{"loaderData":{"4":{"story":{"id":"ce39d234-692d-44f3-93c1-b9195b8f43d9","seriesId":"b18eda85-de41-4b99-a266-c3a6b2ab1072","seriesName":"A New World","currentUserId":"00000000-0000-0000-0000-000000000000","added":"2026-02-08T14:15:47.62Z","updated":"2026-02-08T14:15:47.62Z","title":"A New World, Chapter 6: Andy Deals With Disobedience","slug":"a-new-world-chapter-6-andy-deals-with-disobedience","shortId":"uAmt3VHr","authorNote":"The reader may enjoy the previous chapters of this series to learn more about the characters and their world. ","disclaimer":"","type":"Short","paidUrl":null,"synopsis":"Andy is having a rough morning supervising slaves after being awake all night.","partCount":1,"parts":[{"partId":"589eb43a-0b6b-4e81-ad54-19e2ddf57d78","title":"A New World, Chapter 6: Andy Deals with Disobedience","summary":"Chapter 6: Andy Deals With DisobedienceWhile Trig and Daisy were enjoying morning sex in his sunny b","wordCount":2761,"readTime":14,"number":1,"state":"Published"}],"currentPart":1,"contentTitle":"A New World, Chapter 6: Andy Deals with Disobedience","content":"

Chapter 6: Andy Deals With Disobedience

While Trig and Daisy were enjoying morning sex in his sunny bedroom, young Andy Kim was already at work. Work for him this day entailed sitting in a folding chair, under a shady tree, supervising a half-dozen naked slaves crawling along between rows of cabbages in the sun, on their knees or all fours, tugging weeds from the dirt and plucking bugs from under the leaves. The field stretched to the line of the distant forest; it would take most of the morning for them to cover it all, back and forth up and down the rows. It was slow and boring work, and Andy yawned as he watched the slaves at their task, a mix of males and females. Andy knew this was “make work” for the slaves. Slaves had to work all day, every day; if slaves were ever allowed to rest from the burden of their labor, they might begin to hope for, or perhaps even expect such respites.

He consoled himself by admiring the pretty broad hips and pendulous breasts of the females, tits swaying as they crawled along, or by flicking his whip at any slave who came within reach. They scurried past him as fast as they could. None of them dared linger long enough to lap water from the bucket at his feet. Just from sheer boredom, Andy would see how long he could keep the slaves from trading a few whip lashes for a gulp of water. It was a fun game for him, and helped pass the time. He justified it to himself by the belief it would also prevent laziness from the slaves assigned to him.

One of the slaves, a male, was wearing a steel collar from which protruded four metal rods perpendicular to the slave’s neck, each about eighteen inches long. It was a simple passive punishment designed to prevent the wearer from laying down his head, making comfortable sleep or reclining impossible. It had the added advantages of making the sleep-deprived slave more tractable and docile, as well as marked him for the notice of other masters and slaves. Andy had no idea what the punishment was for, and didn’t care, but made a point to keep an eye on him as the slave worked. Besides, it was amusing to see the slave working with the cumbersome and humiliating collar.

From time to time, Andy walked up and down the rows of cabbages, just to let the crawling slaves know he was there and paying attention. They cringed and worked with alacrity when they sensed his boots approaching. He had already seen a few weed sprouts they had missed, which meant they’d have to be punished and sent back to cultivate the rows again, which meant a longer delay before he could knock off for the day.

In an adjacent field, Mathias was working a slave hitched to a plow, overturning the soil in a harvested potato field. The soil was soft from the potato harvest, but the slave, apparently a young male, was having difficulty on the muddy and clodded dirt, and clumsy with the plow harness. Several times, Andy had seen the slave stumble and fall, then lashed back to his feet by Mathias’ whip.

Andy had caught a couple hours of sleep after his night watch duty ended, but could feel drowsiness creeping upon him. He stood up, rubbing his eyes. It was time for a break. Near him, at the juncture of several fields, were two small wooden shacks, one with a crescent moon in the door, the other with a round full moon. Some joker had lined the full moon with red paint so it resembled the lips of an open mouth.

Walking past the crescent-doored shack, he opened the door of the full-moon shack. Inside, a naked woman on her knees was bound to a T-frame, her neck and wrists shackled in place. The slave wasn’t especially attractive; her breasts were droopy with large nipples and there were fading stretch marks on her doughy belly. She blinked in the sudden sunlight as Andy opened the door, and she opened her mouth wide. The shack was hot and stifling from the summer sun and lack of ventilation. The woman’s black hair was plastered to her head with sweat, and her breasts glistened with perspiration. There appeared to be dribbles of semen on her breasts. Andy wasn’t the first person to use her today.

Andy freed his cock from his pants and pushed the flaccid member into her mouth. There were two handles affixed to the wall above the woman’s head; he grabbed one and placed the other hand behind the woman’s head, pushing her face into his hips. Her nose buried against his abdomen, the woman gasped and gagged on Andy’s cock, his balls at her chin. She struggled to breathe, her mewling muffled by the thick cock in her mouth, fingers fluttering helplessly above her shackled wrists. She was not keeping eye contact like a properly-trained slave fellating a master, but Andy didn’t care, no more than he would have cared if using the adjacent outhouse.

Grunting with pleasure, Andy thrust and thrust into the woman’s mouth. After only a few minutes, he felt his ejaculation building; he put both hands on the slave’s head, holding her pressed against his hips. Her mewls and whimpers increased as she began to panic from lack of breath, the vibrations adding to the pleasure Andy felt while inside her mouth.

Andy’s dick erupted, spurting gobs of semen into the back of the woman’s throat. She struggled to swallow it all, coughing as some it went down the “wrong pipe.” Andy held her tight against him until his spasms or pleasure ceased, the withdrew from her mouth. He put himself back together the woman gasping and coughing. As he turned and pushed open the door, the slave said, “Please master, wa—” but Andy didn’t respond; perhaps he didn’t hear.

Settling back into his chair, Andy made a quick note of the six slaves’ progress, still toiling between the rows of cabbages. Cicadas sang in the distance, and their gentle summer music was pleasant in the background. He folded his hands, and allowed his chin to drop to his chest. I’ll just close my eyes a moment, he thought to himself, and was soon asleep.

Some time later, Andy was awakened by the sound of several slaves lapping water from the bucket at his feet. Annoyed that they had disturbed his nap, he kicked them away; they scurried back to the cabbage field, anxious to avoid his whip. Andy stood up, stretching and yawning. He took a quick survey of the slaves, wishing they would finish soon so he could turn them over to Mathias for another assignment, while he took the rest of the day off to catch up on his missed sleep.

There was a female in that row, two males in another row, including the one in the discipline collar, another female in the nest row…there were two he didn’t see anywhere. He searched in vain for the missing bitch and dick, counting again, looking down each row. Shit, he thought to himself, if I let two slaves escape Dad will be mad as hell! Even if they were recaptured and had to be put down, his father would expect Andy to pay for the loss of his property. It would take him a year to pay off two slaves. Picking up his whip, he ran to the border of the field, looking for two fleeing naked bodies. The other four slaves paid studious inattention to him; they did not want to be involved in whatever had happened or was going to happen. Andy knew there was no point in questioning them. Slaves always claimed ignorance about misbehaviors of other slaves. The truth could be extracted under torture, but Andy had no time for that now.

With rising panic, he scanned the edges of the distant forest, seeing nothing to indicate where the two slaves had fled. Suddenly, a few yards beyond the last row of cabbages, in an area of tall grass, he heard the sound of a quiet, but very human, grunt.

With a hunter’s stealth, Andy approached the grassy patch and beheld the prostrate form of a naked male slave; underneath him was the bitch. Her thighs were wide and her knees were bent; the male was pressing his chastity-caged penis into the woman’s crotch. His naked buttocks were taut as he humped the woman’s groin. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, and they were kissing with the tenderness of lovers, their eyes closed in bliss.

Relieved that he had found the missing property, but also furious that they had caused him such a fright, he brought his whip down onto the back of the male, who arched and screamed in pain. Andy brought the whip down again and again to drive the male off the supine bitch. To his consternation, it seemed as though the dick was trying to protect the bitch from Andy’s whip, using his body to shield her.

Andy moved as he lashed them, and then planted a kick in the male’s solar plexus, which caused him to roll off the female and curl up, clutching his belly and gasping. Andy was surprised to see a glistening wetness and splatters of semen on the female’s inner thighs. Apparently, despite his chastity cage, the male had managed to orgasm merely by frottage.

The woman screamed as Andy brought the whip down on her belly and breasts, loudly enough so that Mathias, and the other four slaves, all heard her. The other slaves bent to their task, as though they had not heard their fellow slave’s screams. They wanted no part of what was happening. Mathias yanked back on the plow slave’s bridle to bring him to a halt, and looked for the source of the commotion.

Andy continued lashing the two slaves as they both lay on their bellies in the dirt, crawling to his feet like worms, trying to reach his dusty boots to lick and kiss them, to beg for mercy. Andy brought down the whip again and again on both until he was out of breath, his fury spent. The two slaves were sobbing and blubbering at his feet, their backs crisscrossed with red welts.

Andy didn’t notice when Mathias walked up to him. Taking in the scene—Andy’s eyes still blazing with fury and out of breath from the exercise of whipping, the two slaves groveling at his feet, the fresh whip marks on their backs—Mathias knew what had transpired. It was not the first time this dick and bitch, Buster and Jasmine, had shown signs of “coupling,” just the most blatant and overt. He had noticed how they looked at one another, the fleeting glances and smiles, how they found opportunities to work side by side at their assigned labor. A few days ago, he had discovered a tiny bouquet of wildflowers on Jasmine’s pallet in the females’ slave shed; he had suspected it was Buster’s work, and now he knew for sure. His first instinct had been to trash the flowers and quash this indiscipline in the bud, but on further thought he left the flowers there for her to find, knowing it would be easier to unravel this coupling if he let it proceed a little further.

Coupling--usually between a dick and a bitch, but not always--routinely led to discipline problems. The two slaves would shirk work to be together, steal food as gifts for one another, or interfere when one was being punished. Sometimes they would even try to protect one another from a master’s sexual use. Such things could not be tolerated.

Mathias looked down at the two slaves groveling in the dirt at their feet. They were both young, in their twenties, healthy and usually obedient. Their faces were masks of terror. Both, even the male, were sobbing in despair.

“I’ll take these two,” Mathias said to Andy. “We’ll decide what to do with them later. When you’re done here, take the other four, and Jonas over there,” he said, pointing to the plow slave, kneeling between the traces in the nearby field, “to the treadmill and hook it up to the water pump and cistern. It needs to be refilled. Once they’re chained in place go home and get some sleep.”

Mathias gave each slave a kick. “Crawl to the punishment yard,” he instructed them. Slaves always crawled to discipline; it added humiliation to whatever punishment awaited them, and served as a reminder to others. The two slaves got to their hands and knees, still blubbering and sniffling, and scurried quickly away, Mathias following them, whip in hand.

Andy called to him, and Mathias paused as Andy caught up. Buster and Jasmine continued crawling, obeying Mathias’ command.

“Mathias…are they going to be killed?” Andy asked, pointing at the pale buttocks of the two crawling slaves.

Mathias shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s up to your dad.”

“I hope not,” said Andy. “He’ll want me to pay for them.”

Mathias knew this was true. Everyone who worked for Kim knew that he was a fair and honest employer, but he was never one to accept an expense he could avoid, or spend a buck more than he had to.

“I’ll talk to him,” Mathais told Andy. They parted and returned to their tasks.

When they reached the pillory and hotbox and gallows, Mathias secured each slave in the stocks, facing in opposite directions, so they could only see one another’s bent bodies, not their faces. Their heads and hands poked out on each side.

Jasmine’s face was about the level of Mathias’ waist once she had been secured. She looked up at Mathias as best she could with her neck in the stocks, and opened her mouth wide, her pink tongue resting on her lower lip. She was begging to suck him, as a way to placate him.

“If I wanted your mouth, slave, I would have taken it,” said Mathias contemptuously. These slaves are so craven and pathetic, he thought to himself; they don’t have a shred of self-respect. To keep them from talking to each other, he stuffed rags into their mouths.

Both the slaves still had semen smeared on their thighs and crotches. A few flies were exploring those parts of their bodies.

Mathias checked the tags on Jasmine's collar, making sure that she was unable to conceive. It was unlikely that Buster's frottage would result in a pregnancy, but slave breeding was strictly controlled and regulated. Unplanned pregnancies were not permitted.

The slaves secured, Mathias paused and sighed. First Daisy…now these two? Am I being too lax, he asked himself. He felt some professional embarrassment that he would now have to discipline—or worse—three slaves instead of just one. He knew what he planned to do with Daisy, but what would happen to Buster and Jasmine could only be decided after he spoke with Kim.

It was almost time for the weekly staff meeting. On the way to the big house, he stopped at his bungalow to pick up his tool bag, and the ownership papers for Daisy, Buster, and Jasmine. His personal slave, Vanessa, had been lounging on the bed, but slid off and dropped to her knees when he entered, kneeling straight, hands on her thighs, knees together in a modest and lovely feminine pose that had served women well since the beginning of time. Her shoulders were back to display her breasts to their best. She tossed her blonde hair from her shoulder to her back and combed it with her fingers, a gesture that had always drawn the eyes of admiring men.

Mathias paid no attention to her. He had other things on his mind, and was in a cross mood, mostly with himself. “This floor is dirty. I want it clean when I return. You’ll be licking it clean, under the whip, if it isn’t. Understand, bitch?”

“Yes master,” said Vanessa. She knew his moods well enough to know when to tread lightly around her owner.

Mathias collected his tool bag, and the paperwork for the three slaves. Things are going to be different around here, he promised himself; If I need to make an example, I will.

Vanessa watched him stride out, and quickly got to work sweeping the floor. She had no idea when he might return—in ten minutes or five hours—and she did not doubt her master would fulfill his promise to her.

“Beware the anger of a patient master,” she had often heard slaves whisper to each other. She felt pity for whatever slaves might soon be the objects of her master’s wrath.

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