Willing Slave

THE WILLING SLAVE, Part 27

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

I simply didn't get time in the next three days to sneak even a quick visit to the neighbour's place to see Matt and Sam (or Blackie and Whitie, as I suppose I should use their new slave names). My owner kept me so busy - as well as the normal round of calls we had to go to and from the hospital so he could visit his wife. And in the evening I couldn't sneak out as I didn't know that my owner wouldn't come down to my room, requiring sex.

On the fourth day when we were at the hospital my owner came out with his wife and she was carrying the baby - my son! I desperately wanted to rush over and take my first look at the child, but I had to stand patiently and obediently in the shafts, even though my heart was almost bursting with the need to actually do something. I ran home, hearing my mistress all the time calling to me to go slowly and to avoid the potholes because there was now a baby on board, too, and I pulled up at the front door and they got out and went in. Oh, no... I wasn't going to get to see the little chap! Other than to be punished, I was never allowed in the main part of the house, and I didn't suppose the baby would be coming out for some time. I was desperately disappointed, and almost trudged around to the stables. It's not right is it, not to let a man see his son, an I think my owner could have contrived in some way for me to be given a peak into the bundle of clothes my mistress was carrying. But then the thought struck me that perhaps it was a deliberate strategy - he wasn't ever going to acknowledge again my part in the boy's conception. An owner wouldn't normally show a new baby to his pony, so why should he show me "his" child? The more I thought about it, the more I realised that this was the way it had to be - he needed the kid to make his father in law happy, and so the kid had to be "his" and nothing at all to do with me. I'd have to just look on, and just know that it was me, not him, being carried on into the future.

The next day I almost saw my child again, as my owner and my mistress drove to the station to catch the train to New York. They told me they would be gone for two days as they were going to do the rounds of my mistress's family, showing off their new son. I still didn't get to see the kid, but at least I consoled myself with the thought that now I'd have plenty of time to go and see Matt and Sam - and, for a change, I could even spend the whole night with them. That cheered me up a bit, as I desperately missed Matt, and I knew that if we were all together, Sam's expertise in bed would keep us all busy!

We arrived in plenty of time for the train, and I was waiting outside the station just to make sure that it was running on time in case my owner wanted me to take them somewhere else if it was very late, when I saw the trap belonging to next door coming down the road. It wasn't Matt pulling it, as the pony's gait was quite different. It pulled up at the station entrance, and Darren got out, accompanied by the owner, who shook his hand as if saying goodbye. Then I saw something that made my heart stop - running along behind the trap were Matt and Sam, and they now came forward, carrying the four suitcases that presumably were Darren's.

They wore only their tiny black and white pouches, their skin shone with the pony oil, and their rings glinted in the sunlight. Passers by stopped to stare at the sight, as it was so remarkable to see slaves ornamented like this in Scarsdale, and it wasn't the fashion here to have near-nudity, either. Then I saw that they both still had bits in with the fastening circling their heads, and they were shackled together, right hand to left hand. They had to walk side by side, in step, as they couldn't move apart.

My owner came up at this point and said the train was on time, and so I could leave. He stood there watching me and so I had to pull away and go up the street towards home. But then I did something I'd never done before - I circled around the block, and pulled up at the station again being careful to leave the trap at the end of the line, so that my owner wouldn't see it even if he came out. I slunk into the slave entrance, and joined the other slaves standing around on the part of the platform reserved for us. At the other end, I could see my owner, my mistress and the baby, and Darren still talking to our next door neighbour. I'd thought that Matt and Sam would be in the slave area, but slaves are of course allowed in the "free men" part if they're handling luggage, and Matt and Sam had Darren's four big cases.

The train came in and all the passengers boarded, then, as the conductor was shouting his traditional "all aboard", Sam and Matt raced down the platform to get into the slave compartment. Matt saw me as I stood there, but neither of us could do anything: he had to get on the train, and I had to just stand and watch as I could not leave. We couldn't even shout anything to each other, as Matt was cruelly muted by the bit, just as I had once been.

I trotted home and threw myself onto the bed, in despair. They'd taken Matt away from me. He'd just been sold, and his new owner was taking him off, who knows to where. I felt certain I'd never see him again, and he was my friend, my confident, my lover. This slavery was so cruel, tearing guys apart like this. It just wasn't fair - if we'd been two free men we could have carried on seeing each other until one or other of us tired of it. But Matt's owner, with absolutely no interest in his needs, had just sold him, and sold him to someone who cared not a fig about him, and only wanted him as he was a "matching pair" to a slave he already owned. It's bad enough losing out in the lottery and being a slave in the first place, but why does the slavery system then have to make us suffer for our entire lives? I was a good slave, a willing slave, who always worked hard and tirelessly for my owner, and this was all the reward I got: to lose the only thing I valued. I had no possessions, nothing, only the love of Matt, and now the system took this away from me.

Later on I forced down a few mouthfuls of slave chow, and went across our land, through the fence, and into the slave barracks at our neighbour's. The chief slave was sitting there, and he at once said "Steve, I'm so sorry... What can I say? We're all going to miss Matt... And I know you and he were together... So you're worse off than any of us."

He put his arms around me and hugged me, and this was the nicest thing that he could have done. I desperately needed some form of human contact, and this guy showed me by this simple act that he understood just how much I was hurting.

Several of the slaves gathered around and we talked about how badly Matt had been treated - the ringing, the shaving, making him go around almost naked, and the final indignity of taking away his ability even to speak. We all thought his owner was uncaring and unfeeling, and none of us could think of anything that Matt might have done to deserve this, as he was such an exemplary pony. But then, as the chief slave said, "That's slavery for you. A slave doesn't have to do anything, or not do anything - his owner decides his fate, and his owner isn't concerned about the slave's needs or his feelings. There's nothing we can do about it - that's the way of the world."

"It's not right, though, is it?", one of the young gardeners said. "We ought to be able to decide things for ourselves. We're just the same as the owners, aren't we? We're men, even though we're slaves."

"Stop that! I won't have such subversive talk in my barracks!", the chief slave rapped. "Any more talk like that and I'll have you whipped as an example to the others!"

I'd been thinking much the same thoughts myself, as you know, and had been going to side with the young guy, but kept quiet - I was a guest there, and didn't want to upset the rules that the chief slave laid down. I was faintly shocked at myself for having these thoughts, but now hearing them expressed openly... Well, it somehow made them seem more legitimate. If anyone had dared to suggest how the system might be changed, I know I would have joined in. But as it was, under the chief slave's stern gaze, we all lapsed into silence, and just thought of Matt.

Looking back on it, I'd seen two examples now of how it's slaves themselves who could be just as bad as owners: Darren knew what it was like to have high hopes for a happy life, and then to have them dashed when he found out he had to "perform" with Sam. But when he "passed" and got to own slaves himself, what did he do? Was he kind and considerate? - no, he tore Sam away from being a sex slave, which he liked, and turned him into a pony, and a disgracefully ornamented pony, at that. And he simply bought Matt as it pleased him to do so, and then inflicted all the humiliation on Matt, again because it pleased him. The chief slave here was at fault, too: if he hadn't silenced the young gardener so viciously we might have all talked and thought of something we could jointly do to improve our lot.

As I sat there thinking about it, it appeared to me that slaves themselves were almost the authors of our own problems: we were ten percent of the male population, after all, and if we didn't accept what the owners did to us, there wasn't a lot they could do, was there? Sure, they could punish one or two of us, or even several hundred of us. They could castrate us, kill us, use our bodies for spare parts, but, at the end of the day, they depended on us: without us slaves, the world just wouldn't work. If only there was some way that we could get together, perhaps even not work for a day, to show the owners how much they needed us. But I knew that couldn't be - we weren't organised and couldn't organise, as we couldn't travel, or use the phone, or anything. And even when two or three slaves wanted to talk about things like this, the tools of the owners, like the chief slave, would forbid it.

I was feeling pretty low, I can tell you, when one of the ponies chipped in with "Well, at least he's got a mate, that Sam."

Now I knew that Matt and I didn't have an exclusive relationship, as on the nights when he didn't come over to me he usually went to bed with another pony or one of the gardeners, or sometimes even one of the indoor slaves. So I wasn't jealous or anything, and I knew that his pony was probably one of those who fucked Matt regularly, as I did. But Sam? And then it became clear to me - Sam was visiting as Darren's pony, so he'd be put in the slave barracks. He'd soon spot Matt as a fantastic body, and would sense that he liked to be fucked - and Sam loved to fuck, as I remembered. So it was natural that the two of them would have been fucking, wasn't it?

"Yes", the pony continued, "And chained together like that now... They're going to have to fuck each other, or find a third they both like as there's no way one can avoid joining in if his mate's decided to play!"

Everyone laughed at this, and as the talk went on I found out that in the few days he'd been there Sam had worked his way through almost the entire barracks before settling on Matt. So it was a special bonus when Darren had bought Matt and had had them chained together permanently. I suppose I should have been glad that Matt would have such a fantastic lover as Sam, and would probably be in for some interesting times as the two of them visited places with Darren - Matt would probably get to fuck some fantastic men, if Sam was doing the choosing! Still, I did miss him dreadfully, and I sat there feeling really sad, with my head and shoulders faintly bowed.

"Hey, come on...." The pony had got up and come and sat beside me. He put his arm around my shoulders and went on "I know you miss Matt terribly. We were close, too, but not as close as you and Matt. He let me fuck him, and we had great times, but he didn't love me like he loved you. Us ponies should stick together, you know... Do you have to go back, or can you stay?.... Let's go and fuck, and see if we can cheer ourselves up."

"No, yes, well, thanks, but.... Look, no, I don't have to get back tonight. And yes I'd like to fuck. But you used to fuck Matt, and I used to fuck Matt... And I don't take dick. And I expect you don't...."

The pony squeezed me, put his head down to my ear, and whispered "Not so loud.... Don't tell the others! They all think I'm a real stud as I topped Matt and always top all the other guys here as a stallion should. But actually I like a dick up my ass occasionally... So let's go out to the stables and you can show me if you're as good a stallion as I am... I'm always willing to learn new tricks, you know, and Matt was always teasing me by telling me about how good you were. Or was he teasing? Was it true? Come on, and show me...."

We went out together, and there were laughs and shouts of encouragement from the other guys. And when we finally disentangled ourselves from each other the following morning, all he said was "Matt was right!"

EDITOR'S NOTE

There's a gap in Steve's manuscript here, as some of the exercise books in which the story is written were evidently lost or destroyed. There have been attempts to "fill in the gaps" by some authors over the years, but modern scholars decry this practice. There are enough "clues" in the remaining books to give us an idea as to what went on in the missing years, and how Steve adjusted to his life with his son in the house. So in this edition we are not using such "generated" material and letting the reader imagine for himself the "missing years". We take up the story again when Steve's son James - called Jamie by the vet and his wife - is about three.

The narrative resumes....

I hated having to clean the pool when my mistress was in the house, but she was insistent that it was done twice a week and somehow there was never an occasion when I wasn't busy serving my owner and she was out. So one afternoon I went around to the pool area and there she was, her book and drink to hand, watching Jamie play in the pool. The little tyke had swimming shorts on, and was playing on one of those inflatable plastic animals, floating around.

"Ma'am, sorry, ma'am, I'll come back", I said, and turned to go.

"No, slave. You can clean the pool. It needs doing."

I knew by now that it wasn't acceptable to argue, or to do anything other than pull off my T, then drop my shorts, and start working. I hated doing it with her watching my naked body, but now it was doubly awful as little Jamie was staring at me, too.

As I worked away he climbed out of the pool and went across to his mother. "Mommy, why does Steve have all that hair on top of his thingy?"

"That's normal, Jamie. When you're a man, you'll have hair there, too."

"And will my thingy go all black, like Steve's is, mommy?"

"No, dear! It certainly won't. Steve's is only like that because he's a slave whose owner decided it would be nice to have him coloured like that. And look at his shoulders - all those patterns. And the writing all over his back and his front - only slaves have than, when their owners decide to have it done to them. You won't have that, as you're not a slave."

"Why is Steve a slave, mommy?"

"Because he lost out in the lottery, Jamie."

"Will that happen to me, mommy? Please say it won't.. I don't want a black thingy, like Steve...."

"Don't be silly, Jamie. Daddy and I have explained all this to you. You're not a slave and never will be, as when you were a very little boy your number was drawn in the lottery, and you were not picked."

As I worked away and listened to this, I remembered how it was during the first year of my son's life. >From the moment they knew my child was a boy, my owner and my mistress had been worrying about the lottery, and as his first birthday approached there was a terrible tension in the house. When the mail slave delivered the mail the next week I happened to be at the front of the house, and my mistress tore open the big official envelope as the slave handed it to her. She scanned the words, then ran into the house, shouting for joy!

Actually, I think she and my owner were pretty cruel - they were so pleased that Jamie hadn't been picked that they came running out to tell me! I suppose there was no one else around to share the good news with, but, all the same, it's a bit insensitive, isn't it, to be so thankful that your kid hasn't been selected for a lifetime of slavery when you are telling it to a slave? Still, I was pleased for Jamie, and although there's nothing wrong with being a slave if you've got a good owner, my experiences had taught me that just below the surface there lurked a streak of callousness towards all slaves even in the best owner.

There was one odd thing, too - the next day my owner called me in to his surgery and filled a small phial with my blood that he drew from my arm. "We have to o off and register Jamie as a free man tomorrow", he told me. "And of course they take blood samples from him to match the DNA with his parents."

I saw at once why he wanted my blood, and supposed he intended to substitute it in some way when they took his blood sample at the citizens' registration centre the following day. In fact he was extremely nervous as I took the three of them downtown, but he seemed visibly more relaxed when they came out. When we got home, he even showed me Jamie's registration certificate, naming him as the true son of my owner and my mistress.

Anyway, my mistress's explanations of my black dick and tattooed back weren't satisfying Jamie, as he went on "If Steve is a slave and his owners decided to have him coloured like that, why don't you and daddy have him coloured more?"

"Because your father and I think it's very lower class to have slaves marked like that - we prefer them to have natural skin. It's just like when we go visiting in the poor parts of the city when mommy does her charity work, and we see all those houses with bright coloured pint and fake wood panelling - so very lower class! Proper people, like daddy and me, have cream and white walls so that we can show off our artwork."

Jamie sat there saying nothing for a few moments, thinking. Then he said "But what about those red stripes across Steve's bottom, mommy? Are those lower class, too?"

"No, dear. Those marks are where your father had to cane Steve yesterday, as he'd been very naughty. You're a good boy, Jamie, so daddy has only had to spank you once. But when you get big slaves like Steve who are naughty, daddy has to punish them, and he uses a cane on Steve's bare bottom."

"Does daddy hurt Steve very much then?"

"Yes, dear. That's the idea. Steve has to be made to know that he's naughty, just as you would have to, if you were naughty. So the cane hurts him very much, and the striped marks are where it hit him."

I was flushing with embarrassment as she was saying this, as my owner had indeed caned me the previous day. He still did this after every time I fucked him, although, mercifully, he seemed to come to be humiliated less and less often.

"Mommy, when daddy next canes Steve, can I watch?"

"Well, you'll have to ask your father, dear. But I don't see why not."

Oh, no. Surely she wasn't going to let a three-year old watch me being caned? For one thing, although my beatings were less frequent, they were more and more severe and I just couldn't stop myself crying out. And I always got an erection when I was caned. I didn't want my son to see me like that!

But even as I thought about caning and being watched and having an erection, my dick started to rise to the sky! Jamie saw it, of course, and instantly said "Mommy! Look at Steve's thingy! It's getting bigger and bigger, and standing up!"

"Yes, dear. That's perfectly natural, and not something to worry about. And nice people don't talk about it - just pretend it's not happening."

"But mommy, will mine do that, too?"

"Yes, dear, when you're a big man."

"Does daddy's?"

"Yes, dear, of course it does. He's a big, strong man. But we don't talk about it, as I've said."

"But I've never seen daddy do it...."

"No, of course not, as daddy doesn't go around naked like Steve. It's all right for Steve to be like that as he's only a slave, and slaves take all their clothes off when they're working at things like cleaning the pool, and so sometimes you'll see him like that. But daddy is a proper man, as you will be one day, and proper men don't go around naked. So let's talk about something else, shall we?"

I was flushing with embarrassment more and more, and as I'd just finished using the mop on one side, pretended I needed to go into the water to dive down and clear the water inlet. I lowered myself into the water, then executed a neat "flip" dive and went right down to the bottom. When I surfaced, I stood there in the deep water so that it was just above my nipples. I planed the water off my face, and looked around.

Little Jamie floated up to me on his inflatable animal, and said "Steve, will you teach me to dive like that one day?"

Even though he was my son he was a free man, and I'd learned from the moment he'd been able to talk to address him properly, so I replied "Sir, yes, if your mommy will let me, sir."

He swam across the pool and leaned on the side near my mistress and shouted "Mommy, mommy... Steve can teach me to dive like he can, if you'll let him, Can I, please mommy, please?"

"Well, Jamie, I don't like you playing with the slave.

Nice little boys don't."

"Oh mommy, please. I want to be able to swim properly, and dive, like daddy does, and he never has time to teach me. Why can't Steve do it? Please, mommy, please...."

She looked across at me, and almost without raising her voice said "Can you swim as well as dive, slave?" As usual, she never used my name when addressing me directly.

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am. I used to swim with my brothers before I was enslaved, ma'am."

"I'm not interested in your life, slave. A simple answer will suffice!" As usual, she was criticising me!

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry, ma'am."

"Well then, if I'm here, you can teach the child to swim properly. But under no circumstances are you to touch the child when I'm not here, is that understood?"

Did she think I was some sort of pervert, to want to interfere with a kid? I liked men, not kids, and, anyway, I wouldn't touch my own son, would I?

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am."

The next hour was one of the best in my life. I started to show little Jamie how to swim, walking up and down the pool holding his head above the water and encouraging him to make the right motions with his hands and his feet. It was true that my owner rarely found time to play with Jamie as he had got increasingly busy - as well as his practice, he now went frequently into New York to sit on committees and so on, and rarely had any spare time. Even our morning running session had been cut right back, although he still tried to keep in shape a bit.

Jamie was laughing and really enjoying himself as we exercised together, and I showed him how to swim properly by doing a couple of lengths - I really enjoyed it, as wasn't usually allowed in the water to swim, of course. All the time I'd been growing up I'd loved swimming, but now, doing it naked, it was extra special as the water flowing past my dick and balls produced a delicious sensation - I did wonder why my brothers and I always wore swimming costumes when we went to the lake near our house.

I remembered a game I used to play with my eldest brother when I was a kid, and told Jamie that as he'd done so well so far he could "ride the dolphin."

I asked him if he knew what dolphin was, and of course he'd seen them on TV, so I lay on my stomach in the water, paddling gently just to keep afloat, and told him to hop across from his inflatable toy to sit astride my back. I felt his sturdy little body settle across the small of my back, just above my ass, and then I was off, racing sown the pool, making big waves, and splashing a lot (but not enough to scare him, of course!). At the end I turned gently, then on the way back I deliberately went lower in the water so my head was only just above the surface and Jamie, now gripping my back between his legs, got the water almost over him. Then I surfaced again, and so on. By the end of four lengths he was shrieking with laughter and fun, but I stopped, as I could see his mother looking cross.

I dropped to the bottom of the pool, but shot up underneath him before he sank, scooping him up in my big strong arms and neatly flipping him out of the water so that he was sitting on the pool edge. I looked up at him and whispered "Sir, that's riding the dolphin, sir. Did you like it, sir?"

He was giggling and laughing as he said "Yes, Steve. Can we do it again?"

"Sir, not now, sir, as I've got to work. But if your mommy will let you, perhaps we can do it again next time I'm cleaning g the pool."

He got up and ran over to my mistress, and I heard him say "Mommy, did you see me on Steve's back? It's not at all scary when you're right up close to it, mommy. Steve's all nice and warm, and feels lovely, mommy. Can I ride him again next week?"

"Steve's your father's pony, Jamie. He's meant to pull the trap, not play games in the pool! You'll have to ask your father."

I hauled myself out of the water as she was speaking, and stood there, planing the water off my body. Jamie came up to me and looked at me, and in that innocent way that only children have asked "Do you like having a big black thingy, Steve? Did you mind, when your owner had it done?"

I hated saying it, but his mother was listening and I had to measure my words carefully. I said as cheerfully as I could "Sir, I'm a slave, sir. A slave doesn't mind anything his owner does to him, sir."

"So you don't mind daddy caning you?"

"Sir, if your daddy thinks I've been bad, then of course he canes me. Doesn't he punish you if you do naughty things?"

"Yes, but he doesn't cane me."

"Well, perhaps he thinks I've been very naughty, sir."

I hated having to speak like this as I knew I was innocent and was only caned to assuage my owner's own feelings of guilt at having me fuck him. But it was impossible to explain this to a kid, wasn't it, and, anyway, it wasn't fair to get him involved in things between me and the man he thought of as his father.

My mistress got up from her chair now and came over and took Jamie by the hand. I could see her staring at my dick and balls and my sculpted body, and I wondered if she was comparing what she saw in front of her with my owner.

"Come on Jamie, time to go in. The slave's got a lot more work to do, and he'd better get on with it and not stand there sunning himself, or else your father will have to cane him again."

"Bye, Steve....", Jamie piped as his mother led him away, and I waved at him and smiled.

My owner had told me that he and my mistress were going to a big dinner in New York that night and that I was to take them to the station at five o'clock, After I'd finished the pool I changed into a fresh T and shorts and went around to the front of the house to wait for them, but they didn't appear for some time.

When they did, they were very agitated and it seemed from their conversation that the sitter, who'd been hired to come and stay the night, had just called to say she couldn't make it. My owner and my mistress were arguing about whether only one of them should go to the dinner, and if so, which one. It seemed to be understood that getting anyone else to sit in and stay the night at his point was impossible.

"Why don't we leave him with Steve?" My owner suddenly said, as he saw me standing there. I watched him at the pool this afternoon playing with Jamie, and they seemed to be getting on well together. All he's got to do is be in the house, after all, to make sure there's no disaster like a fire... Jamie sleeps through the night, and we can be back on the first train in the morning."

"Are you mad? Leave a kid with a big slave like that?

He's not even been gelded, as you're too soft to do it!"

"Oh don't be silly, my dear! Slaves don't attack kids. And especially not Steve - he's been with us so long, he's almost part of the family. I think Jamie will be safer with him than he would be if we left him with some random sitter from the agency, if you ask me!"

They went on arguing for some time, but my owner seemed to prevail. He and my mistress came over and he said "We're going to entrust you with a very special job tonight, Steve. Take us to the station now, then bring Jamie back - he'll have his pyjamas on under his coat, and he's been put on his honour to go straight to bed. We want you to sit in the corridor outside his door, in case of emergency. We'll leave you a special telephone number that you call if there's any problem - just touch the big red button on the phone and an operator will ask you who you are, then will contact us. Is that clear?"

I broke into a big grin "Sir, yes, sir!"

"If you do anything wrong, slave - anything - you will be castrated. Is that clear also?" My mistress chimed in.

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am."

As we rode to the station little Jamie was very excited, and was chattering on to his parents about being left with me. "So I'm the master, and Steve has to do what I say. And if he's naughty, can I cane him?"

My owner was laughing as he said "No, Jamie. Steve will be on his best behaviour, and he won't do anything naughty so you're not to cane him.. .wait until you're older, like daddy. But you are in charge - Steve's only a slave, and you're a free man - never forget that."

We went onto the platform, and after the train had left and were walking back to the trap, Jamie reached up and put his little hand in mine. I was thrilled to be able to walk with my son's hand in my huge one, just as if we were a proper father and son, but Jamie seemed very sad. I crouched down and looked at him. "Sir, are you OK, sir?"

"Yes, Steve. But mommy and daddy will come back, won't they?"

"Sir, of course they will, sir. First thing tomorrow morning we'll come back to the station and collect them.... If we can find it."

He looked at me in amazement. "Find it, Steve? You've been to the station hundreds of times."

"Yes, sir, buy your daddy always drives me. I'm only a slave, you know. Can you drive me home in case we get lost?"

He brightened immediately, forgetting that he was missing his parents, and chirped "Of course I can, Steve! I'm a master. Come on....."

He walked ahead of me down the platform, pulling me along with his tiny hand and I had to bend double and pretend to have difficulty in keeping up. Then in the trap, after I'd lifted him into the seat, I handed him the whip.

"Sir, please guide me home, sir..."

He was laughing as he told me to pull out of the station, and was still smiling when we got home. I put him on my shoulders and played "horsey" to carry him up the stairs, and put him into his bed.

"Steve, read me a story. I always get read a story before I go to sleep."

My mood of happiness at putting my son to bed vanished. I couldn't read, of course, and I hated to admit it to him. I leafed through the pile of books by his bed and picked one up, and pretended to read it, improvising a story to the pictures. But he wasn't fooled.

"No, Steve! You've got it upside down! Here...."

Then, when I started again, I saw that he was word perfect, as he'd had the same story read to him so many times before. So it became a game - I tried to tell a story, and he constantly corrected me, pointing out the words as he did so. I knew some of the alphabet, and some short words, of course, from my training in being able to read a map, and as we played on I was astonished to see that I could actually make out more and more of the words! Perhaps this reading wasn't so hard, after all.

End Of Part 27

THE WILLING SLAVE, Part 28

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

Once I'd found out that I could start to read Jamie's simple books, I tried to spend as much time with him as possible and began to pick up more and more words. I usually managed to race through all my yard work, too, so that I had a few minutes to spend with him most days - he was a sporty child, even at that very young age, and loved to kick a ball around, or race up and down the area, or swim in the pool. I guess it was my athletic heritage showing through.

My owner didn't have all that much time to play with Jamie as he was now so very busy with his practice, which was extremely popular, and his work in the City And after their first use of me as a baby sitter, when Jamie obviously came to no harm, his parents started to use me more and more in the evening. I began to really relish those nights when his parents went to the city so that I could "read" a bedtime story to him, then tuck him up in bed. I was really playing the role of father, much more than the vet was.

On those nights I wasn't allowed to sleep in the bedrooms, or even in the living area of the house, but my owner and my mistress were very concerned about things like fires breaking out, and wanted me to be close to Jamie's room in case there was an emergency. So I used to take a blanket from my bed in my own tiny room, wrap myself in it, and stretch out on the floor of the upstairs passage way.

Jamie and I continued to play games, too, when we delivered his parents to the train station and collected them - I always pretended that I needed to be "driven", and he really enjoyed sitting there on the trap, "controlling" me.

With all this going on, I seemed to need sex less and less, and gradually I stopped going frequently to the neighbours for casual sex with the ponies and gardeners there. The only problem was with my owner - it was OK if I played with Jamie when he was in the City, but if he happened to look out of his surgery window and see Jamie and me having a romp, or a game in the pool, it was almost certain that the next time my mistress was away that he'd come to my room and I'd have to fuck him. And the consequence then was that the following day he'd cane me brutally. It was as if he was competing for my attention in some way with Jamie - or was it that he really hated seeing me playing with my son?

Of course as the cooler weather came and we started to use our capes again to protect us from the rain and snow, I couldn't resist the opportunities they afforded for casual sex with other ponies in Scarsdale as we waited at the mall or the station. Well, it wasn't "serious" was it? Just a warm, sweaty body pressed close to you under the thick heavy cape, then that excited fumbling in each others' shorts to feel the other guy's cock, followed by a bit of mutual jerking off - that's about all you could do. Some of the guys knew I was a fairly aggressive top, though, and seemed to make a beeline for me if we were waiting around - they wanted me to fuck them, and would push their shorts right down, then back onto my dick so I was almost forced to fuck them. As I said, none of it was serious - it was just the games us ponies played in the Autumn and Winter to pass the time. And, of course, it was good for us - even in the heavy capes you could get really chilled standing around for long periods, and when you're like that you can't run, can you? But if you'd just had a good shoot, and especially a fuck, your heart was racing, your blood was flowing freely, and you were ready to work properly as soon as your owner appeared.

I think Jamie really liked me. I don't know what he thought of me as - he always called my owner "daddy" and my mistress "mommy" and me "Steve", and he heard my mistress always referring to me as "slave". But I wasn't sure he really understood what that meant in our house. It must have seemed to him that a "slave" was someone who had a lot of time for him, more than his daddy did, and perhaps he thought that all boys of his age had a "slave" as an occasional companion.

He liked it best of all in the Summer, when we would play in the pool if I was around. His mother always insisted on watching, and she always managed to make some disparaging remark about my dick. Little Jamie was a bright kid and heard all of this, and one day, as I stripped off to do the pool cleaning before playing with him, he stood in front of my mistress and pushed his swimming shorts to he floor.

"Jamie! Put your shorts back on, at once."

"But mom, Steve always does the pool without shorts on, and it's nice...."

"Jamie, do as you're told! Steve is a slave, and as I've told you many times before, slaves do jobs like cleaning the pool naked. But free men, and you're a free man, Jamie, do not appear without their clothes on in a public place. Suppose one of my friend was to come and visit, and saw you standing there like that?"

"But mommy, she'd see Steve.... "

"And as I've told you, Steve is a slave and everything's different for him. Now, if you don't do as you're told, you'll go straight indoors and spend the rest of the afternoon in your room."

The lad bent down to pull up his shorts, and as he did so he carried on chattering. "If everything is different for Steve, is that why he doesn't eat dinner with us?"

"Yes, dear. The slave eats special slave food. You've seen it in that big sack in the garage."

"And is that why we don't take Steve to the movies when you take me, and why he isn't allowed in the house to watch TV?"

"Yes, dear. Slaves don't do any of those things. Slaves work for us, eat slave food, and go to bed when they've finished work."

Jamie came over to me, looked up, and said "Steve, I'm sorry - you'd really like TV. And the movie we saw last week when you took us there in the trap was fantastic...."

I just grinned at him, and gave a little shrug.

"Did you ever watch TV, Steve? "

"Yes, sir. When I was your age I lived at home with my parents and my brothers. And I went to the movies with them, and watched TV, sir."

"When did you stop?"

"Sir, when I went away to be a slave, at sixteen. I went off to a special training school, and from then on I was a slave, and as your mommy's told you, sir, slaves don't watch TV or go to the movies."

"OK - but they do play 'ride the dolphin', don't they?

So get in the water, as I want to ride!"

"Sir, I'm sorry, sir, but I haven't finished my work. I've got to clean the pool first, or your mommy will be cross with me, sir."

I was astonished when he stamped his foot, and sounding quite like my mistress, snapped "Don't argue with me, slave! I've given you a simple order, now do it! Get into the water and do it now!"

His mother overheard this outburst, and came over to us. "Jamie - don't speak to the slave like that."

"Mommy, why not? You do. And you're always telling me that a slave is supposed to work for us, and I want Steve to work for me and giver me a dolphin ride. Slaves are supposed to do what free men tell them to, aren't they?"

My mistress clearly didn't know what to say! Jamie was a clever, bright lad, and he'd picked up on all the "slave" stuff around him. It is interesting, isn't it, how the very young in our country get to understand that they can be in charge of big grown slaves? We all stood there for a moment, and I felt that I had to do something - I was worried that my mistress might forbid Jamie ever to see me again. So I bent my head humbly and said "Ma'am, permission to speak, ma'am?"

"Yes, slave."

"Ma'am, can I have permission, please, ma'am, to clean the pool later? I could do it this evening if necessary, ma'am. If you allowed that, ma'am, I could give young master Jamie a dolphin ride now, ma'am."

"I'll want to see the pool sparkling tomorrow morning, slave. You can clean it whenever you have time. Now, do as Master Jamie commands, and give him a ride on that muscled back of yours."

So we frolicked around, and as usual I swam strongly up and down with Jamie on my back, shouting and laughing.

After all my unhappiness with losing Matt and my problems with my owner, life seemed to be looking up for me. I got to play with my son, tuck him up in bed some nights, and to really be part of his life. When he entered grade school I was there on his first day, as I carried my mistress and him there, and I even saw a few tears in my mistress's eyes as she came back to the trap after leaving Jamie there on that first day - not many fathers get to see that, and my owner certainly didn't: as usual, he was too busy working.

When his parents were spending the night in New York a week later, I was as usual told to baby sit", and I went to read him a bedtime story as usual. But Jamie didn't want to go to bed - he was sitting at the desk in his room, bent over papers.

"No, Steve, I don't want to go to bed yet. I've got to practice my writing, as my teacher says it's very bad. Look...."

He showed me the paper in front of him, which seemed to be covered in illegible scrawl to me. The lad was obviously upset, as he told me that all the other boys in his class were much better at writing than he was, and they laughed at him when they saw his work.

"Steve, will you help me? Don't read to me tonight - teach me to write, so I can be like the others!"

I hated having to tell him I couldn't, as I had no idea how to write. Bu I knelt down beside him as he sat at the desk, and as he formed the letters I pointed out to him where they didn't look the same as the ones in our story books. I got so adsorbed in it that I forgot that I couldn't write, and even took the ball point off him once or twice to form a letter and show him how to do it. If anyone had looked in it must have seemed a very strange sight - the small boy at his desk, bent over in concentration, and the huge slave kneeling at his side, equally focussed on the task.

I made him stop after a while as he seemed dead tired, and picked him up and carried him to the bed, pulled back the covers, and dropped him down. We always played a game where I then pretended to fall on top of him, obviously stopping myself on my hands before I touched him. Tonight was no exception, and as we were laughing at him being "saved" from me again, he put his arms around my neck and whispered "Steve, you're nice. I like you. I wish you weren't a slave. I wish you could come and sleep in my room."

As gently as I could I unwrapped his arms from around me, sort of "snuggled" him into the bed, and said "That's nice, Jamie. But I am a slave, and I always will be. And big grown men don't sleep in boys' rooms. Your daddy doesn't sleep in here, does he?"

"No, Steve. But daddy's got mommy. I wish I had someone to sleep with, Steve. And you haven't got anybody, either.

I almost had to choke back the tears as I suddenly thought of Matt again. And, I suppose, I was touched by his childish innocence.

"You're right, Jamie. But one day, you'll have someone to sleep with, too, when you're grown up. It will be something to look forward to."

Do you think I'll ever have a brother to sleep with me, as you did, Steve?"

"Jamie, I don't know. You'll have to ask your mommy and daddy that."

I was very conscious that I was calling him "Jamie" now, not "Sir", but he was close to sleep and he seemed to be lonely and need a bit of comfort.

"When I'm grown up, Steve, will you sleep with me then?"

"Yes, Jamie. When you're a big man too, we could do that." It wasn't true of course, as when he would be fully grown I'd be an old man. But young kids don't always need the truth, do they? They need comfort and reassurance.

He turned over and gave a little sigh, and I could see his eyes close. So I tiptoed out and assumed my "guard" position in the passage. I'd only been saying those things to make him feel needed and comfortable, of course, but many years later in very different circumstances I'd remember them.

Rather than just dozing in the passage, I sneaked back into Jamie's room and brought out the paper and ball point, and the practice sheet he'd been using. I worked away, and found that I could print letters quite easily - it was hard, at first, to remember all the shapes, and which letter was which, but by the time I finally fell asleep I'd made a good start at writing.

Another change in our routine had been occasioned by Jamie going to grade school - his parents weren't back form New York early enough to make sure he was up, washed, dressed and breakfasted, so I'd been told what to do, and was now in charge of all these preparations.

That morning it was Jamie who shook me awake, telling me that I was a lazy slave to be sleeping when he was already up! I followed him into the bathroom and watched as he took his pyjamas off and got into the shower. "Wash me, Steve, like mommy does", he said.

Well, his parent s hadn't said anything about that, but he was my son, after all, and lots of fathers bath their kids, don't they? So I took a wash cloth and rubbed him all over, then turned off the water and wrapped him in one of the big fluffy towels.

"Now you've got to shower, Steve", he said. "I know daddy always wants his pony to look good."

"Sir, no, sir... I'm not allowed to use this bathroom.

And I can shower when I get back."

"Steve, you're a slave. And I order you to shower. Else I'll tell daddy you were a bad slave."

Oh, fuck me! I didn't want him saying things like that, or his mother would leap to instant wrong conclusions. And I did need to shower. So I pulled off my T, dropped my shorts, and got under the water. Jamie stood there wrapped in his towel, watching me. He'd seen me naked often enough at the pool, but somehow it seemed different here in the house.

I turned around to face away from him to wash my dick and balls, but he piped up "No, Steve! You've got to show me you're washing your thingy properly. Mommy and daddy always make me face them so they can see I do it properly."

Well, I hated doing it. I'm not body shy of course, as I've showered so many times with other slaves. But somehow being told to do it by a kid, and having him watch as I soaped my dick and then my balls, made me feel just as if I was a child again. I sluiced the soap off me as quickly as I could, then planed the water off my body, and got out of the shower, still wet.

Jamie had started to get dressed now, and looked at me. "Where's your towel, Steve?"

"Sir, slaves don't usually use towels. We stand around like this until we get dry."

He carried on watching me, until I was just dry enough to pull on my T and shorts again.

"Come on, master Jamie... Hurry up and finish getting dressed, else we'll be late for school", I told him. "And hurry up and collect your school books together, whilst I get your breakfast!"

In the kitchen I got the milk out of the refrigerator and the cereal he ate from the cupboard, and put them on the table. He sat there, spooning it down, then asked for toast. Well, they hadn't told me about that, but I remembered all those years ago how my mom used to make toast in the toaster, so I did that (although I burned my fingers on it, which made Jamie laugh as I jumped around cursing myself!).

"Have some toast, Steve", he said to me as he laboured away putting jelly on his piece.

"Sir, no, sir. Slaves don't eat toast, sir. You know your mommy told you that I only eat slave food."

"Have you had your breakfast already, Steve? No - I woke you up, didn't I? And then you helped me in the shower. When are you going to have your breakfast, Steve?"

"Sir, when I've taken you to school, and collected your mommy and daddy from the station and brought them home, sir."

"But aren't you hungry?" Actually, I was. It takes a lot out of you to do all the hard physical work I do, and you need regular feeding.

"Sir, it's OK, sir."

"No. I want to see you eat slave food. If you don't, I won't eat my breakfast. And I'll tell mommy that I was hungry all morning."

I shrugged and smiled. "See if I care, sir!"

"Well, if I'm hungry, I'll tell my daddy it was your fault, and he'll cane you again." I didn't think that was likely as I knew that my owner only caned me for one reason - to assuage his guilt and reassert his sense of ownership after he'd had sex with me. But I didn't like the way this conversation was going - a young boy like Jamie shouldn't be discussing caning with me.

"Oh, no, please don't do that, sir, I'm terrified of the cane, sir, please don't tell on me, sir...." As I said this I pantomimed trembling with fear, and wringing my hands as if I was begging him. Jamie started to laugh as he saw I was making fun of it. But I was hungry, so I went out to my room, grabbed a handful of slave chow, and came back into the kitchen.

I stood there, picking bits of it out of my hand and eating them, as Jamie watched. Well, as kids are, he was consumed with curiosity and interest, and demanded a piece to try for himself, so he could see what it tasted like, but he soon spat it out. He told me to sit by the side of him as he finished his cereal and toast, and kept pushing bits of slave chow towards me so that I ate with him. When I think of it now, it seems strange that I was eating breakfast like this with my son, although we were both eating such different things.

EDITOR'S NOTE

The notebooks that contains Steve's story are a strange mixture - some are written "all of a piece", looking back and describing things that happened. And some are almost like a diary, noting down particular incidents as they occurred. What appears in most published versions, including this one, is our best attempt to piece together a coherent whole from these notebooks. Steve's work is not dated, and the only sure way of getting the correct chronological order for the work is by looking at the handwriting - as those who bought the illustrated edition with the facsimile reproductions of some pages will know, Steve's writing goes from a childish scrawl to a very fair cursive script. It seems certain that he couldn't write before Jamie went to grade school, and he learned in the incident just described. But he improved rapidly, and evidently decided to write this story in the long evenings when his owner did not require him.

Whilst they are interesting to scholars, many of the "diary" fragments are just that, recalling specific sports days he observed at Jamie's school from a distance as he waited at the edge of the trap parking area, family outings" such as visits to the Christmas lights in downtown Scarsdale where he pulled he whole family, and so on. They tell us little of Steve's feelings as he watched Jamie grow up, and most editions, this one included, omit them. It's also clear that Steve coached Jamie in sports - Jamie is a fine swimmer, and athlete. The diary entries have fragments of description such as "Raced Jamie in the pool and he did seven lengths for the first time", and "Jamie is in the school cross-country next month - we practised in the woods."

Steve was evidently taking a fuller role in Jamie's development that any conventional father would normally be able to do. Other than his work as a pony he had none of the pressures that take so many men's time and prevent them from enjoying their children's upbringing. And as a considerable athlete himself, he could help Jamie develop his own physique and skills.

In this edition we take up the story again when Jamie is almost thirteen.

I'm really proud of Jamie - he came top in the sports day track and field events again for his year. And he likes it, too - he never seems to mind working really hard when we practice together, and now that he's gone through puberty, his body is changing from that typical "lad's" physique to one that's closer to a man's. If he goes on like this, I think he'll become the school's football star when he's a bit older.

Mind you, the transition from boy to man isn't going easily: about six months ago his parents were out in New York and I was sleeping in the passage outside his room as I always did - even though there was now no real need, old habit s die hard - when I heard him cry out in the middle of the night. I got to my feet, and opened his door. Jamie was lying in bed, looking really scared.

"Sir, what's the matter, sir? Shall I turn the light on?"

"Steve, something's happened, I'm all.... Well..... Kind of wet...."

I snapped the light on, and saw Jamie lifting up the bed clothes.

"Uggh... and there's this disgusting smell...", he continued.

I went over, and saw that his pyjamas and the bed were covered in what was evidently cum.

"Sir, don't worry, sir.... It's perfectly OK. You've just had a dream - a special kind of dream that guys get at about your age, sir."

"But Steve, I'm soaked through... And it's all slimy..."

"Sir, don't worry. It's perfectly natural. It happens to all guys, sir. Hasn't your dad told you about it? About what happens as you get older, and your hair starts to grow, sir?"

" No, Steve."

Oh shit, I thought. What was I supposed to do now? Perhaps he'd go to sleep if I tried to give him a simple explanation.

"Look, the stuff that's all over you is called cum. As you mature, part of growing up is that you start to produce cum. And sometimes it just overflows, as it has now. It's perfectly natural, perfectly normal, it happens to all guys, and it's just part of growing up."

I might have known, though, that this wouldn't stop him - he'd always been inquisitive.

"So you produce this cum stuff, do you, Steve?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

"And how often do you 'overflow' with it?"

Oh shit! What was I suppose to say? I decided honesty was the best policy.

"Sir, never, sir."

"So why am I overflowing, and you never do, Steve?"

"Sir, well... You have to be old enough to be able to produce cum. Your body changes as it gets older - you've seen the new hair around your dick, sir, as you commented to me about it when you were showering the other day. Well, that's all part of it. And when you first start to produce cum, you don't know it's happening until, well, one day, it just sort of 'overflows', usually when you're sleeping and having sexy thoughts. It's called a 'wet dream', and I bet a lot of the guys in your class will have them, too. But guys don't talk about it, sir.... You're not really meant to have 'wet dreams' and it's a bit of a joke, so I expect they haven't told you it's happened to them."

"So this 'overflowing' stops, does it? It doesn't happen to you...."

I was dreadfully embarrassed now, and I wished he'd just go back to sleep.

"Sir, well, sir, there's something guys do to kind of relieve the pressure. To stop the cum building up and overflowing."

"So do all guys do this?"

I grinned now, as the more I spoke about it, the easier it seemed. "Sir, yes, sir. All guys do it, but some of them don't admit it!"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, some jocks think that they perform better if the cum build up inside them, so they claim not to release it. Some people, like priests, think it's wrong, so they don't admit doing it. Some guys think it's wrong to do it once you've got a girlfriend or a wife. But, actually, they all do it - jocks, priests, engaged guys, married men, everyone...."

"Like my dad, Steve? And slaves?"

"Sir, yes, sir. There's an old joke that asks the question 'what percentage of men masturbate' - that's what it's called, sir. And the answer's 'one hundred and one percent'. I expect your daddy did it before he met your mommy. And, sir, yes, slaves do it - we're men, even though we're not free, so we produce cum and we need to relieve the pressure."

"Masturbation?"

"Sir, yes, sir, also known as wanking, jacking off, spanking the monkey, jerking off... Every male does it as it feels so good. And, if you don't do it, after a time you'll get a wet dream, and that's not good as it soils the bed. Not only that, it's a waste of cum: jerking off feels so good that you might as well do it and never get to the point of having a wet dream, sir."

"So if I ,masturbate, it will feel good, and I won't have wet dreams. Sounds like a 'heads I win, tails I don't lose' kind of thing. So, come on, tell me more...."

"Sir... I think you'd better ask your dad. Dads are supposed to tell their sons about things like that, sir. Or find a buddy at school who's got a lot of hair around his dick - take a look in the showers - and ask him. Most guys find out about it from their buddies, sir."

"No, Steve. I couldn't talk to dad about things like that... It's too.... embarrassing. And I don't need to ask my buddies at school, Steve, as I've got a buddy right here - you. I know you're a slave, but we've always been like buddies - we swim together, train together.... Come on, Steve, show me how to jerk off.... Or don't you know? You said to ask a guy with a lot of hair around his dick, and I've seen you often enough totally naked to know you haven't got a lot...."

I could tell he was joking and it kind of lightened the mood. But what was I to do? A dad should teach his son about sex, and I was more of a dad to him than my owner was. But I could hardly show him how to jerk off, could I? Still, I'd better try and explain.

"Sir, you know how your dick gets hard - you have an erection. Well, when it's stiff, have you ever tried stroking it? Put your fingers underneath and your thumb on top, then rub your hand up and down your dick. It will get harder and harder, and it will feel amazing. The harder you do it, the better it will feel, and then you'll get this tightening in your balls.... And cum will shoot out of your dick. If you can carry on stroking it whilst this is happening, it will feel even more fantastic! And that's all there is to it, really... Jerking off 101 as you might say. There's a lot more to it of course.... Different strokes and so on.... But you can experiment and find out for yourself, sir."

"And all guys do this? How often do you do it, Steve?"

"Sir, a guy just doesn't ask another guy a thing like that. We all know we do it, and there's no need to talk about it, sir."

"But we are talking about it, aren't we, Steve. Go on, we're best buddies.. You can tell me...."

I was blushing a bit now, but I muttered "Well, usually twice a day, sir. Once when I get up in the morning - I wake up with an erection, and I do it then. And once as I'm going to sleep at night, sir."

"Now, sir, let's get cleaned up in here, and you get back to sleep", I went on, "As it's a school day tomorrow. You change you pyjamas, and I'll get a clean sheet for the bed.... Do you know where your mother keeps them, sir?"

"No, Steve."

"Oh, I know, I got a clean sheet today and I haven't slept in my bed - I'll go and get that one for you."

Well, I changed his bed, and he went to sleep, and the next morning I took him to school as usual. He gave me a big smile as he got out of the trap, and said quietly, so that none of the other kids could hear, "I did it this morning, Steve, and it was great!"

He did what I recommended, too, and didn't talk about it again - or, at least, not to me! But our little conversation did have one unpleasant consequence for me: the sheet that I'd taken off his bed was all cum-soaked of course, and I'd casually tossed it into my room when I'd taken my clean one up for him. It was still there the next morning when the cleaning lady came in and found it (my owner was doing so well in his practice now that he could afford that luxury: a paid cleaner for the house. Most people just had house slaves, but my mistress had always had women cleaners at home, and now felt more comfortable with the same in her house. And I think she liked having another woman coming in four times a week as they could chat, something she could not have done if the house work was done by a young slave boy).

The cleaning lady complained to my mistress about the cum-stained sheet, and I was summoned in to her little work room where she was doing the household accounts. The cleaning lady was there, too, holding the sheet and I could see the big stiff patch where Jamie's cum had soaked into it.

"What have you got to say about this, slave?", my mistress demanded.

"Ma'am, nothing, ma'am...."

"You filthy beast! If your owner had had you castrated as I'd wanted him to, this kind of thing would not happen! You're a disgusting animal, soiling your bed like this. Have you got no self control?"

I wanted to tell her it wasn't me, but how do you tell an angry woman that it's her own son who's just stained the bed with his cum? So I stood there, head bowed, and kind of mumbled "Yes, ma'am, yes.... I'm sorry, ma'am... It won't happen again, ma'am."

"You're right, slave, it won't happen again! Mrs Hernandez has enough to do cleaning this house without a slave making her unnecessary work."

I could see the cleaning lady nodding her head as she agreed with my mistress.

"...so, as you can't control yourself there will be no more opportunities for that disgusting cock snot of yours to soil our beds. From now on you get no bed clothes at all. And take the mattress out to the store as we don't want that soiled either - you can sleep on the bed frame: that's all metal, isn't it, on that bed in your quarters?"

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am."

"Right! Sleep on the bare springs, and that will perhaps teach you to control yourself. You slaves are disgusting - no free man would spray his semen around like that. Now, take off your shorts, and give them to me."

I saw Mrs Hernandez's eyes open wide and stare at me as I pushed down my shorts. I knew it was no use disobeying my mistress, and so I just had to stand there naked in front of the two women. As she was an hourly-paid servant, I suppose Mrs Hernandez wasn't used to the concept of slaves being ordered to do such utterly humiliating things in front of her - she wouldn't have a slave of her own, of course, and probably didn't know that for ladies of my mistress's class it was acceptable for slaves - even big, buck slaves like me - to appear naked. I felt myself blushing with embarrassment, as much for Mrs Hernandez, as for me.

My mistress looked inside my shorts, and I was glad I'd only just changed - well, all guys dicks dribble a bit, don't they, however careful you are to express the last drops of urine from it? And by the end of the day there was usually a pale yellow stain in the front.

"Well, at least these are clean! I was expecting to find them stiff with your semen too. But to avoid work, you'll sleep naked in future so there's no chance of your cock snot escaping in the night and soiling your shorts. Is that understood?"

I was really red now. I was thirty seven years old, and she was treating me just as if I was a little kid,

looking into my shorts to see if I was staining them.

Mrs Hernandez's eyes were still riveted on my body, I noticed, and this made it even worse.

"Now, get out of here, and go and get on with your work. I will speak to my husband about you and see if he doesn't now agree that castration would be the best option for you."

End Of Part 28