IT'S NOT EQUAL AT ALL!
By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part Eleven
The next day I woke up in a panic. Usually I don't have a problem with getting up in the mornings, but I had overslept - probably because the previous day had been so very, very tiring with everything so new. I threw my clothes on and rushed out, and by running through the streets managed to get in through the employees' entrance just in time to "clock in" before my 06:00 shift started. They said that clocking in was good for us as we always knew exactly where we stood in relation to overtime and so on, but I couldn't help noticing that it was only us whiteys who had to do it and not the niggers, who even had their own separate entrance.
The rest of my crew was already in the locker room, almost ready to go on duty when I arrived, and they all stood around watching me as I pulled off my jeans and T (now sweat-soaked). Charlie took one look at me and said "In the showers first, Steve! We're not going to want to work with you if you're going to be smelling like a ripe cheese all day!". So I had to drop my boxers as they watched, and make my way to the shower at the end of the room. It felt a bit strange, me being the only one naked with four big older guys all watching me - especially as I knew that they were used to "appraising" naked men as we processed them. And I did wonder what they made of my body and tackle.
Even though we had to be there for our six o'clock start, transporters never arrived before eight it seemed, and so the whole lot of us went to the staff restaurant for breakfast. In line with Johnson's "equality" policy, it was fully integrated in that whiteys and niggers shared the place. But there were two serveries, one labelled "Staff" and the other "Management", which effectively segregated the place - as I've told you, in general the staff were whiteys and the management was exclusively niggers. The rest of my crew didn't seem to mind this, though, as they pointed out to me that on the "Staff" side we got proper, traditional, whitey food: big platters of ham, sausage, pancakes, eggs, mushrooms and tomatoes were lying on the hot plate; there were huge jugs of thick, creamy milk, seven kinds of sugary cereal, and a huge array of Danish pastries, muffins and bread for toasting. If I was going to eat here every day I'd really have to be careful
not to turn into one of those obese whiteys you saw around everywhere from eating all this unhealthy stuff. I looked at the servery for the niggers and saw that there were a whole lot of things there I'd rather eat - fresh grapefruit, yoghourt, wholemeal bread, cottage cheese - all of it looked a lot healthier than the stuff we were given. I went to go over there but Charlie pulled me back, saying it just wasn't done, and when I said I preferred a healthy breakfast he looked at me and said, seriously, "Look, Steve, do you want to be part of our group? Because if so stop putting on airs and graces, pretending to like nigger food and everything. This is a traditional whitey breakfast over here, like my dad, and his dad, and his dad all ate before me. So stop fucking around, and load up your plate with it."
So that was that. And I was to discover the same thing at lunch time - the nigger servery had the salads and stuff, and we were given big steaks, baked potatoes, ribs, barbecued chickens swimming in fat, all followed by huge portions of apple pie a la mode, and chocolate brownies.
We processed four deliveries of merchandise, as it was called, during the day, and before I went home to my appointment with Sh'Kwala I made a determined effort to go to the gym - with all that rich food I knew there was a danger of getting really fat, as so many whiteys were, without a lot of hard exercise. Charlie was in there too, and we worked away, not saying much to each other as you don't at a gym. But he was watching me covertly just as I was watching him: there's something about guys in the gym, isn't there, that makes them have to compete with each other even when they're strangers?
Afterwards we stripped off and went into the shower, and there was a slave kneeling, waiting to service us. I declined of course, but Charlie seemed happy to have the guy soap him all over and generally help out. Then, as I towelled off, I was amazed to see Charlie put his hands on the slave's shoulders and push the guy down to a kneeling position, then stroke his dick to hardness before pushing it into the slave's mouth!
Look, I know it's called a blow job, but that isn't what Charlie got - well, not my idea of it anyway, when you get licked and sucked to a climax. No, Charlie had his hands around the slave's head so the guy couldn't escape, and was then vigorously fucking his throat - at first all I could focus on were Charlie's massive muscular ass and thighs as he pumped away, but I began to notice that the slave was in some distress as he was evidently choking and finding it hard to breathe with Charlie's dick down him like that. His body was trying to jerk around and his hands began to claw at Charlie's thighs in an effort to break away, and at one point Charlie stopped, pulled his dick out (dripping with a thick , rich slime that I thought must be the slave's phlegm) and hit the slave hard, so hard that he was off balance and fell over. Charlie roared at him to get back up unless he wanted a prodding, and the slave, looking really miserable, complied.
Hitting the slave must have been some sort of turn-on for Charlie, as he evidently shot his load very soon after he was once more fucking the slave's throat: I saw his whole body stiffen as he made one last huge thrust forwards as if it was somehow necessary to get the last millimetre of his dick into the slave. Then he pulled out, and stood there breathing really hard from his exertions, his dick starting to detumesce as I watched. He was covered with sweat from his exertions, and stepped back under the shower for a kind of refresher, and the poor slave, looking very red and still spluttering a bit, went to help him.
I sat there on the bench, changing into my clothes, and didn't know what to say when Charlie came out of the shower and went to get dressed too. I mean, what do you say to a guy who has just had sex in front of you? But Charlie seemed completely unconcerned, and as he settled his dick into his shorts said casually "The slaves here are part of the perks, Steve - you should try them."
Without thinking, I snapped "I'm not gay!"
Charlie leapt at me, and the sheer ferocity of his attack and the power of his body forced me back onto the bench, with his hand around my throat, pinning me there. His other hand was raised as if to strike me, and I cowered inwardly knowing the power he had from seeing him hit the slave. But he stopped, and stood there, breathing hard. Finally, he let go of my throat, and said, his voice sounding angry even though he was making obvious efforts to keep himself under control "I'll make allowances for you being new here, Steve. But if you ever accuse me or any of the other guys of being gay again, you can expect to get a beating. You know nothing, kid - and it may have been OK to use taunts like that in the playground, but you don't do it here, with real men: we take offence at stuff like that."
I looked at him, and managed to stammer out "I'm sorry.... But I'm not gay either, Charlie.... That's what I meant.... It's just that when I saw you with the slave....."
"Steve, you've got a lot to learn! Look, I'm married, happily, two nice kids, one not a lot younger than you. But sometimes my wife doesn't want it - you probably don't know how women can be!" I thought to myself that I didn't know, actually - Sh'Kwana never seemed to not want it!
Charlie continued "So what does a guy do? Jerking off's for kids - I haven't done it since I was at school. I'd fuck the female slaves here if I could, but as I told you yesterday, the ones for us staff are not very appealing as the price of females is so high. But a lot of the slaves in the showers and stuff are OK for a BJ.... It's not gay or anything, Steve, it's just using a slave to satisfy a real man's needs, kind of relieving the tensions we all have."
Well I wasn't sure about his use of the term BJ to describe what I'd just seen. It looked to me a whole lot more like fucking, and that Charlie was actively enjoying it and not just indulging in some sort of tension relief. But I wasn't going to argue with him, seeing how violent he could be, and I simply sat there as he went on "Look, Steve, I wouldn't do that with any of the other guys of course - I'm not like that. But a slave, well, it's different. Having a BJ from, or even fucking a slave, isn't gay, Steve. It would be with another guy, of course. But slaves aren't men, Steve - they're different. Once a slave is a slave, his only purpose in life is to serve men, free men. And if that service is to make his throat, or even his ass, available to a free man, that's OK - it's normal, natural, part of life. Thousands of years of evolution have resulted in men being at the top of the chain, using animals in their service. So it's no different
with slaves - a man can just use them, whenever he wants, and for whatever he wants."
I nodded, but couldn't actually say anything as it still seemed a bit strange. But Charlie continued "Anyway, you'll learn. By the time you've been here a couple of months you'll have relaxed a bit, learned your place in the hierarchy, and you'll be enjoying the perks like the rest of us. Or maybe not - a good looking, well set-up young stud like you probably doesn't need that sort of relief, as there are so many bitches out there panting for it; well, there were in my day, anyway!"
He slapped me on the back in that way he had, and now laughing, added "I bet that's why you were so late this morning - you were probably fucking away and forgot the time! Am I right?"
Look, as he'd been speaking about hierarchies and the stronger using the weak and stuff, I'd been thinking about the way Sh'Kwala was using me - a nigger bitch somehow outranked a whitey stud. Was I much better than the slave that Charlie had just been using? I was confused, and didn't want Charlie to know anything about my private life. So I forced myself to smile, slapped him back in a gesture of male solidarity, and managed to say "Right on, Charlie!", and that seemed to be the end of it, at least for now.
In the next three months I never did actually fuck a slave or even use one for a BJ. Although it had been fun with Brad and the young chef, there was no way I was going to do that kind of stuff at work - I pretended it was because I was too tired and getting too much sex at home when the other guys tried to encourage me to talk about it (which, in a way, I suppose was true as Sh'Kwala never lessened her demands on me). I did learn a lot of other things at work, though - in my second week Charlie insisted I used my prod on a slave, and after that it kind of became almost normal - I ceased to really notice the agony the slaves were in after the prod touched their naked flesh, and as far as I was concerned I was only doing the job I was paid to do, and it was the slave's fault anyway for not obeying orders.
I did try to make peace with mom and dad during this time - I really did. I hate family rows, and I loved them both, and I think they loved me - no, I know they loved me, too. But you know how it is: I had very strong views and my own ideas, and so did dad, and there was just no compromise possible. If either of us had been prepared to back down even an inch, things might have been different. I could have given up my job and agreed to go back to school, and then things would have turned out differently. Or had dad agreed that I was old enough to make my own mind up about things and said that, I could have moved back to home... Or whatever. But we didn't. And it was very hurtful for mom, as she was torn between us. I'd visit her and take her flowers and things, and give her money to help with her housekeeping, and she'd always end up by crying as she didn't really want to take it and knew it would upset dad if she did, and yet she really needed
it as dad didn't earn enough. And every time I left she'd throw her arms around me and beg me to make up with dad so that everything would be all right again - and, of course, idiot that I was, I would tell her that it wasn't my problem, and that it was dad who needed to apologise to me and make the first move.
The only disturbance to my regular routine really was about a month after I'd arrived. The other guys had been watching me and had evidently decided that I didn't have some "special influence" with the management, and one Friday at the end of our shift I saw them all huddled together and whispering and laughing, then as we went into the locker room to change they suddenly grabbed me. "OK, Steve, time to be initiated!", Charlie shouted, and the others all started to laugh.
I tried to struggle, but when four big guys have hold of you there's no real point. They grabbed my arms and legs, and it didn't matter how much I wriggled and squirmed, there was no getting away. It was all pretty good humoured and there was a lot of laughing as they stripped me of my uniform shirt and pants, then they let go of me and as I stood there in my boxers Charlie said "OK, Steve, now let's see you perform for us.... A little song, and a dance....."
Well I don't know any songs really, not the sort you can sing along to. And I've never been one for dancing. So in a fit of defiance I said "Fuck you, guys! You want song and dance, take your bitches out tonight to a bar....": I don't like to admit to not being able to do things, and this seemed as good a way as any to get them to shut up.
All the guys laughed together again, as this seemed to be kind of expected. And Charlie said "One more chance, Steve....". Well it seemed to be getting a bit more serious, so this time I decided to come clean : "Come on, guys.... I can't sing, and can't dance...."
They all looked at each other again, now broadly smiling as if they were sharing some private joke. "That was your last chance, Steve", Charlie told me. "But this is your initiation, and you need to entertain your buddies. So if you can't sing, and can't dance, you'd better do something all guys can do, especially young studs like you. You're always bragging about that bitch of yours, so show us your dick in action."
"You're kidding...."
Charlie shook his head, still laughing. "Come on, Steve. Off with those boxers, get boned up, and then let's see you jerk off."
"No way!"
"Come on, Steve, off with the boxers. It's not as if we haven't all seen that dick of yours anyway every day in here...."
I shook my head again. "No way, you perverts...." I meant it as a joke, but somehow the atmosphere changed a bit. Charlie looked at the others and they all kind of nodded in silent agreement, and the next instant he got up from the bench in that smooth, controlled way that only big, fit guys seem able to do, grabbed my arm so I couldn't escape, and his strap came out and hit me fair and square on the ass!
Even through my boxers it hurt! And I let out a yelp of surprise, shock, and, yes, pain. All the guys were laughing again, and still gripping my arm quite hard and almost painfully, Charlie snapped "You ought already to know what happens to guys here who don't obey, Steve, so that's only a reminder. Now, off with the boxers, and then let us see you bone up....."
Now obviously I'd been naked in front of the crew many times, but this time it was different - instead of stripping to go off into the showers with the others all doing the same, I had to "perform" for them and it felt so very, very, different. As I thumbed the waistband and pushed my boxers down over my hips, I went to turn around in that natural way you do so that when your dick first comes out, so you have your back to the other guys. But there was a big chorus of "Face the front or face the strap!", and, starting to blush, I reluctantly complied. My dick didn't co-operate, either - I wanted it to stay nice and limp as maybe then I could avoid doing any more, but almost as if it was ready for action because it was escaping from my boxers, it sprang up as they went down. Then I had to do that little dance around to get my feet free, with my dick jigging up and down in front of the guys.
It's too humiliating to describe to you in detail what happened next. I suppose it could have been worse - after all I was used to kneeling there in front of Sh'Kwala jerking myself off, so when I was ordered to kneel in front of the four of them, spread my knees wide to give them a good view, and rest my bare butt down on my heels, I was kind of prepared for it. They all watched very closely, too, especially the two of them who were 'skinned, as I jerked off - they seemed to be especially fascinated by the way my 'skin slid on and off my dick head as I worked away.
It's funny, isn't it - even though you're being shamed and humiliated, you can still keep some vestiges of pride? I can remember feeling really good as a big spurt of cum shot out of me onto the tiled floor, and then as the after shocks added more and more so that there was a really big wide slick of my white stuff in front of me, I knew that they'd seen that I was indeed a real stud, a man capable of producing a really big load. Well, I suppose that's what you expect from a seventeen year old who's having it away regularly, but, never the less, at some level it was pleasing to me.
My trials weren't over yet, though: the slave was called in from the showers and made to clean my cum from the floor as I still knelt there - and my buddies were laughing and joking comparing our bodies and our dicks as he did so. Then they drove me into the showers - literally, all of them, using their straps on my bare ass (but not really hard - kind of gently, and in fun, as if they enjoyed seeing me move in front of them to their command) - and watched as I stood there and soaped myself all over.
I was beginning to think it was all over then, but the slave reappeared carrying the electric clippers we used in processing the merchandise, and, yes, you've guessed it - my final humiliation was to have to lie across Charlie's lap as they shaved my pubes entirely. They were laughing a lot then, though, so it wasn't quite as bad - although I couldn't bring myself to really join in. And then as I was dressing they were slapping my back and shaking my hand and saying that I was now a "proper" crew member. Although Charlie added that strictly speaking I wouldn't be "one of them" fully until they'd seen my pubes grow back - and he warned me that part of the fun was to know that I'd be itching for days and days as it did.
Those hazings of apprentices have been going on for years and years, I know, so I don't think you can really say that Charlie and the crew were wrong. Perhaps it was a bit more extreme, with me having to masturbate in front of them, but you've got to remember that we were used to dealing with naked slaves and probably that dulled our sensibilities a bit. And I consoled myself that in a couple of years when there was a new crew member it would be me sitting with the others on the bench watching him humiliate himself.
It was routine after that. My life went on as usual, serving as Sh'Kwala's fuck toy, and I began to get desperate - where was the end to all of this? I remember reading somewhere in one of those amateur self-help books the famous aphorism "If you always do what you always did then you'll always get what you always got", and I began to realise that I needed to make changes in my life. But how? I was only seventeen, and although I had a job, it wasn't one where I was going to make much progress. And I couldn't go back to school, and on to college, as I couldn't afford it as I needed the job for rent money. And I needed a place of my own as I'd fallen out with dad. And I wanted a girlfriend, a proper girlfriend, one I could fuck, but I couldn't have that as I was so exhausted all the time from having to perform for Sh'Kwala. It all seemed to be an impossible series of dilemmas, until I also remembered what dad had said about getting rich by
winning the lottery, inheriting it, or by marrying well. The first two were not applicable to me, of course, but then the solution seemed obvious: if I got Sh'Kwala to marry me - or at least to agree to marry me - then old man Johnson would either have to treat me like his son and find us a nice house and so on, and promote me at work. Or he'd have to buy me off, give me enough money to leave his daughter alone by moving far away and out of her life for ever. It was a win-win situation for me, if only I could persuade her that I wasn't just her dildo-substitute but also a potential or actual husband. And the more I thought about it, the happier I got - if I did become her husband, then she'd have to change as I'd be in charge as everyone knew that when a nigga bitch married a whitey stud, it was the whitey who ran things. So I'd be able to make her stop using me the way she did and could either fuck her properly, or, even better, do what everyone
expected whiteys to do and have a few spare women on the side. Either way, my urge for sex would be fulfilled.
Well, short of all that soppy stuff about falling in love, which wasn't going to happen to Sh'Kwala and me, the only way you can get a bitch into the mood to marry you is to make her pregnant, isn't it? In society's eyes at least Sh'Kwala was a nice, pure virginal girl, and if she got pregnant she and her parents would both want to make her "respectable" by getting her married as soon as possible. And I'd be the only candidate as most of the niggers would not take "soiled goods" for their wedding night. Unless, of course, old man Johnson paid them to, which in turn would mean he had to pay me to stay out of the picture. So all I needed to do was to get Sh'Kwala pregnant, and the only question remaining was "How?". As I've told you, she was always completely scrupulous in making me wear a condom even though I hated it and knew this wasn't the way a stud ought to be able to fuck. And it was too much to hope that there might be one of these
incredibly rare failures of the condom, or that she would get careless and let me avoid using it for once, or that she'd fail to make sure it was rolled right down to the base of my dick and fitting properly.
I devised a plan, though, and gradually started to implement it. Normally I was very bad tempered when the condom was brought out as I didn't want to use it at all, and I made Sh'Kwala tear open the foil packet. She wanted to fit it to me of course, but here was the subtlety. I began to tear open the packet for her, ostensibly "to help", and over a few days this became the accepted method of operation. Then it was but a short step to already having the packet open and only pretending to tear into it, hiding the operation from her a little. And from thence to opening the packet, taking the condom out, being careful to keep it rolled tightly, and then putting a few tiny pinpricks into it before putting it back into the foil. She could then be as careful as she liked in fitting it to me, but my a guy's little swimmers are so small they can easily go through pin holes! And I was at my most fertile, being seventeen, so I knew that if only one got
through, she'd be done for.
There was a problem, though: however much she rode me - and sometimes it went on for a very long time - I never managed to cum when she was astride me. And I've told you how I then had to kneel humiliatingly and jerk off to please her. So how could I manage to shoot my load into the condom when she was riding me? I thought and thought about this, and it seemed to be the fatal flaw in my plan. I didn't know what to do, but thought that Charlie might be able to give me some advice - he'd kind of "adopted" me since my arrival and was always looking out for me and making the other guys lay off when they made too many jokes at my expense, and stuff like that. So after work I managed to get included with the others when they went off to a bar (normally they tried to stop me as it was illegal for me to be in there, and everyone is careful about that kind of stuff as the potential penalties are so severe: none of us wanted to end up arriving in the
slave transporter!). I guess I looked pretty mature by now, and on Fridays we did sometimes go home in uniform so any cops looking in would see that we were doing a worthwhile job that actually helped them in their work, and would probably leave us alone. And, anyway, it would be a first offence and they usually reserved sentences of slavery for the "three strikes and you're out" stuff - although, as the guys always pointed out, it was easy for a young whitey to clock up a couple of offences, and so perhaps I wanted to keep something in reserve and not be foolish by drinking under age.
I didn't drink, actually - just had a cola - and half way through the evening I sat next to Charlie (who had been drinking!) and started to explain my problem - well, not the whole problem, obviously. All the guys thought I was a real stud with a proper girlfriend who I fucked every night - there was a lot of joking about this, and although I never actually lied outright, I did conceal the full facts, I'll admit. So I sort of embroidered a tale for Charlie, saying how I was finding it hard to cum, even though, eventually, I could shoot. "You know how it is", I confided in him "My bitch is always nagging and complaining that she climaxes before me and she wants to stop before I'm satisfied. So I need to be able to shoot quickly, before she's had a chance to climax. Then I can lie there happy, and she'll have to really work hard to tease and excite me into action again if she wants her satisfaction.... It would kind of serve her right....."
"Well, Steve, I wouldn't complain too much if I were you. A lot of guys who've got kind of 'hair triggers' would love to have your problem, being able to fuck away like that.... I mean, you enjoy it, don't you?"
"Yes! Of course! But those other guys probably haven't got a girlfriend who can whine and complain like mine! I ought to dump her really and find another one, but it's too much trouble at the moment, and she is a good screw once she shuts her mouth...."
"...there's one simple way of doing that, Steve! Get that cock of yours down her throat.... It can be fun, you know."
Well I did know, I suppose. I'd seen Charlie using his cock down the slave's throat often enough by now. But that wasn't the point here, so I said "Sure, yes, of course. But when the real thing's available..... I mean, a throat's OK if it's a slave, like here. But I've got a bitch ready and waiting...."
"Well, Steve, the only way I know - and you're not going to like this, you being such a stud - is a bit of abstinence. If you laid off the fucking - and no jerking off either, of course - for a few days, then you'd be desperate to shoot. And the moment you pushed it into her, you'd be away. That and focussing the mind, of course - think about the most sexy bitch you can, doing he dirtiest things you can imagine, at the same time...."
He saw me looking surprised, and went on "Oh come on, Steve - hasn't it occurred to you that sex is as much in the brain as in the dick? Most guys - especially as they get older - start to fantasise about sex, and it's actually better than the real thing. Well, not better exactly, but different, and it adds to it - I mean, you fantasise when you jerk off, don't you?"
I nodded, cautiously, but muttered "...not that I jerk off a lot, as I've got a bitch.", to maintain my reputation.
"Well then, you'll know how good it is. So when you've laid off for a few days and your balls are aching as they're so full of your spunk, when you start to fuck her just close your eyes and start the fantasy! That, and the real sensation you're getting in your dick.... Well, it's guaranteed to make you shoot almost immediately."
He wanted to talk some more, evidently turned on by a young stud's experience of sex, but I was worried in case I inadvertently let some embarrassing fact about my situation slip, so made my excuses, and left.
I could see that what Charlie said made some kind of sense, but how on earth cold I implement it? That bitch Sh'Kwala demanded it every night, and I had no chance to lay off for a few days... Except when she was bleeding, and that was the only place where I'd managed to lay down the line I was not prepared to cross, right from the start. I didn't care how much she threatened, there was just no way my tongue was going in her at times like that, and she'd accepted it and now I had a few nights off each month - but this was no use to me in the present circumstances of course, as immediately afterwards she wouldn't be fertile. So I had to invent a "course" that they were sending me on which was mandatory to get my "Slave Handler's Certificate", and when she complained I pointed out that they might throw me off the job if I didn't attend, then I couldn't rent the apartment; and so she reluctantly agreed. I then had to hope and hope that she didn't
check up with the office - but after getting me the job in the first place, she hadn't been there as far a I knew, so I reckoned I was safe.
When you're used to emptying your balls every day it's really difficult to avoid doing it, isn't it? By the fourth day my balls were aching, and I hardly dared touch my dick, even when I was peeing, as the temptation to start to slide the foreskin up and down was so great. And my boxers were stained inside, too, as I was leaking pre-cum from the almost constant erections I was experiencing. But the fateful day arrived, and after Sh'Kwala had arrived and I'd stripped, I fumbled around making the packet sound as if it was being torn open, and handing the condom for her to fit onto my dick. I reckon it was lucky I didn't shoot my load there and then as she kept stroking at me to get he thing properly fitted, and I had a terrible job trying to stop myself. But then, perversely, once she'd begun to ride me, I found I couldn't make it happen. I remembered what Charlie had said about thinking sexy thoughts as well, and tried to recall fucking the sexiest
bitch I'd ever had. Then, strangely, I began to imagine that it was the lithe young chef who was riding up and down on my cock, and the next moment I felt my balls tightening and I cried out "Fuck me.... Yes..... Jesus fucking Christ......" as my cum shot down my dick into the condom.
Sh'Kwana wasn't at all pleased about it, I can tell you! She felt deprived as she couldn't insist I knelt there in front of her and jacked off. She stormed out in a fit of pique, and that was good as I didn't have to continue to talk to her or even look at her, and I could simply lie on my bed playing with my dick for a bit of fun.
I kept really careful count after that, and once it became clear that there wasn't going to be any respite for me as it was "that time of the month", my hopes began to rise. I'd only have to endure being used for a few more weeks, and then it would all be over. And, indeed, it seemed to happen: one day she didn't appear, and I reckoned she'd suddenly realised she was so late that the inevitable had happened.
The next day we were working away as usual and had just cleared a batch of merchandise through the showers and were talking about packing up - the next batch would be the responsibility of the late shift guys - when a slave appeared and said that I was needed in the executive offices. The other guys looked at me in surprise, and I think they began to worry that perhaps I had got influence after all and that their hazing a few weeks before might backfire; or perhaps I was some sort of management spy who had been observing the operation and was about to suggest that they lose their jobs. But, seeing this, and given that I was in a great mood as I thought I was being invited to see old man Johnson to be welcomed as his son in law, I reassured them and even went as far as suggesting that we might all think about partying that weekend!
I'd never been into the "executive suite" in the vast place as the manager who had hired me was much lower level, so when the slave held open the door and bowed, indicating that I should go through, I was very surprised. The carpets were rich with an extremely deep pile, the furniture said that it was very, very expensive as it was so simple and elegant, and the secretaries were top-class: niggers, not whiteys as you might expect people who were doing that kind of job to be. The lighting was subdued but clear, and the air-conditioning set at exactly the right temperature, wafting in air with a pleasant freshness that just made you feel good. Expensive pictures adorned the walls, and there was a huge vase of fresh flowers, artfully arranged, on a central table.
One of the secretaries looked up, then looked at me as if I was something the cat had dragged in. "Mr Masters?". She sounded surprised, as if it was not normal for a whitey to be in there at all.
"Yes, ma'am, Steve Masters", I replied smartly. Once I was the son in law with a responsible job here, I'd change that bitch's attitude, I thought.
The surprise again registered in her voice. "Mr Johnson has been waiting for you. Do go in." As she said this she pressed a switch and a door opened, and I walked through into this simply enormous office - same carpets, lighting, and furniture, but now with the addition of a large desk behind which sat one of those tall, fat niggers.
He glared at me, then snapped "Are you the whitey that's been fucking my daughter?"
Well I wasn't prepared for such a direct question, and the way he said "whitey" wasn't just descriptive - there seemed to be a real venom, an anger almost, there as it was distinctly derogatory.
I thought about telling him that it was his daughter that had been fucking me, mostly against my will, but what would be the point? If this guy was going to be my father in law, I might as well keep on the right side of him. "Er, well.... I guess you could say that, sir...."
"So you fucked her, and got her pregnant, did you?"
My heart raced! It had worked. A small smile spread across my face. "Yes, I guess so, sir!"
"Well let me tell you now that no whitey is going to marry a daughter of mine. And there's going to be no half-breed kids, either."
Well, this all sounded good. So he was going to have to offer me something, and then get me to agree to settle. Like all good negotiators, I simply stood there , not saying anything, waiting to see what might be coming next.
It was totally unexpected! "You fucking whitey, standing there in front of me after you've defiled my daughter, raped her! Now, show me what you did with it....."
I was outraged. "Hey, nigger! It was no rape! Your bitch of a daughter was asking for it - no, she demanded it....."
"Shut the fuck up, boy!", he screamed. "Everyone knows that the only thing on a young whitey's mind is his dick, and using it to fuck a nice, sweet young nigga...."
"Don't you call me 'boy'! I'm not a fucking slave, I'm a free man. And your bitch daughter was begging for it, I tell you. No, she's made me do it, over and over. She squeals with pleasure as she rides my dick....."
"Shut the fuck up, boy!"
"No, you listen to me. And don't call me 'boy'. Do that again, and I'm out of here, and I'll go down to that fancy Club and tell all your friends what a sex-crazed bitch your daughter is, how she demanded to ride my cock, night after night....."
He was standing up now, his face shiny with sweat, apoplectic with rage. I saw him press a button on his desk, and immediately two big black nigger guards stormed into the room - I hadn't seen them around before, but then I probably would not have, as the place was so big. But the were huge - towering over me, and I'm tall. And really powerful, bulging with muscle.
"Now, boy" - he emphasised the word - "I told you I wanted to see your whitey dick as that seems to be your problem. So strip off...."
"Don't call me 'boy'. I'm not one of your fucking slaves. And I told you, I'm out of here, as you did."
I turned to go, and out of the corner of my eye I saw old man Johnson nod to one of the guards, and the next moment my world exploded into pain. I remember falling to the floor, as if in slow motion, and then heard myself begin to scream as my limbs thrashed around uncontrollably as the most intense pain I'd ever felt flooded through me. That bastard guard had used a slave prod on me!
End Of Part Eleven