saw this and smiled. "I think you've played with your brother enough. Now go back to your parents and sit down. We've got a lot more to do to make your brother a good slave. You still want him to be a good slave, don't you?"

"Sure do, " little Tristan said, hurrying happily back to his mom and dad and sticking his tongue out at Garret once more.

Once Tristan was back in his seat swinging his bare legs from side to side in his cut-off summer shorts, Officers Branch and Fletcher continued processing young Garret for his new life.

"Now that we've got Garret chastity-caged and plugged, it's time we removed the rest of his body hair."

Garret's parents seemed a bit puzzled since it was clear that Garret's body, now that his sparse little patch of pubic hair had been shaved away, was completely hairless.

"Of course he doesn't really have any real hair to speak of, just a bit of pre-teen peach fuzz on his arms and legs, but he will certainly begin growing some in the next few years. This process will kill any existing follicles and prevent the maturation of new ones for the duration of his sentence. He will not be rendered permanently hairless, we only do that to boys with life sentences, but this is the next best thing. All boy slaves must be absolutely hairless from their necks down to their toes. It is simply a matter of efficient hygiene, and serves as an additional reminder of their subhuman status. Fletcher will now be applying a special depilatory cream over your son's body."

Branch turned back to Garret and addressed him directly. "You'll feel a little burning on your skin after the first few seconds, but it will pass."

Garret watched, along with his family, as Officer Fletcher opened a small plastic tub of orange goop and began to apply it liberally over the twelve-year-old's body. His arms, his legs, his neck, his torso, his pubic region, his underarms, the tops of his feet, his perineum, his perfectly round little butt-cheeks, even his fingers and toes. Any place a boy might start to grow even a little bit of hair as he went through puberty was soon covered in a thick layer of smelly cream.

"We have to let him cook for about ten minutes," Fletcher said with a smile while Officer Branch increased the intensity of the spotlight over the boy's head. During this interval, Branch answered more mostly irrelevant questions from Tristan and a rather pointed one from Garret's father.

"Exactly what kind of work will Garret be doing, Officer Branch?"

"Well, I cannot give you an entirely precise answer. The processing of boys is my area of expertise, not their final disposition. I can tell you that a sentence of hard labor normally means he'll be assigned to public maintenance and construction projects throughout the county. That means he'll be working in a chain brigade, digging ditches, picking up liter from highways and streets and other public venues, performing landscaping work at parks and schools and other public facilities, cleaning public toilets, and working on any small-scale construction or repair projects that don't require the use of skilled professionals or heavy equipment. Once we've finished processing him, he becomes the property of the state's Child-Slave Labor Management Department. They will evaluate him to determine which types of hard labor he's best suited to and then your son will be assigned to a chain brigade for the duration of his term of enslavement. Brigades are normally made up of anywhere from six to twelve boys, always under the supervision of at least one uniformed officer from the Department. These officers are generally called overseers, or drivers. Boys on chain can range in age from eight to sixteen."

"So we may see him out in public?" his mother asked.

"I think you can count on that. I should warn you both right now however than unless you are there on an officially sanctioned visit you will not be allowed to touch him or talk to him or interfere with his labor in any way. You can be fined quite heavily for that and his sentence can be extended indefinitely if you are found to be visiting him without the proper permits."

Garret's mom seemed rather dispirited at that harsh news, and Garret himself choked back a miserable sob, but his father was more philosophical about things.

"Well at least we'll still get to see him once in a while, dear. Even if we can't talk to him, that's something."

"I suppose. Just the thought of seeing my poor little angel out there naked 3;"

"You'll have to get used to it. We all will."

"What are the neighbors going to think?" Mrs. Weathers asked in sudden horror. Her presidency of the local PTA was sure to be coming to an ignominious end, once the community learned that her eldest boy was now a public slave.

Fletcher checked his watch. "That should be enough time under the heat-lamp."

Officer Branch agreed and turned the overhead spot back down to its previous intensity. Fletcher pulled a black hose from its mount up in the ceiling and proceeded to spray young Garret down with cold water, washing away the depilatory cream and with it what little boyish body-hair the twelve-year-old had. There was a small drain in the middle of the red circle to allow everything to swirl down into the pipes below. Fletcher quickly dried the boy's shivering naked body with a small towel, preparing him for the next step in his transformation.

"Now we'll be marking Garret as a public slave," Branch announced. "Since his is not a life sentence, these won't be permanent." Fletcher wheeled over what appeared to be an artist's airbrush and compressor set on a small metal cart. "I have a special marking device here," Branch said, holding the nozzle of the inking machine in his hand. "The ink is indelible, so it only needs to be reapplied once a month or so."

Mom, Dad, and Tristan all watched as the word 'SLAVE' was air-brushed across Garret's bare chest in large black block letters using a series of templates to ensure the markings were perfectly aligned and symmetrical. The same template was then taped to the boy's back and the same word painted between his shoulder blades. "This ink has fluorescent properties, so it will glow in the dark," Branch told the boy's family matter-of-factly.

Switching to a smaller nozzle, Garret's slave number W-432-3r was marked on his right shoulder and again on the side of his left buttock. Fletcher then taped a special template to the front of Garret's right thigh. "All state-owned slaves are marked with an individual barcode allowing us to scan and track them should they be lost, stolen or attempt to run away. That's what I'm putting on his leg right now. Once that one's done, he'll be getting one on his forehead too."

When the compressor was finally turned off, Garret was beginning to look the part. He now had a barcode inked across his forehead and on his right leg. His slave number was on his shoulder and butt and, worst of all for the twelve-year-old boy, the word SLAVE written large and plain for all to see was now emblazoned on his chest and back. Bald, plugged, his penis locked in a chastity cage, and now his skin covered with slave markings, there was no longer any doubt that Garret's freedom was at an end and his new life as a child slave about to begin.

After the ordeal of the icy shower, Branch correctly suspected that the young slave probably needed to urinate.

"Do you need to pee, Weathers?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" Garret said desperately between teeth that where still chattering.

"Well, no one is stopping you. Start peeing."

"Sir, right here, sir?"

"Of course right here. Do you think we're going to drag your sorry little butt all the way down to the restroom? A slave's bodily functions are public, just like the rest of him. The sooner you learn that the better."

"But, I mean, sir, my mom's here, sir, I mean 3;" Garret had often shared a piss with his dad, and Tristan, but no boy has any desire to have his mother watch him take a leak.

"I can leave if that would help him," Mrs. Weathers suggested helpfully.

"No, ma'am, it would not," Branch replied. "Your son is far too modest. He'll be broken of that habit soon enough, but we might as well start right now. Take your piss, boy. That's an order. You've already got extra punishment coming, don't make it worse."

With his arms and legs spread wide and bound to the posts on either side of him, the naked, helpless and increasingly hopeless twelve-year-old finally gave up on his last shred of modesty. Looking down at his caged penis he willed himself to start peeing. Finally his yellow stream splattered out of him and down into the drain below. Tristan laughed and pointed at him and teased him mercilessly. When he'd finished, Fletcher wheeled another cart into position, this one loaded down with heavy chains and shackles.

"Next we must fit the boy slave with his physical restraints," Branch explained to Garret's parents. "State law requires that he be collared, shackled and chained at all times, and as a class 1 juvenile offender the combined weight of his shackles and chains is required to be no less than 50% of his current body weight. His court records show him at eighty-two pounds [37 kg]. Is that correct?"

"As far as we know, Officer Branch," Garret's father replied.

"Then we shall be placing him permanent chain bondage at forty-one [18½ kg] pounds in total weight."

"Why do the chains have to be so heavy?" Garret's mom asked with a worried look in her eyes.

"They are a punitive measure, Mrs. Weathers. Remember, your son is being punished and routine punishment is a part of your son's sentence. The weights will also ensure that he develops the necessary musculature to be an efficient little worker. He seems quite fit already, lugging his chains about will help to develop his body strength even further. Naturally they are also a deterrent to any attempt at running away. We'll be putting him into his collar first."

Fletcher selected one of appropriate diameter for the boy's slender delicate neck. It was made of iron with a special anodized coating. "Since he will be spending most of the next four years outdoors, all of his physical restraints are cast from anodized iron alloys. This prevents them from rusting when exposed to rain and snow, which he will experience quite often needless to say."

The collar was locked around Garret's neck and once again, just as with the boy's cock-cage, a series of welds sealed it permanently closed. The collar had four rings running around its circumference, from which the boy could be tethered or chained. Next to the ring at the back of his collar there was also a small metal box. Officer Branch opened this with a magnetic key and removed a tiny microchip. He handed it to Fletcher who took it over to the computer station and set it into a small port on the side of the machine. Branch explained.

"We are uploading all of your son's personal and physical data as well as all of his sentencing documents from the court. Once the chip is re-installed into his collar and activated, Slave Management can track his movements anywhere in the country."

"Anywhere in the world, to be precise," Fletcher added helpfully as he returned with the tiny chip.

Branch rolled his eyes impatiently and fitted the microchip back into its secure housing. A little green light flashed on the outside of the box, indicating the chip was active and functioning.

"The chip can also be used for corrective purposes, should a boy need a reminder of his status. I'll demonstrate that for you now."

Branch walked nonchalantly over to the computer, called up the boy's file, entered a few quick keystrokes and seconds later the chip emitted a mild electric current that quickly traveled through the naked twelve-year-old's slender frame. Mom and Dad leapt to their feet in alarm and Garret let out a frantic shriek, but it was over as quickly as it began.

"That was just a test," Branch explained to the boy's wide-eyed parents as he gestured them to sit back down. "The little chip can pack quite a punch though. Not enough to kill a boy, but certainly enough to put him on the ground if he gets uppity or misbehaves." He turned to Garret now and stared into the boy's swimming terrified blue eyes. "Would you like another demonstration, Weathers?"

"S 3; sir, nnnnn 3; nnooo, ssssir," the boy stammered weakly.

"I thought you'd say that. Well, I'm sure you'll get a taste of what it can do as the years go by. Now let's continue shall we?"

"Ssssir, ye 3; yes, sir," Garret replied between quiet miserable sobs.

Shackles were secured around Garret's thin wrists and ankles next. They were rather larger for him but not so big as to slide off on their own. Once again Fletcher welded them in place.

"His collar and shackles are a bit big for his small size at the moment, but this is the only pair he will be issued, and he will grow into them over the next four years," Branch explained. "Now for the chains. They comprise the bulk of the weight."

From Garret's perspective the iron collar and shackles seemed quite heavy already.

"Boy, we will be removing you from the restraining posts now so that we can fit you for your chains. You will remain standing inside the red circle. You will keep your feet spread apart and your arms straight out from your sides. Do you understand these instructions?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

Fletcher quickly unbuckled the leather straps that had kept Garret in this bound position for more than one hour now. The boy obediently kept his feet spread at a wide angle and held his arms out to his sides away from his body.

"The chains are designed to restrict but not greatly limit his movements. He will be working in them every day and a certain freedom of motion is required for most of the tasks he'll be assigned."

Garret watched with wide eyes as the thick heavy chains were placed and adjusted one at a time. All of his shackles had rings for mounting chains on them just like his collar. The first chain went between his shackled ankles. It was two feet [60 cm] long, more than enough to allow him to walk, but far too short to permit him to run. Another set of chains was placed between his shackled wrists, this one was also two feet [60 cm] long. Now things got interesting as the shackles around the boy's right wrist and right ankle were connected by a chain three feet [90 cm] in length. Another identical length of chain was then connected to the shackles on his left wrist and ankle. The boy was now wearing four sets of chains, but they were not finished yet. Two more shorter lengths of chain were attached to the front of his collar and then connected individually to his left and right wrist shackles. Satisfied with the lengths of the all the chains, Branch instructed Fletcher to begin welding them in place. This process took several minutes, during which poor Garret was sweating and shaking, both out of fear of being burned and under the weight of all the chains with which he was now permanently bound. When it was done, Garret saw that he had six chains attached to him, running in a circle from his collar to his left wrist, down to his left ankle, between his feet to his right ankle, back up to his right wrist and then back up to his neck. The sixth one ran between his wrists.

"Walk around inside the circle, Weathers," Branch ordered him.

"Sir, yes, sir," Garret said dubiously. He wasn't sure he'd be able to move with so many chains, and his first steps were awkward and stumbling. He found he could only move his arms so far in any one direction before the chains stopped him, and the length of his stride was of course permanently set at two feet [60 cm].

"For punishment the chains can, of course be doubled over on themselves, halving their overall length and making movement nearly impossible. You don't ever want to be punished that way, do you, Weathers?"

"Sir, no, sir."

"We're almost done," Branch said after ordering Garret back into position, his feet spread wide once more, his arms dangling limp at his sides. "It is time to gag him. Open your mouth, slave."

Garret obeyed. Branch inspected the boy's small orifice. The boy seemed to have a good set of teeth.

"Are all those your adult teeth, slave?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

"Open wider. Don't close your mouth. Fletcher, lets try a number 3 penis-gag."

Fletcher returned with a hideous looking thing that brought tears to Garret's eyes immediately and his mother gasped in horror at the thought of her sweet young son being forced to wear such a cruel device. It consisted of a latex cock-shaped prong about three inches [7½ cm] long and nearly as wide. It was mounted to the inside of a thick curved metal plate. The plate itself had two leather straps dangling from either side. Fletcher inserted the horribly huge gag into the boy's adorably small mouth. The result was immediate choking on the boy's part.

"Too wide for him. Try a 2.5, same style."

This was a better fit, if still frightfully large and uncomfortable. Garret felt the fake plastic penis filling his mouth as Fletcher pushed the gag all the way in until the boy's lips were touching the cold surface of the metal plate. Branch himself pulled the straps tightly around Garret's head and buckled them together at the back of the boy's neck. A padlock was applied to ensure that the gag could only be removed by authorized individuals. The key to the lock was set aside for the moment, eventually to be transferred to the drivers of the chain brigade to which the boy would shortly be assigned.

"All public boy slaves are kept gagged at all times except when they are eating or sleeping," Branch explained to the newly sentenced slave-boy's family. "We find that penis-gags such as this one provide a high degree of discipline and humiliation and help to keep the boys docile and obedient." He chose not to tell them that while this may have been the first penis ever forced into their son's mouth it would certainly not be the last.

Garret's mom was close to tears now as she gazed at her precious young offspring with that hideous gag covering the lower part of his sweet little face. His tear-filled eyes, his heavy iron slave collar, his chains, the slave markings on his body, that cage around his small inoffensive little penis. She wanted so much to draw him into her arms and comfort him, but she knew this was now forbidden. Once they had entered this room, Garret was no longer strictly speaking her son, but a boy slave owned by the government to be worked night and day on behalf of the entire community.

"I know the gag seems harsh, ma'am," Fletcher made one of his rare statements. "But it is causing him no lasting physical harm. You must know that by law all public child slaves are forbidden to speak. Keeping your son gagged is the most effective way of enforcing this part of his sentence. I assure you he will be a much happier slave if he doesn't have to worry about things like remembering not to talk."

"I suppose you're right."

"On more item, and then your son's processing will be complete."

Branch produced a pair of black leather high-top work-boots. Garret's parents had wondered why they'd needed to provide their son's shoe size for his court documents, now it was clear. The boots had no laces but instead went on with a series of buckles and straps. They felt heavy as Garret stepped into them and they looked ridiculously large on him compared to his small slender frame. Like his collar and shackles the obvious intention was that he would grow into them over the next few years and hopefully not require an additional pair as he became a teenager.

"Boy, this is the only item currently attached to your body that you will be expected to put on and remove by yourself. Bend over now and practice un-doing the buckles and straps. Once you are in a chain brigade you will need to be able to put these on or take them off in less than ten seconds whenever ordered."

Garret had some difficulty with his chains getting the way, but managed to get the boots unbuckled and off his feet very quickly.

"Good. Now put them back on."

"Mmmmph, mmmph," the boy replied into his gag and bent back over to put his new slave-boy boots on once more. When he stood up, his parents saw the results of the last ninety minutes of work by Branch and Fletcher. Their son certainly looked like a slave, in fact he looked exactly like all the other naked boy slaves everyone had now grown accustomed to seeing in communities all over the country and around the world.

"You may go to your parents and say goodbye," Branch said to the boy.

Garret again blinked big tears out of his eyes and shuffled bravely over to his parents, his chains clanking and rattling as he did so. His mother got her last chance to give him a hug and took it, squeezing him tightly and feeling the sweat running down the boy's back. His father stood Garret in front of him and stared at him for a long moment, amazed at how different this boy was from the one they'd driven here this morning. He ran his eyes slowly from the boy's bald head down to his booted feet, pausing midway to ponder the tiny cock-cage that imprisoned Garret's maturing penis and the nightmare of frustration and denial that would be this boy's life for the next four years.

"I can't say I wish I could trade places with you, Garret," he addressed his harshly gagged son knowing the boy could not possibly reply, "because this is your own fault. You know that, right?"

"Mmmph," the boy nodded, sadly shaking his head yes.

"This is all for your own good, to teach how important it is to behave. Be brave and work hard. We'll come to see you as soon as we're allowed to."

He shook his son's hand. His mom hugged him quickly one last time and with a smirking Tristan in tow the Weathers family left their eldest son, now a fully-processed if still untrained slave-boy to the not so gentle care of the state. Garret found he could still raise his chained and shackled hands to his face and that was good as he had a lot tears he needed to wipe away.

"Alright, boy," Branch, attaching a leather leash to the front of the boy's collar. "Stop your crying. Slave Management will be here this evening to assign you to your brigade. In the meantime we have the little matter of your punishments to deal with."

With Fletcher following along beside him, Branch dragged Garret out of Processing Room 7 and down the hall to an even more ominous location with the words 'Corrective Discipline' over the heavy steel doors. No longer concerned about hiding the erections in their pants, the two men frog-marched the chained and naked boy inside. There he saw, for the first time in his life, all manner of devices for the torture and sexual humiliation of young boys, all scaled to the proper size for use on small young developing bodies. Whips, paddles, clamps, dildos, thin sharp needles and several odd looking contraptions were scattered around the room. The twelve-year-old had no clue what most of these scary devices would be used for, or how they could be used on him, but he would spend the next five hours of his new life finding out. The steel doors behind him closed automatically with a loud and very final hiss.

Not quite two years later:

The boys of Chain Brigade 17 were currently digging a three-mile [5 km] long drainage ditch in preparation for the local county road-crews' repaving of this rural section of Highway 32. It was mid-summer and the heat and humidity were both high and getting worse as the afternoon went on. Brigade 17 consisted of six boy slaves. All of them were naked and heavily chained, their sweaty, dirty young bodies straining with shovels and pick-axes to move a frightfully large amount of earth, by hand, in just three days. They were all lean and slender specimens of boyhood, the youngest only ten years old, the eldest barely fifteen. All of them wore the humiliating but effective penis-gags as they toiled away beneath the unrelenting sun. Between their hairless young legs the cock-cages that imprisoned their smooth young genitals bounced from side to side as they dug and flung piles of dirt from the ditch. The boys' cock-cages were of varied sizes, from the tiny one barely an inch [2½ cm] long worn by the skinny ten-year-old, to a more sizeable one tightly confining the well-built fifteen-year-old's almost man-sized penis.

The boys were on a ten on, four off, ten on schedule, which meant they toiled for ten hours, rested for four, worked ten more and finally were given a full eight hours of sleep before the cycle started all over again.

Garret Weathers was nearly fourteen now and in spite of the dirt and grime that covered his nude body he was the very definition of teen-boy virility and beauty. Hard labor, strict discipline and a diet that kept him always on the edge of hunger had toned his developing young muscles and made him even more lean, long, and wiry than he had been when he was younger. Two years of constant exposure to the elements had bronzed his skin to a deep golden brown and toughened him to the extremes of temperatures his naked body had to endure. He had grown a little too, now almost two inches [5 cm] taller than when he'd first been pulled off the transport van and chained to the other boys of Brigade 17. He proved to be a hard worker, and while not the oldest or strongest, quickly became the unspoken leader of the brigade. During his first months of slavery the boy had learned to adapt to being in chains all the time, and despite their heavy weight they no longer presented him with much trouble. He slim but muscular teenaged frame now moved easily in them, far more so than most of the other boys.

His cock-cage had been replaced recently with a slightly larger one of the same style, still with sharp spikes on its inner and outer surfaces. The brief two minute interval between the removal of the old chastity device and the fitting of the new one marked the first and only time his penis had been freed since that day at the processing center when he first became a slave. That had been nearly two years ago although Garret himself had no way of knowing that. The boy had lost all concept of time. He knew only that one day, far away, they would come to him, remove his chains and his cock-cage and let him go home. In his young adolescent mind however that day seemed like a distant mirage, always teasing him on the horizon but never getting any closer. And so he went on toiling at whatever tasks he was forced to do, always wearing his cock-cage, never really even thinking about his penis anymore at all, always with ever increasingly large butt-plugs in his rectum tormenting him day and night, always in his chains and always gagged. The fourteen-year-old slave was milked every two weeks, a horrible ordeal that could last for hours and leave him sobbing and crying like a little kid. Even during milkings his penis remained imprisoned in its cage. He viewed the milking though as just another part of his punishment, and just another part of his normal life. Something he hated, but simply had to endure.

Garret's parents had visited him faithfully right from the start and his all too brief reunions with them, three times a year, were really all he had to look forward to and all that got him through his days of hard labor, swift merciless discipline and harsh punishment for even the slightest infraction. His back and buttocks, and the fronts and backs of his thighs all bore the welts bruises and scars, old and new, of the regular whippings and beatings he received. The drivers of Brigade 17 practiced preventative correction, liberally applying the whip, the crop, the paddle or their clenched fists to their naked young charges' bodies without direct cause, but simply to remind the boys of their subhuman status as slaves.

Over the past twenty-two months, fourteen-year-old Garret had suffered two broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, a sprained ankle and several concussions, but had always been back in line chained to the other boys the very next day. His right hand was currently wrapped in a dirty bandage, having blistered from the coarse wooden-handled shovel he'd been using almost non-stop for the last two days.

Garret paused for just a second to wipe the sweat from his eyes and give his poor stinging hand a break.

"W-432! Front and center, slave!" he heard one of the drivers shout out almost immediately.

The boy swallowed hard, and took a deep breath. An overseer working the ditch unhooked the teenaged slave's collar from the long master chain to which all the boys were currently tethered. Ready to receive another whipping for daring to stop working, the lanky naked fourteen-year-old climbed out of the ditch and stood in front of the brigade driver, his feet spread wide apart, his arms at his sides, his head bowed. He was a little surprised when the man reached behind his head to unlock his penis-gag. Loosened, Garret allowed it to fall out of his mouth and hang from his neck. All the boys had been gagged for almost sixteen straight hours now. Garret opened and closed his mouth several times to ease the pain in his jaw.

"Sir, I'm sorry about that, sir. It's my hand, sir 3;"

"Shut up, boy," the sweaty overseer growled.

"Sir, yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

"You're Garret Weathers, right?"

Garret was taken aback for a moment. The overseers preferred to call and identify the boys only by their numbers. None of them, though they rotated on a regular basis, had ever used his free name.

"Sir, yes, sir."

"Follow me. We have a special assignment for you. Got a newbie just arrived. You're our best little worker, so you get to show him the ropes. He fucks up, you get twice the whippin' he does. Understand?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

Garret wasn't thrilled to hear there was going to be a new boy joining the brigade. That meant fewer rations for the rest of them and at least a few weeks of increased punishments for everyone since a new boy always slowed down the entire brigade. The naked young teenager stood there in his chains and his work boots, covered in sweat and dirt under the blazing late-afternoon sun and watched as the familiar white flatbed truck with the seal of the Child-Slave Labor Management Department on the door pulled off the road and came to a dusty halt in front of the outdoor holding pen used for keeping the boys corralled when they were resting, eating or sleeping. The boys of Brigade 17 had built the pen themselves under the watchful eyes and free-flinging whips of the overseers. It was always the boys' first task when they were delivered to any new work site where they'd be spending more than one day. It was simply a heavy chain-link fence supported by thick wooden pillars and capped with razor-wire. There was a fenced-off outer area for deliveries and inspections. Beyond that was a larger inner area where the boys themselves were kept. Both sections were sealed and separated from each other by steel doors set in heavy wooden frames, each with a large padlock. Within the holding pen each boy had a tattered bed-roll, a toothbrush, a metal bowl for his morning cereal and a bottle for his drinking water. There was an open space toward the back where the main feed trough was located, each night to fill the growing boys' bellies with cold slave mush. This was also where the boy's would simply squat and urinate on the ground each morning and receive their daily enemas. Cleaning of this area was reserved as punishment for any boy who wasn't working hard enough. Young Garret was proud that he'd never been made to do it.

"Move those skinny legs, boy," the overseer shouted at him as he drove the fourteen-year-old ahead of him toward the enclosure. After two years of hard labor, there was really nothing skinny about Garret's legs, slender yes, but all muscle and sinew all around.

As Garret approached the truck, the new boy was being off-loaded from the cramped transport cage. It was obvious he'd just come from a processing center, his body was still clean and free of dirt, grime, bruises and scars. He was in full chain bondage however, just like Garret himself, with a thick iron collar, shackles several sizes too big for him at his wrists and ankles and heavy chains connecting them all together. His black high-top work boots were ridiculously too large for his small size, but little boys grow up in a hurry once they're placed in chains and put to hard labor. He was bald, had his barcode tattooed across his forehead and the word 'SLAVE' across his chest. He looked pretty much the same as Garret had when he'd first been taken from the processing center. All public slave boys are generally meant to be identical after all.

As the new boy stood there next to the truck, his head bowed, his transfer papers in the hands of the driver, Garret could tell he was young, probably eleven or twelve. He seemed to be in good shape, a muscular little kid already with sturdy legs, broad shoulders, a tapered waist and an impressive little six-pack. That was good news. Maybe it wouldn't take too long to show him the ropes and get him pulling his own weight. Garret was of course not surprised to see the newbie's little pre-pubescent penis encased in a small metal cage. All of the boys had to have their cocks locked up all the time. Garret really never paid that much attention to it anymore, except when he'd be awakened in the night by his boyhood's futile and painful attempt at erecting itself inside its tiny prison.

What was different was that this boy's slave number had apparently been branded into his flesh rather than simply painted on him. The lean little twelve-year-old's other slave markings were all in fact permanent tattoos, but Garret had no way of knowing this just by looking at them. Besides, the branding was enough to tell him all he needed to know and he felt a sudden twinge of sympathy.

'Geesh, this kid's gonna be a slave for the rest of his life.'

His sympathy turned to shock when the young boy finally raised his head. Garret immediately recognized the features so similar to his own. It was a face he'd just seen a few months ago, the last time his family had visited him.

"Tristan!?"

Garret's younger brother had an enormous penis-gag strapped tightly into his mouth, so his only answer was a sad and frightened little "hmmph, mmmph."

His pesky little brother, who always got away with everything, who took such delight in teasing him when he became a slave, who laughed at him and taunted him every time the family came to visit him 3; Here was Tristan, standing naked right in front of him now, collared and chained, the huge penis-gag covering most of his face, his still tiny immature penis locked into the smallest cock-cage Garret could have possibly imagined, a large humiliating plug no doubt shoved up his little butt. Garret so wanted to tease him back, to tell him it served him right, the way his parents had told him. But that sort of wickedness simply wasn't in this gentle young man's nature. He gave his poor condemned twelve-year-old brother a smile and risked a quick hug which was quickly and desperately returned.

Knowing that the overseers where watching everything, all the time, Garret quickly broke the embrace. He knew he'd be getting a harsh trashing for it, and probably have his butt raped by at least one of the overseers later that night. But all that, of course, was nothing new. He stared at Tristan again, wondering what the harmless, if annoying, little boy possibly could have done to get himself sentenced to a lifetime of slavery. He knew he would never be allowed to ask, and that doing so would result in getting them both punished. So, always a sensible and practical kid, he simply patted his twelve-year-old brother on the shoulder and pointed with his sweaty dirt-streaked left arm to the open gate of the holding pen.

"Well, come on, Tristan. I'll show you where we sleep. Then we have to get back into the ditch. We've got one more mile [1.6 km] to dig today before they let us rest. "

The End

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