'FATHER AND SON' A Short Story
This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of eighteen years
Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris)
An archive of my stories can be found at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories
"The characters and ideas contained in this story are the writer's and shouldn't be used without permission. Please, respect the integrity of this story and don't rewrite."
Luther had told me I'd be impressed with Darnell's Slave Emporium and he isn't wrong. He'd told me everything about the building is tasteful and my dealings would be handled with the utmost discretion and privacy. The Emporium's understated street fa...de hides the fact that it is a clearing house for whitey slaves and the opaqueness of its frosted glass windows shield its interior from the curious eyed of the casual passer-by in the street. I am impressed and my confidence grows.
Personally, I'd always considered the slave trade as sordid and those who worked in it as my social inferiors.
It isn't that I am opposed to slavery. Not at all! Such a thought never enters my head. It's just that I have always viewed the 'pedlars of human flesh' as boorish and uncouth. Well, that is how they always appear to me in their shonky, television advertising. But then, I don't know any slavers personally and my contact with them has been very minimal. Mainly, it has been limited to the municipal slave markets which I consider to be smelly, unsavoury places and I seldom venture into them.
I really hate the malodorous squalor of these markets. And I agree with my good friend Luther Thomas that the municipal slave-markets leave much to be desired. Usually they have poor quality stock; rejects that the upmarket slave boutiques refuse to handle. And they stink to high heaven!
There is something about the whitey's metabolism that offends my sense of smell. Should I be successful in buying a slave today, then I will ensure that he keeps himself clean and his body odour- free.
I am in the market for a domestic slave and acting on the advice given to me by my good friend Luther - he'd recently purchased two slaves from here, one for himself and one as a Christmas present for his nephew, Max - I have come to Darnell's Slave Emporium to peruse their stock.
Written on the outside of the building is a sign which tells me that Darnell's are purveyors of the finest slaves and inviting me to inspect their stock at my leisure. However, I do see that I am too early and the hours for viewing the slaves are between 10.00 AM and 3.00 PM. As it is only 8.30 AM, I decide to continue on to my office and to return later during an extended lunch break.
As I turn to walk away, the door opens and I am pleasantly greeted by a young, white slave of impeccable appearance. He falls to his knees and presses his forehead to the ground as a mark of his respect to me as a Black Superior.
I order him to his feet. I would prefer to look into the slave's face as I speak rather than at his upturned ass.
"Stand up, slave!"
"Sir, thank you. Can I be of assistance to you Sir?
"I doubt it boy! I have come to inspect and perhaps to buy a slave. But I see that I am too early and that the slaves aren't available for inspection until 10.00 AM."
"Sir! Please come in and allow me to fetch my master. I am sure my master will want to speak to you about your needs, Sir!"
I scrutinise the slave and I like what I see. He is stark naked- this is after all standard practice for all whitey slaves - and he is a delight to the eyes. He stands at about six feet tall and weighs approximately eleven to twelve stones and his body is muscular without it being excessively so. He moves with an easy grace and as he does so, the muscles of his glabrous body ripple and flex in a most delightful way. He possesses a flawlessly smooth, ivory skin, an angular face with an aquiline nose and lustrous grey-green eyes. When he smiles - and he does so often - his full red lips part to show the pearly whiteness of his teeth. Unusually he has shoulder length jet-black hair tied back into a ponytail. I am surprised by this; most slave owners of my acquaintance have the heads of their slaves closely cropped. But I'm not opposed to it. Somehow his hair style suits the slave. And I estimate his age at somewhere between the early to mid-twenties.
I remember Luther telling me how he was greeted by his new slave, Ben on his arrival at the emporium and how he'd been instantly smitten by the slave to the extent that he knew immediately that he wanted to own him. I can't say this slave has a similar effect upon me but it is obvious he has been especially chosen to serve as a 'meet and greet' slave for the emporium's owners. And I have to admit; he performs the task admirably. He treats me with respectful deference and is unfailingly polite and I can't fault him. If he is a sample of the stock offered by Darnell's Slave Emporium, then I am impressed.
Of course I'm not aware that the slave's actions are being monitored on CCTV which will be reviewed by his master at the end of the day and should he be found wanting then he will be whipped and returned to the pens for sale at the next scheduled auction.
The slave is canny enough to realise that being the cheerful 'face' for the emporium gives him an opportunity to impress any potential clients - much as Ben had done with Luther. If he ingratiates himself with them then, just possibly, he could be sold by private negotiation. Better this than face the trauma of sale by auction.
Despite his efforts, I have no interest in the slave. It is my intention to return later when the slaves are available for inspection and I turn to leave.
"SIR! PLEASE allow me to fetch my master to talk to you. Please Sir!"
There is a note of urgency in the slave's voice. It is as though he is pleading with me to stay and talk to his master. Nevertheless, I disregard him and I'm totally unprepared for what happens next.
The slave falls to his knees and begins to plead.
"Sir, please talk to my Master? Please. My master will be angry when he learns that I have allowed you to leave before he has a chance to greet you. Sir, he will punish me severely for my dereliction of duty."
I detect the note of fear in the slave's voice as he desperately pleads with me. My first impulse is to ignore him. After all I'm not concerned whether his master punishes him. If he offends his master then, of course, he must be punished but that will be his master's decision and it is unfair of the slave to try and involve me. Momentarily, I experience a flash of anger at the slave's presumption in seeking to attach blame to me for any potential chastisement he will receive. However, I'm not an unkind person - even to a whitey slave - and I agree to speak to his master.
The slave is obviously relieved and to my embarrassment he drops to his knees and kisses my feet as he thanks me most profusely. Once more I order him to his feet and instruct him to fetch his master. He hurries off and returns within a couple of minutes with Richard Darnell, the proprietor of the Emporium. I offer my hand in greeting and introduce myself.
"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Cleavon Sonntag. And you must be Richard Darnell? You come highly recommended, Mr Darnell. One of my work colleagues speaks glowingly of you and the quality of your livestock. It is at his suggestion that I am here."
"And who might that be, Mr Sonntag?"
"Luther Thomas. I believe he did business with you some months ago - around Christmas time."
"Ah yes! I remember Luther. In fact, he made two purchases from me. One was a young Australasian slave he bought as a present for his nephew and the other -if my memory serves me correctly -was for his own use. But I recall both purchases. They were prime young whiteys; truly magnificent slaves. I wonder, have you heard how both slaves fared?
"Yes indeed, I do know Mr Darnell. In fact, it was after I'd visited Luther's home and saw the slave - I think his name is Ben - when I decided I should follow suit and acquire a slave for my use. Ben is a delightful slave -happy, courteous, loyal and steadfast in his resolve to do all within his power to please his Master. And those are the qualities that I'm looking for in my purchase."
"Yes, I remember Ben. He was here for several months before I sold him to Luther. He served as our door slave and I didn't have one complaint about him. Quite the contrary, we received many compliments on his pleasant demeanour and we had many offers to buy him. But I had given Luther first right of refusal. So I take it Luther is happy with his new slave?"
"He's very happy, Mr Darnell. He told me that Ben - unlike his older slave, Tim required the minimum of training. He hardly needed to cane or whip Ben who proved a willing pupil. Why, Luther told me the other day that Ben bends over to please him."
"As he should, Mr Sonntag. As he should! But tell me.... does Luther still have his older slave?"
"Yes he does. Luther is very attached to his slave Tim but he did confide in me recently that there are insufficient duties for both Tim and Ben and that he will have to get rid of Tim to make way for Ben. So I wouldn't be surprised if you have a visit from him soon to arrange Tim's sale."
"I'm always happy to oblige and should Luther wish it then I'll happily handle the sale of his slave. There's always a demand for well-trained, docile slaves to act as a 'house whitey'. But what of the other slave - the Christmas present to Luther's nephew? How did he fare?"
"From what I understand, he wasn't as easy to train as Ben. I gather there was some emotional baggage with that boy and it had to be beaten out of him. I heard from Luther that the slave had to be regularly caned or whipped to get him to toe the line. But the last I heard, he has buckled down and is now quite happy in service to his young Master, Max. Presently, he serves Luther's nephew as his body slave at College."
"Ah! So the slave is sampling college life. I wonder what subjects he's studying. From what I remember about the slave he's eminently suited for extra-curricular activities. I should think his Master assigns lots of homework to him. And who could blame him? That slave is superb. But tell me. How can I be of assistance to you, Mr Sonntag? "
"Perhaps, if I tell you a little about myself it might help, Mr Darnell."
"Please do! But let's not be so formal, Mr Sonntag. Call me Richard."
"Thank you Richard and my name is Cleavon by the way."
"Well Cleavon! Tell me something of your background. What are your requirements and what type of a slave are you looking to purchase?"
"Richard, really there's not much to tell. I'm a widower and live with my teenaged son, Du-Shaunt on a small holding on the outskirts of town. However, the house is large - too large for me to maintain - and I now find I have to travel extensively with my work. This means that my son is left alone and this worries me. I thought if we have a slave in the household, then he could take care of Du-Shaunt while I'm away. And of course the slave will need to keep house and maintain the grounds. So basically, there it is. Do you have a suitable slave in stock?"
"And how old is Du-Shaunt?"
"He's eighteen and quite involved in his college work. That's the other reason why I need a slave. During my absences, I don't want Du-Shaunt interrupting his studies or skipping meals."
"Ah! Du-Shaunt is quite the young adult and well able to control and manage a house slave in your absence. But your concern is understandable, Cleavon. It does you credit. Please continue."
"In fairness to Du-Shaunt, I want to spend all my available free time with him and not be tied down with tiresome house chores and an endless routine of gardening and grounds keeping. I need a slave to relieve me of these burdens. I have discussed this with Du-Shaunt and he enthusiastically supports the idea to such an extent that I have promised to let him help me to make my final choice. That's why I'm here; to do some preliminary scouting before Du-Shaunt and I make our final selection."
"Cleavon, I'm sure we'll find the ideal slave for you. I always tell my clients there's a slave to suit all requirements. But tell me more about your property. How large is it? And how big is the house?"
"Well Richard, as I said the grounds are extensive and the house has five bedrooms, three bathrooms and large formal and informal living areas. As you can imagine Richard, all this is beyond me. I find all my spare time is spent with house work and outdoor maintenance. Oh! I forgot to mention the swimming -pool, the spa and sauna and the barbeque area."
"That all sounds very impressive, Cleavon. With all that to care for you certainly do need a suitable slave to assist you?"
"Well not so much to assist me, Richard. I'm looking for a slave who can do all the work around the house and grounds and leave me free for my work and to allow me to spend all my leisure time with Du-Shaunt."
"Well, we have any number of slaves capable of meeting your requirements. In fact, our pens have just been replenished with a shipment of new stock. Would you like to inspect them, Cleavon?"
"Of course, Richard! That's the purpose of my visit. To see if I can find a slave to suit my needs."
"What exactly do you have in mind, Cleavon? Do you have any particular type of slave in mind?"
"Not really, Richard! I've kept an open mind and thought I'd see what you have on offer. But I have to admit I was quite taken with Luther's two purchases.... Ben and the Australasian slave. If my memory serves me correctly, I think his name was Kurt. Do you have anything like those two boys in stock?"
"I'm sure we do, Cleavon. But to be honest, most of our current stock is fresh off the trucks just last evening and I haven't had time to inventory them as yet. But other than them, we do have a few exotics - although they are locals and not imports like the slave, Kurt. I'm sure we can find you a slave that will meet with your approval."
"Great! I look forward to inspecting them."
"In that case, let me take you over to our holding pens and you can inspect the slaves in the pens at your leisure. Should any catch you eye then I can have them removed from the pens and taken to one of our inspection salons for closer scrutiny. But I must warn you. As most of them have just arrived, they haven't yet been processed so you might find them a little on the rough side."
"What do you mean, by not being processed, Richard?"
"Well we haven't as yet cleaned them up after their trip from interstate. Consequently they are malodorous. They came to us in slave transporters and I believe the trip took two days and one night. So as you can imagine, after being crammed tightly against one another for that period of time, they're .... How can I describe them ....? I suppose there is no other way of putting this delicately ..... they're pretty shitty and on the nose."
I suppose to be forewarned is to be forearmed and Richard had done the correct in preparing me. But as we exit the calm, air-conditioned luxury of the main building and cross the internal courtyard to the holding pens, my nose detects the distinctive slave odour of unwashed bodies, excrement, urine and vomit - and crinkles in disgust. I am reminded of the municipal slave pens that I find so distasteful.
I find the slaves' stink to be off-putting and I am tempted to call a halt to my inspection. However, Richard has been kind enough to allow me to peruse his livestock before the official inspection hours and it would be discourteous of me to walk away now. And really it isn't his fault; if I'd come later in the day, I don't doubt that his stock would be clean and sweet-smelling.
And as if to emphasise this point, I watch as a group of ten, heavily chained slaves are whip driven out of the holding pens and across the yard to the ablution block. Richard instructs the overseers to halt the slaves so that I can look at them.
At first glance these slaves are a sorry looking lot. They are young, adult males and of course all are as naked as the day their mothers gave birth to them. I see confusion and fear written on their faces and their wild-eyed expressions are those of trapped animals. I wonder about their backgrounds and about the reasons they are now slaves. Are they court sentenced slaves or they are 'harvested' stock gathered up by slavers raiding their remote communities and carrying them off into captivity?
At the time of the "Great Reversal" which saw the ultimate triumph of blacks over the Caucasian race, many thousands of whiteys chose not to live under our benign dictatorship and deserted the cities they had once dominated. They retreated into the remote, unpopulated, heavily forested and arid areas of the planet and set up small, self-contained communities where they now live free from Black Domination. Here they live at subsistence level s maintaining herds of cattle and goats and eking out just enough crops to feed their families.
Of course, the "Reversal" took place some one hundred and fifty years ago and the former 'unified' - and I use the word advisedly - white society has fragmented even further into what can loosely be called a state of tribalism.
I have read media reports of how these remote white tribes are constantly at war with one another over land disputes and the stealing of one another's females and livestock. It occurs to me that nothing much has changed in the white psyche. The whitey remains competitive and warlike by nature as always.
And in recent years these remote communities have become rich, "harvesting fields" for white slaves.
Our cities are still the principal recruiting grounds for most of our white slaves. Our zero tolerance of bad behaviour among our white subjects ensures that the courts are a continuing supply source of slaves to meet our affluent society's ever growing demand for domestic servants. These urban whiteys are eagerly sort after. Considered to be tame, these urban slaves settle readily into their lives of servitude and are easy to train. Consequently, they fetch high prices at auction.
But the wild whitey slave - those harvested in the remote areas - is a very different animal. He is unused to contact with the black man and unused to our ways. Indeed, for many, their first sighting of a black man is usually when he is captured by them. They remain resentful almost to the point of rebelliousness and must be trained with an iron fist. Such a wild slave is difficult to domesticate and in the main he is used for heavy duty work on our farms, in our factories, mines and quarries. And they are used to a large extent in our construction industries.
The market for this latter type of slave is a growing one and in recent years many enterprising black adventurers conduct slave-raiding expeditions into these remote white areas. It is a high risk enterprise; these white areas are wild, lawless zones where the black man is seen as a predatory enemy. But the returns are great and many slavers are prepared to risk their safety in the interest of a quick profit. Unfortunately, many a black slaver has paid the ultimate cost with his life.
Far more adept are our Arab brethren. They have a thousand years' history of slave taking and this makes them far more successful than the Black slaver.
The Arab slavers are cunning and possess a stealth that allows them to surround a whitey village in the pre-dawn darkness without detection. The unsuspecting whiteys, slumbering peacefully in their homes, are taken by surprise and within minutes they are stripped naked and securely fastened into a coffle.
Then they begin their long journey into slavery. The absence of roads in the white areas mean the new slaves must be driven, on foot and under the whips of their captors, to distant distribution centres where they are 'sold on' to the wholesalers who then sell them to the city merchants like Richard Darnell.
I am curious about the origin of these ten slaves and ask Richard if they are tame, urban slaves or newly taken wild ones. I suspect the latter and Richard confirms that they are. They certainly have an air of wildness about them.
In the main they are young- I estimate the oldest to be no more than mid-thirty at the most - and all have long, shoulder length hair and are heavily bearded. Their chests, bellies and limbs have a covering of body hair and this is in sharp contrast to our domestic slaves who all have cropped heads and smooth, hairless bodies; we even routinely remove a slave's pubes for hygienic reasons.
Personally, I'd always preferred a slave with a glabrous body but something about these ten slaves fascinates me. Their body hair adds 'something' to their allure and I am fascinated by it. It's true that their body hair gives them a primitive, untamed look but it also hints at their bodily strength and adds to their masculine physicality. I quite like it.
All ten have superbly well-developed bodies as you would expect from those who must work hard to survive and they are of a uniform build and height. But that is where their uniformity ends for each has a different hair colouring. This disparity of hair colour in the whitey has always intrigued me. I accept the conventional wisdom of this as another example of the inherent 'weaknesses' in the Caucasian races. It is evidence of the fragmentation - and I would add the degeneration - of the white man in his evolution.
I recall one lesson at school when a wise teacher likened the evolution of the human race to that of a mighty tree. I recall vividly that he told his students the strong trunk of this 'evolutionary tree' is the superior black race whose extensive roots are firmly planted in the rich nurturing soil of Mother Africa and the spreading, primary branches represent our brethren the Arabs and other coloured races. The tangle of weak, spindly growth at the end of these strong branches is synonymous with the fragmentation and multiplicity of the white races.
This vision of the 'tree of evolution' has stayed with me. And as I look upon these ten slaves I see the living proof of it. At one end of the colour spectrum are the blonds while at the opposite end are those with black hair. The hair colouring of the other slaves varies between these two extremes. One individual even has bright red hair, milky white skin and a face and shoulders covered in freckles.
I know such a slave isn't suited to outdoor labour - his tender skin would frizzle in the sun's intensity - and he will be sold for indoor duties. And I know some buyers would see his red hair and freckles as a novelty. However, I don't!
But one slave does interest me. He is the oldest of the ten and I guess him to be in his mid-thirties. What is it that attracts me to him? Certainly he is an impressive slave with a magnificent physique and a prominent musculature. He has a thatch of unruly, blond hair with bangs that hang down over his forehead and a matching beard. His strong, handsome features are dominated by his noble nose and full red lips. And his eyes are the rich azure colour of a sparkling sea. His chest and limbs all have a light dusting of hair the same colour as that on his head and he has a delightful treasure trail of slightly darker hair trailing down over his ribbed belly to his pubes; the thick golden bush does nothing to hide his prodigious genitalia. I notice that he is uncircumcised and smile inwardly at the thought that he is blissfully unaware that he is soon to lose his prepuce. In our society no slave is allowed to retain his foreskin and our laws prescribe that all newly enslaved whiteys must be circumcised.
The slave has broad shoulders and his back tapers down to a narrow, trim waist that flares out into the full, rounded curves of his muscular buttocks. If there is a fault with the slave it is that the deep tan of his body is broken by the lighter coloured tan of his ass and midriff. Quite obviously, he was an outdoor worker - most probably a peasant farmer - and worked semi-naked. I dislike this break between the colour of his upper torso and his muscular legs but I consider this is a minor fault and not irredeemable. Working fully naked in the outdoors would soon correct this anomaly in his overall appearance.
But then I notice the slave's touching concern for a younger slave who is chained next to him. At first, I am puzzled by this; the notion that slaves have emotional feelings is something I've never considered. Momentarily, I feel sympathy for the slaves but then I tell myself that I am moving into unfamiliar territory. As a black superior, I should only ever view a white slave as I would any other domestic animal.
The younger slave is obviously distressed and I can see that he is crying. Touchingly, the older slave takes him into a tight embrace and this attracts the attention of the overseers who use their whips to separate the two slaves. Richard tells me such displays of affection between slaves are actively discouraged.
The older slave reacts angrily and lunges at his tormentors only to be restrained by his chains. Such defiance isn't to be tolerated and the whips fall repeatedly on his unprotected body until he falls to his knees in submission.
It is then that I see the striking resemblance between the two slaves. They are as alike as two peas in a pod. Surely they are brothers? My curiosity is aroused and I ask Richard if this could be so.
"It's quite possible that the two are related, Cleavon. After all, if they are from the same village then it is highly probable. Let's ask them, shall we?"
"Slave," Richard addresses the older slave, "are you two related in any way?"
The slave glares at Richard with hate-filled eyes and maintains a sullen silence. However, it is to be his last act of rebellion and I'm sure he doesn't notice Richard's slight nod of the head to his overseers. Reacting quickly to Richard's unspoken instruction, they lay into the younger slave and whip him to his knees.
"STOP IT! STOP IT!" The older slave pleads with Richard. "He's my son! Please stop?"
To say I am amazed is an understatement. It hardly seems possible that these two slaves are father and son. The older slave seems too young to have sired such a well-developed son. I estimate that the father is roughly twice the age of the son. So if the father is aged in his mid-thirties then the son would be aged seventeen or eighteen. But I have to say the father is very young looking and would pass as his son's older brother. I suppose these primitive whites in their remote communities do start to procreate at a much earlier age than we do.
"Tell me boy! You were taken together? Is that correct?"
"YES!" The older slave's answer is curt and lacks respect and this angers Richard. Viciously, he delivers two stinging slaps; the first to the right side and the second to the left side of the slave's face with such force that the slave staggers under its impact.
"SLAVE! I own you and you will address me as Master until such time as you are sold to a new Master. Do you understand me? Defy me and your son will be punished in your place. Do you understand me?"
"Yes...." The slave hesitates, but then accepts the inevitable, "....... Master."
"Then answer me boy! Were you taken together and tell me about your background."
I listen as the slave tells us about his capture and enslavement. He'd been a member of a small community of white subsistence farmers in a semi-arid area. Recently, the community had harvested their crops and as was their custom they'd marked the occasion with a day and night of feasting and dancing. They'd also indulged heavily in a heady, intoxicating brew of fermented barley and had fallen into a drunken stupor unaware that their village had been marked as a target by Arab slavers.
Too late, they awoke to find themselves under attack and in their drunken state they were no match for the Arabs. Within the hour, the villagers were stripped naked and chained into two, segregated coffles; one for the adult males and the other for the women and children and as they were driven into their new captivity, their village was torched.
The slave relays to us a graphic story of the long march overland to a far distant distribution centre. He tells us of the heat, the insects, the hunger and thirst and of the brutality of their new Arab masters. He tells us of the heavy chains that weighed them down and of the savage whips that kept them moving.
I listen with growing sympathy as he speaks of the dehumanisation of his family and fellow villagers and of their relegation to the level of animals. He tells of the shame they felt in their new nakedness and of the lack of privacy that forced them defecate and urinate in front of each other.
But then he breaks down and weeps as he tells us of his pain at being separated from his wife, younger son and daughter. The last he saw of them was on their arrival at the distribution centre where they were separated as he and his son were placed in the holding pens for adult, male slaves.
Tearfully, he tells us.
"My son is all I have left of my old life and I love him. Please don't separate us, Master."
I have to admit, I found his story to be heart wrenching; his pain and suffering are all too evident. This is an aspect of slavery I am only vaguely aware of and I've never bothered myself with it. And why would I? In our society we have enthusiastically embraced slavery as an integral part of our culture. We are surrounded by our slaves. They are ever present yet we don't really see them. They live side by side with us and yet we ignore their pain and deny them their emotions.
And we never consider how we come by our slaves. That is a subject we never discuss. Slaves appear in our auction-houses - we take that for granted - and we never ask how they arrived there. Perhaps we find that question as too confronting and choose to ignore it. It is much like the meat we buy in our well-stocked supermarkets. As we dine on our roast dinners and tuck into our king sized steaks do we consider the fattening pens and the abattoirs? Of course we don't!
These two slaves intrigue me and I want to inspect them. The fact that they are father and son fascinates me. Could it be that I, as a father with a son of a similar age to the young slave standing dejectedly with his father, feel sympathy for their plight?
And as though he is reading my mind the father falls to his knees before Richard and begs.
"Please Master let me stay with my son. Please Master don't separate us."
The son takes his cue from his father and falling to his knees, he adds his pleas to those of his father.
"Please Master! Let me stay with my dad. Please Master! Please......."
It is at this moment that I decide I want these two slaves. I tell myself that I have enough work for two slaves; the house and its extensive grounds would keep both slaves gainfully employed. I'd come to the market this morning to buy one slave. Now I am to buy two - a father and son pairing.
But first I need to scrutinise them further. But their filth covered bodies repulse me and they will need to be cleaned up before I could touch them.
I ask Richard's permission to examine them in the more salubrious surroundings of an inspection salon. He hesitates.
"Are you sure about this, Cleavon? Remember they are wild, untamed slaves and I think you will have your work cut out to break them. Let me show you some of our tame whiteys. I would strongly recommend it. I'm sure one of them will suit your needs better than these two."
Richard is right. The father and son are 'unbroken and untested' and it will take much effort on my part to turn them into the docile, obedient slaves that I require them to be. They present me with a challenge but it is one that I want to meet. For some unknown reason, I am attracted to both the father and the son and I know they will sorely test my patience as I break their spirits and bend them to my will. I promise myself that I will domesticate them and that I will have my own son, Du-Shaunt to assist me.
And the irony of the situation doesn't escape me. The thought of these two slaves - father and son - serving me and my own son - excites me. My mind is made up. I want these two slaves.
"Richard, these two boys interest me. I know they are new to slavery and will try my patience but there is something about them that challenges me. Richard, I need look no further. I want these two slaves."
Both father and son have been listening to our conversation and now they kneel at my feet and beg me to buy them. As the father kisses my feet, his tears darken the leather of my shoes.
"Please Sir!" the father begs. "Buy us and keep us together please Sir. You won't be sorry! We'll both serve you faithfully, Sir!"
"Very well, Cleavon," Richard sighs, "I can see you have made up your mind. I'll have these two boys cleaned up and taken to an inspection room for you. But I'm sorry! Their preparation will be superficial; just a hosing and a scrubbing down with soap to remove the travel grime and filth. There isn't time to groom them or to cut their hair, to shave their beards and to remove their body hair."
"Their body hair doesn't concern me at all, Richard. In fact, I will allow both slaves to retain it. I think it gives them an exotic look."
I look at down at both slaves crouching at my feet. With their foreheads pressed to the ground and their asses elevated, I watch the nervous quivering of their powerful back muscles.
I wonder - how would I react if it were Du-Shaunt and I who were kneeling naked at the feet of a whitey master? Would I - like this father - beg not to be separated from my son? The answer is plainly obvious.
Yes, I would! I would beg with all my heart and with every fibre of my being. I would humble myself at his feet and tearfully plead... just as this father is doing.
I love my son, Du-Shaunt that much!