Related article: Date: Mon, 23 Oct 2006 22:33:34 EDT From: SANIBELBOYSaol.com Subject: A Lesson In Time Part 1This story is (C)Copyright 2006, by TM. All World Wide Rights Reserved. This story may not be sold or made part of any collection without prior written permission. Authors Note: This story involves male to man sexual content. As in our other stories, there is an abundance of varying degrees of domination and submission.This story will have over forty (40) chapters, which will be posted here when time permits. However, should you desire to read what has already been posted to our own group, feel free to join.A Lesson In Time Chapter OneFORWARD: Our `billy' is writing this story, by himself, without the added pressure (s) from either marcus or myself. We hope that you, indeed, enjoy this story as much as you've enjoyed the others. Chapter OneIt had been a tough struggle for the people living in America over the last ten or so years. Ever since the early years of 2000, things seemed to decay and fall apart. Those years were filled with war, poverty, catastrophic illness and so much more that I was amazed that I had gotten through them unscathed.Now that I'm about to embark on the final leg of my educational journey, I can't believe how far I've come.Being the middle child, of three; it was always fairly easy for me to get along with my older brother and younger sister. However, I was the first of the three, to get a college education.This coming year would be my senior year, for which I was thankful. Now that I had the whole summer to work as an intern, towards getting my degree in ` Servitude Management', I was beginning to feel as if everything that I'd been through was finally about to pay off.To give you a little background, I'll start by saying that at first I didn't see the need for enslaving human beings; but that was when I was in sixth grade.Schools instantly changed, with the addition of adding such courses as ` Becoming a Slave', `Obey the Laws', `Living Amongst Slaves' and that was only in middle school and high school.In college, they had even more in depth courses a student could take if he or she had the desire to pursue working with those who were to be enslaved and/or those desiring to obtain a slave or slaves.I chose to take such courses, only because of my father. You see, dad used to belong to and work for one of the major political parties; until such time as the country started going down the `wrong path'.Once the new political party was formed, dad left his other job and became one of the leaders in the PTCAA (People That Care About America). It seemed as if he rose to great power in a short time.Three years after leading the PTCAA, the members of the party convinced dad that it was time that they Child Models Galleries have a member run for political office; against the incumbents and wanna-be's. And with mom's blessing dad accepted the challenge and won.We didn't see a heck of a lot of dad, during the campaign; but we all knew that he was busy and had hundreds of people doing hundreds of things for him.When dad laid out his speech to the people of our country, they all seemed to accept him and his ideas as the only viable alternative to their current situations.Our whole family, including grandpa and grandma, were all present at dad's first televised speech. It was great, not to mention effective.In no time, things seemed to be brighter for the country; and from what I could tell, there were no limits on just how far the country could improve.The immigration problem seemed to solve itself, once the new laws went into effect. Old, closed down, military bases were re-constituted and illegal immigrants were bused off to these bases, which were scattered all across the country.They were then sorted out by men trained in slave handling. The immigrants were sorted out according Child Models Galleries to a variety of needs and statutes. Some, but not all, categories were things like domestic, manufacturing, field labor, political, personal servant, and yes, even sexual.Even the existing states took on a new self image. Some states enacted laws which mirrored the federal laws and even added a few stricter laws; and that seemed to slow down the crime rate... but as we all know... crime never takes a holiday. But, the new laws did seem to stem the tide of employers wanting to hire cheap labor, people sneaking into the country, and some of the more serious crimes we used to read about on a daily basis.The plan that dad embraced was a rather simple one; yet effective. For example; let's say a wine manufacturer needed pickers for his grapes. They would fill out a few simple forms and present them for rapid processing and presto... they had the slaves they needed to perform the given task. The manufacturer didn't have to pay the slaves a penny; but he did have to house and feed them while under his supervision. The only financial obligation the manufacturer had was to pay the government a set fee (tax) for each slave he used. The tax was used to regain the stability in the country's multi-trillion dollar budget deficit. It was no small tax either. It was rather substantial, but still some found it easier to use slave labor compared to domestic workers.And so it was, that the country's industries slowly returned to using citizen labor, as well as those enslaved, as the number of enslaved slowly dwindled. However, those citizens who found themselves in front of a judge could just about be guaranteed that they'd be serving some of their sentence as a slave; working in some capacity for either the local, county or state government.Another nice change was when all of the big corporations closed down their factories in other countries and brought them back to the States; furthering the need to hire employees, who were trained in such work. Heck they even closed down their overseas operations, where we used to always end up talking to some guy or girl who could barely speak English.Television programs are a lot different today as compared to those earlier years. There are no more religious programs on during daylight hours. If you want to watch one of them, you have to stay up past midnight to find the one or two remaining ones who still preach hell fire and brimstone.Healthcare took center stage one year and now there is a comprehensive plan which ensures that every citizen gets the proper medical care he or she needs. Even those enslaved get good, decent medical attention.The government seemed to take a stern look at everything; thus corporate, white collar, crime seemed to be where a person could find himself digging ditches until the day he died.Growing up, during my high school years, I began to see more and more families with slaves. It was odd, at first, when mom brought home two slaves for ` domestic' use. I had no clue, other that what I'd learned in school on how to act around or talk to a slave. It took a month before I became comfortable having a male Child Models Galleries slave tend to my needs and those of my brother. Not that I minded somebody making my bed, picking up my clothes and keeping my room immaculate; but having a total stranger see me in the buff was what took me time to adjust to.After six years of the country becoming accustomed to and using indentured servants, dad and mom had a long discussion about his staying on in politics. Dad decided not to run for office again and it was nice to have him back, just being `dad'.Like any other politician, dad had job offers coming Child Models Galleries out his ears, once he left office. He accepted a job, which dealt with slavery and how to better manage them. I knew that he got paid rather handsomely and it was because of his new job that led me to take the courses in college.For several summers, I worked as an intern in dad's office building. I learned a lot, but as you know, interns work for free. I couldn't complain though, as dad always saw to it that I had money in my wallet; sometimes the money appeared in my wallet while I slept.My brother took a different path in life, but it was still a decent job, and it too paid rather well. He went right into `STS' (Slave Training School) shortly after he graduated from high school. He got transferred a lot; depending on the needs of that particular training center.It wasn't until I was in college that I found out that he specialized in training slaves to work in `legal' brothels and for other specialized work as a slave for a `master'.My name is Kevin and this is my story:I took only a week's vacation after my junior year in college; as I knew that my senior year and grades would depend heavily on what I did and what I learned over the summer. My father was also anxious to get me on the road, learning, observing and reporting my findings to him and his employees. Yes, that's right... "on the road'. I was to spend the entire summer traveling around the country, looking at the many factors of indenturement, including the court systems, the actually induction of a new enslaved person, the training of slaves and the small, yet important aspects of slave handling, processing and training in some of the smaller less populated parts of the country.I was rather excited, on this particular morning. I was to be the `focus of attention' while I attended a meeting set up specifically for me.All dressed in my finest of clothes, I made my way up to dad's office and was greeted cordially by one of his three secretaries. She guided me to the main conference room and showed me in.I had no idea that so many people would be in attendance. Every chair was filled, except one... mine. There must have been thirty men and women there. They all stood up and greeted me warmly. I thought it rather strange that they were paying so much attention to me; until I realized it was a simple gesture to show respect for their employer, my dad.Being the first time that I had been in this room, my eyes and brain was like a sponge; absorbing every thing within the confines of the room. I couldn't begin to count the amount, the volumes of books which lined three of the walls; but they all appeared to be legal material.One of the secretaries came in and began serving coffee and tea, and to say I was shocked when she set a glass of soda down in front of me would be an understatement. How in the world she knew that I wasn't a coffee or tea drinker, I'll never know.The third secretary had taken up a seat off to one side and was preparing to record each and every spoken word of the meeting. At first, I wasn't getting the importance of this meeting, but it sure didn't take long until I was immersed into a world that I thought I knew a lot about.One by one, each person at the table had something to say to dad about the state of enslavement proceedings throughout America. I sat there, scribbling notes on the pad of paper that was placed with each person in attendance.I heard things that I had never heard in college. I was appalled at some of the things I heard. The more they talked; they all seemed to gravitate their words towards me. I was beginning to feel as if my internship was to be more as if I was a snitch for the company. I never knew, but now I wanted to know, just who or what owned this company.For three solid hours, I listened to all of these, seemingly nice people, give their reports from their respective sections.After I spent a leisurely hour with dad at lunch, I had been scheduled to spend an hour, apiece, with four of the top people in the organization.I was taken back by the utter efficiency of the company. While I waited for my first meeting, one of dad's secretaries approached me and handed me the typed minutes of the morning's meeting. "Each of the people you are to meet with this afternoon, have their comments plainly marked on the pages I've just presented to you Sir", the one secretary calmly said to me.As I looked down at the massive compilation of paper, it was plain to see that each person's words were set apart by protruding tabs. By the time I looked up to thank the lady, she had already disappeared from sight. Did she just call me Sir?Soon thereafter, a Mr. Bonsall came up and re-introduced himself to me and asked that I follow him back to his office.His office wasn't what you might think an office should or would look like. There wasn't even a desk. Two big sofas' and several large leather chair, along with piles of manuscripts strewn all over the room; are all what comprised this man's `office'.After a minute or two of non-descript conversation, Mr. Bonsall got right down to business.Mr. Bonsall was to be my initial contact with the company, while I was on the road. I was to make all of my reports to him and no one else. He handed me a folder which contained my itinerary for the summer. It had every minute from sun up to sunset all planned out for me.We spent the remainder of the hour going over the `easy' things like where I 'd be going and why. I followed along in my folder as Mr. Bonsall spoke from his exacting memory. I saw where I would be going to Florida, to some `ranch' that had been in existence for ten or so years; now a major contributor to the countries trained slave population. I would be going to Arkansas, to see some fairly new slave encampment which had started out of greed and contempt. Austin Texas was on the list of places to visit as well as a shipping company based out of California. Several of the former military bases were also on my list, and I could only think about seeing my brother, Neal, should he happen to be conducting training at one of them.Like clock work, Mr. Bonsall stopped right on sixty minutes and escorted me to my next appointment.Mrs. Mudfart was the oldest, in years, that was employed at the company. Her function, for the company, was to insure that any and all illegal immigrants were properly and legally placed into the `system'. She looked over the ethical treatment of the illegals. It was her job to report to dad any and all infractions of the rules when it came to how government employees treated them. I guess you could say that she was the `watchdog' of the company. Say for instance, a healthy male illegal, aged between fifteen and twenty-five was placed in one of the encampments and didn't receive his proper medical procedures, then it was her responsibility to inform dad and to take the necessary steps to correct the problem.Mrs. Mudfart told me that one of the biggest problems she faced, daily, were the reports from within the encampments that the illegals were not getting their mandatory castrations. Apparently, somehow, the few who escaped having their nuts removed, were covertly removed from the encampment and sold on a ` black market'; with the proceeds going to the government employee's who were responsible for the illegal proceedings."But Mrs. Mudfart, I wasn't aware that men were being castrated at these facilities", I quickly interjected in the conversation. "Castrations were never a topic at any of my classes".She politely, and quite explicitly explained the who's, what's, where's and why's, of the need for male castrations. I wasn't all that convinced, but until I learned more; I had to accept her word as gospel.She went on, for the remainder of the hour, on all of the other things that I would be exposed to, which pertained to her division in the company. I hadn' t realized it, but my underarms were awash with perspiration; not from the temperature of the room, but from the topics of conversation discussed.My third appointment was with a Mr. Pitt. His job within the company was to constantly apprise the countries lawmakers of changes which the company felt were needed.He was all business, no doubt about that. It was like I was in a history class; the way he went all the way back to 1462 B.C., describing how slaves were treated and what one could and couldn't do with their slaves at the time. Mr. Pitt and his co-workers were the one's responsible for having all of the current slave training and punishment manuals published and in use at each and every slave facility nationwide.The ones that he handed me were nothing like what I read in high school, let alone college. As Mr. Pitt continued to speak, I briefly leafed through the manuals only to discover that they were actually, `How To' books, complete with graphic pictures and not so pleasant wording."You will have ample time to read them both, while Child Models Galleries you travel from place to place. Don't let the photos upset you, as you'll see in real life, that each place you visit has their own understanding of such training and punishment" , he very quietly and profoundly said to me.I was astonished, when all of a sudden Mr. Pitt changed his entire attitude towards slavery. He called slaves every name you can think of, and even used the "N" word once or twice. A couple of times I thought that I detected a bit of a sadistic nature in his voice.Just as quick as he'd gone off on that tangent, Mr. Pitt returned to his normal self; speaking as if he hadn't just uttered those most personal sentiments.Thankfully the third hour was over and I was ushered down one hall and into another; to meet with a Ms. Shutter.She didn't have an `office' so to say, but rather what looked like a laboratory. Little did I know what she had in store for me.One after another, she started putting things on top of the marble top counter.The first thing she handed me was a digital camera, much smaller than what I' d been used to. She rambled on, about the camera and how it didn't need much light, in order for it to take perfectly good pictures. She said that I would be given a list, of `everything' that I was to photograph; to memorize the list and then destroy it.The second thing she shoved into my hands was a micro-mini tape recorder. Well actually it Child Models Galleries wasn't a tape recorder. The sounds were stored on a mini-chip for playback at a later day and time.The cellphone she gave me was right out of a science fiction movie. It had everything you could imagine built right in. Every phone number that I might need to call was even programmed into it and I was told to memorize all of the speed numbers and then destroy the paper listing. I thought that the first number that might have been programmed into the phone would have been dad's but to my chagrin it wasn't. Dad's number was nowhere in my phone."No need to look so perplexed", she said to me. "We will be going over each of them once more tomorrow after you've completed your mandatory company physical."Even though I was miffed at her saying that I had to have a physical, I didn' t put much weight towards it.When the hour was up, one of dad's secretaries was there to return me to dad' s reception area. I looked at my watch and it was already five o'clock."Your father will be right out", the one nice lady said to me as she handed me an ice cold glass of soda pop.Minutes later the door to dad's office opened up and a man exited with his head hanging down; not uttering a single word to any of the secretaries."Hey son", dad came out smiling, "come in and tell me how your afternoon went. I can't wait to hear about it."I got up, still clinging onto my nearly full glass of soda and followed dad into his office; closing the door behind me. It had been some time since I'd been in his office and it looked just about the same; with only a few exceptions.Dad sat behind his desk and I sat in one of the chairs directly in front of it. No sooner had I made myself comfortable, dad started `grilling' me on his employees. At first he was more concerned that they had treated me with respect, compared to what they spoke to me about.For the first time, I noticed that there were at least three visible clocks mounted on the walls in his office. I began to understand, now, how he not only ran the company, but how he managed things at home. He allotted specific amounts of time for anything and everything.I had just gotten to the part where I was asking about my impending `company physical', when dad declared the end of his work day, by saying to me; "You don't' have anything to worry about son. The physical exam only takes eleven minutes and is almost painless. Besides, you have to have someone witness your physical, so I'll be there, there right with you and so will your mother. "I thought it strange if not weird, that my physical had to be witnessed; but for the time being I would just bide my time and probably discuss it more at dinner.As the two of us exited his office, dad bid his `good nights' to Child Models Galleries his office staff and then said to me as we walked towards the elevator; "You can ride home with me tonight son. I've taken the liberty of having someone take your car and put it in storage until your return."Impressed, yes; concerned, yes, that my dad had put my car in storage for three months. "For the next two days, until you leave, you will be riding with me to and from work", dad said rather casually.First off, I was surprised as hell that I'd be on the road in less than a week. I'd guessed that over the next two days, I would be indoctrinated into dad 's business like I would have never expected.We rode down in the elevator in silence and made our way to the main entrance; where dad's limo was waiting. I'd never ridden in it before, nor did I know that it was built like a brick shithouse.I couldn't hear even the loudest of noises from outside the car. We were even separated from the driver by bullet proof glass. But, it rode down the avenues and roads like none other. It was going to be a good ride home; Child Models Galleries which was some miles from downtown.As we made our way down the city streets, it suddenly struck me that the men and women working to keep our streets clean were actually indentured humans. I watched them work in a world unto their own as they pushed brooms down the gutters, emptied trash cans and other such things.For the first time, I paid attention to the vehicles laden with slaves as they made their way back to wherever it is that they were going.I guess dad noticed my intense study of the slaves and tapped my leg; pointing to the limo driver and said `him too".Briefly, after leaving the limelight of the city; the countryside seemed more relaxed, with only a few slaves out working on their owner's property."Son", dad said; startling me. "I want to show you something before we get home, and it is not to be discussed with anyone other than me or your brother Neal. Is that understood?""Yeah dad, sure. No problem, none what so ever", I replied.Dad reached down and pulled his briefcase off the floor, resting it on his lap. I watched him open it up and pull a large brown envelope from it before closing the cover."I think you need to see these pictures now. Especially since you will be going to a lot of different places, seeing a lot of different people and for sure you'll be seeing a tremendous amount of things you've only read or heard about."The stack of pictures was not of the small variety. Each photo was an 8X10 glossy. I wasn't prepared for what dad was about to show me, but I should have suspected it would Child Models Galleries happen sooner or later; especially after what I'd learned today."Two years ago, we had an intern; just like you. He made the complete circuit of stops which had been planned out for him and he returned with some very interesting, yet incriminating pictures. Most of the government employees Child Models Galleries who are seen in these pictures have been fired, enslaved, or worse." Dad said with a tremendous guttural sound in his voice. "He handed me the first picture and I was shocked to see, what amounted to pornography; at least from where I sat.It was easy to tell who the indentured slave was, as identified by his many cuffs, collar and tattoo. What you couldn't see was who the two men were that were raping him, mercilessly. If it hadn't been for the two men still wearing their uniform shirts, you might have just `assumed' that this was nothing more than a porno opportunity.The slave had one cock down his throat, vomit spewing from the corners of his mouth and copious amounts of snot draining from his nose. The other cock was planted firmly up the slave's ass, which appeared to have been brutally enlarged; and the man who was fucking his ass was also seen to be administering some sort of electrical shock to the slave's balls.I was speechless, yet my loins began to betray me. "You see son", dad commenced, "the problem with this situation is not the fucking of the slave in his rectum or his mouth; but the use of a slave enhancement device while training him in the ways of today's society."My eyes were still glued to the picture, noting that the slave had honey colored skin; while the two men fucking him were white.Dad slid the picture from between my hands and handed me yet another one.A strapping young black man, no more than twenty five years old, was hung up by Child Models Galleries his wrists and was getting severely whipped."Do you see the error in this photo?" dad asked of me."Well dad, the poor boy is getting whipped", was my first instinctive response."Not exactly what I was hoping for an answer Kevin", dad said with ease; "It 's not that the black man is getting whipped; but rather the type of whip being used and by counting the welts and cuts on his body it is quite clear that he is being abused"."Oh, okay dad; I think I see where you're coming from now", I said, trying to masquerade my stupidity.Picture after picture, dad and I went over each one of them; as if this was part of my education into the world which I was choosing to enter.Nearing the end of the stack, dad handed me another photo; which looked like one or two others. Only this time, the cock that was in the slave's mouth was attached to my brother, Neal's body.My cock jerked at the sight of the size and girth of Neal's penis. I hadn't seen it since I was just a tike. It was way bigger than my own; but I wasn't concerned, as I was quite pleased at what nature had given to me in that department."Now that is the proper way to train a slave in oral copulations. Do you see how the slave is properly kneeling, and the placement of his hands? Notice how the instructor has his own hands gently placed behind the head of the slave. These are the situations that one would hope to see all the time; NOT the ones you saw at first."There was no mention of Neal's name coming from either of us, as dad handed me the last photograph.I looked at it, trying to decipher what, if anything was improper with what I was looking at. All I noticed was a white kid being fucked by another white guy."I know it's an old photo, but I just wanted you to see one of the many proper ways to obtain entry into a newly enslaved man's ass", dad said so dispassionately.The slave was strapped to a table, with his legs spread out high and wide. The slave appeared to have been securely bound to the table by several leather straps.I looked once more, straining to filter out the graininess of the photograph. The man doing the fucking looked familiar, but who was he.Lightning struck my soul, sending my head twisting to turn away from the picture. I watched the trees pass, as we neared home; until dad said to me, "I know what you're thinking Kevin, but that picture was taken some fifteen years ago. Things aren't as they seem."By the time the limo pulled into our long driveway, I couldn't help but to think about slaves and how they were used here, at home, more than I'd given thought to. Not just the two we've had for a decade, but all those blacks and latinos who take care of the lawn and landscaping, the group of young criminals who worked to replace our roof shingles last year and not to forget the company mom hired to paint the exterior of the house, that used the `white collar criminals' as employees.I tried to think about them all, as the limo came to a stop at the front entrance. I remember that some of the Mexicans were actually fathers and sons, working side by side. I wonder how many, and which ones, that worked around here; where the ones who had been castrated.Even when the driver opened the car door, it felt different. I nearly came out and asked him if he had a scrotum; but I thought better of it and would wait for a better time to inquire.We hadn't gotten to the top step, and MoMo was opening the front door. MoMo and I had always gotten along quite well ever since he came to work for mom and dad. He was ever so polite towards our entire family, and his job performance was impeccable. He always had a smile on his face, and never failed to greet me warmly.I could smell dinner cooking and it smelt like my favorite food; so I could only assume that dinner was going to be like a special occasion.JoJo was coming towards us, to relieve dad of his briefcase and us of our two suit jackets. She was a sweet lady. She never had a `bad day'. Her attitude towards her life and her job were beyond reproach. I always enjoyed listening to her talk, as she still had difficulty after all these years, to master the English language. I suppose being born and brought up south of the border has its drawbacks.Mom soon appeared and kissed us both, asking how our day went and all that normal stuff. I didn't give her too many details, and I could tell that she wasn't satisfied with my rendition of the days events as she calmly said, "We' ll talk more of it at dinner."I'd always known that my mom was a big supporter of indenturement and that she was also supporting my decision to follow in dad's footsteps. On the other hand, she was still my mom, and she had every right known to man; to get a straight answer from me.Perhaps, I could find a way through all of her questions, while we all ate supper. To Be Continued...if you would like to read more of this story and other stories by the SanibelBoys go to_http://groups.yahoo.com/group/SanibelBoys_ (http://groups.yahoo.com/group/SanibelBoys)Just be sure that your profile shows your 'adult' age ,no exceptions! thanks, marcus, trey and billy

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