I mentioned before that part of my job as a Field Operative is capture of runaway slaves. In today's society this is relatively easy as all slaves are injected with a GPS chip during their induction.

Joe and I were pretty good at tracking down runaways. We tried to make a game out of it to keep it interesting.

There was this one time a newly purchased slave escaped on the way to its new home from the auction. His owner lived in Tennessee and came down to Atlanta for the auction. On the way home he got a hotel room for the night, took his new slave for a test ride and went to sleep. What he didn't do, was double check the restraints on his slave.

The slave got out of his shackles, dressed in his owner's clothes, stole the man's wallet and simply walked away like a freeman. He beat the fuck out of his owner and locked him in his own shackles before leaving.

I hate to admit, but the balls of it made me like the slave a bit more. If the guy is stupid enough not to secure a brand new slave, he deserved what he got.

Joe and I traced the slave to the Greyhound station. Probably trying to get himself up to Canada. No extradition laws.

Joe went up to the counter and spoke with the manager. Returning to me, he smiled and said 'All set'.

The Greyhound slaves, dressed in their uniforms of sandals, grey shorts and the Greyhound logo tattooed over their left breast, quietly stood blocking all the doors.

People were milling about as they do in crowded bus stations. Some were buying tickets, there were parents trying to keep track of their children, everyone wandering around concentrating on their personal business. Our boy was in the middle of the room watching the arrivals and departures on the screens.

The manager's voice came over the loud speaker.

'Ladies and gentlemen. May I have your attention please. Please do not be alarmed. It has come to management's attention there is a runaway slave in the lobby area. Please do not interfere with the authorities in the performance of their duties. Parents, please hold small children firmly by the hand. Be assured, every precaution is being taken to ensure the safety of our passengers and guests. We hope to have the situation rectified quickly and we thank you for choosing Greyhound.'

Our boy started to panic. He looked around the room with a wild look in his eyes. Everywhere he turned the escape was blocked.

People started moving away from him, giving him lots of room. Joe and I moved towards him and I thought we were gonna lose him when some dumb shit opens the door to come inside. As the man pushed the slaves out of the way, slaveboy saw his opening and ran for the doors.

Fortunately, there was an elderly couple sitting on the bench by the door with two boys. As the boy ran past, the old gentleman stuck his cane out and grabbed the boy's ankle with the handle.

Down went the slave, flat on his face. I grabbed his arm and yanked him to his feet.

'That's far enough boy!' I yelled at him. 'You're in for a whole mess of trouble, boy, do you know that?'

'Please, Sir,' the boy cried. 'Please let me go. You don't know what he did to me!'

'Whatever he did,' I laughed, 'is nothing compared to what your gonna get. Not only are you a runaway, but you had to go and beat the shit out of your Master first.'

'Please let me go,' he begged. 'He made me do horrible things! He put me on my knees and put his thing in my mouth, Sir. Then he shoved it up my behind! Please don't make me go back there, Sir.'

The entire room started laughing at him.

'You stupid little shit,' I said. 'You're a slave, boy. He can do whatever he wants with you. Your body belongs to him now. If he wants to fuck, you just spread those legs and say 'Please Sir'.'

'Now, strip slave!' I ordered.

The boy stood there with a frightened look on his face. The crowd just stared at him.

I looked the boy in the eyes and quietly said 'Strip now, or I'll rip those fucking clothes off your back, slave.'

The lights reflected off the boy's collar and nipple rings as he unbuttoned his shirt to reveal a smooth broad chest. He dropped the shirt to the floor and kicked off the shoes. Removing the pants, he stood there, naked, automatically placing his hands behind his back and spreading his legs, assuming the slave rest stance.

The boy was handsome. I could see why the new owner couldn't wait to try him out.

I turned to the elderly couple and smiled.

'I want to thank you, Sir, for your quick thinking.'

'I'm sure you and your partner would have caught him quickly enough. I wanted to demonstrate to my grandsons here that we all have a civic duty to help when possible.'

'It's very refreshing to meet someone who takes such a strong interest in the younger generation, Sir.'

While I was speaking with the old gentleman and his grandsons, Joe was taking the slave in hand.

'How old are you, boy?' asked Joe.

'I'm 18, sir,' sniffed the slave.

'Newly enslaved?' Joe asked.

'Yes, Sir. Enslaved by my father a week before my 18th birthday, Sir.'

'Well, you're off to a very bad start, boy.' Joe told him.

The station manager walked up to thank us for handling the capture in such a way that no-one was injured. As we were speaking, the old man asked a favor.

'My name is Abbott,' he said. 'I used to run a farm nearby in my younger days. If you are going to punish this slave, I'd appreciate it if my grandsons could observe. I think it's important for these young kids today to see first hand the proper way to teach a slave.'

'Please,' said the manager. 'Feel free to use our facilities. I think everyone here would feel much better knowing the slave is getting the help he needs. Learning to accept it's place in life and become a happy and successful slave.'

The manager led us to a corner of the room where there were manacles hanging from the ceiling. We chained the slave up and and I pulled my tawes from my equipment belt.

'OK, boys,' I said. 'This slave ran away from it's owner and hurt him before he left. What would your parents do if you did something very, very bad?'

'I'd get a whuppin' said one of the boys.

'That's right. And you'd learn not to do it again, wouldn't you?'

They nodded their heads.

'It's the same with a slave. You have to teach them right from wrong. That will make them a better slave and they will be much happier.'

Holding out the tawes to the boys I continued my explanation.

'This is a tawes. It's a Scottish punishment tool and it's used to teach this boy and others like him to behave.'

'Cool!' said the boys in unison.

'Now, stand back and I'll show you how it works.'

By this point, the crowd was gathering around us. Everybody loves watching children learning new things and embracing new ideas. Nothing like old fashioned family values to warm the heart.

I walked up behind the slave and whispered in his ear. 'Remember, we have kids here. Lets show them the proper way of disciplining a slave. Don't forget to count them out and thank me after each one. I'll keep it down to just 15 for now. We can finish up later.'

I stood back, brought the tawes up and SWACK across the slave's backside.

'One! Thank you Sir,' yelled the slave.


'Two! Thank you Sir'.

When I got down to 15, sweat was pouring off the slave's back like a waterfall.

'See boys,' I said. 'This slave is not going to forget this for a long time. It will make him a better slave and that is going to make him a happier slave.'

'Would one of you like to try it?' I asked.

Both boys were jumping up and down with excitement. They've never been allowed to punish a slave before.

I handed the tawes to the older boy, looked to be about 7.

'Ok,' I told him. 'Give him three good ones now.'

The boy looked so cute when he squeezed up his face, grit his teeth and POW! POW! POW! I had forgotten how strong a little kid could be.

Then the other boy got his turn and gave the slave 3 hits of his own.

'Gee, thanks Mister!' the older boy exclaimed. 'Wait till I tell the other guys at school!'

Joe and I shook hands with the station manager and Mr. Abbott and led the slave out to the car to the applause of the crowd. This was one of those days it really makes you proud to be a public servant.




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