Everything Was Reversed

THIS TIME AROUND EVERYTHING WAS REVERSED

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part 3

Well, he may have been right. Maybe young white guys did fantasise about being used by big black cocks. But I had never done so. I had never fantasised about being used by any kind of cock! But as a slave, I found that as usual I had absolutely say in that kind of thing.

"Lie over the table!", he commanded. And when I hesitated, he nodded at the guard who simply came over to me, grabbed hold of my dick to "steady" me so I couldn't escape from him, and started to slash at my butt with his cane. After a few strokes I was crying out with the pain, and at a gesture from my owner, the guard stopped.

"You first generation slaves are all the same. You do not understand that you must obey, always obey. Now, do as I say, and lie on the table - put your belly on it, but keep your feet on the floor."

I did as he said now, and the wood felt clammy to my skin. I heard my owner saying something to the guard, and the door of the room opened and closed, and then my owner was standing behind me. I felt his hands running over my butt, and then up the inside of my thighs. He kicked my feet apart to give himself more access, and I could feel the edge of his hand pressing on my asshole and his fingers idly toying with my balls. "We are alone now, slave, but I warn you - any misbehaviour and the guard will be in here immediately, and then you will be punished as you have never been punished before - these nice testicles I can feel here will be no more! Do you understand?"

I just lay there, and he slapped my butt hard - very hard. He was a big man, and he had a lot of power in that slap, and I cried out. "Last warning, slave...."

"Yes, master" I replied miserably.

"Now, I am going to use you, use you as a strong man always uses a weak one. Not that you are weak physically - I was glad you were selected as my prime std as you have a most pleasing body. I've watched you mature since I bought you, and you are exactly the kind of stock we need as slaves - strong, tall, muscled... And, I have to say, easy on the eye; although it's a pity about the colour of your skin - sometimes I find the sight of all this white flesh rather distasteful. So I am going to use you as one strong man does another not in the physical sense, but as men always do who have power over others. Now that all that unsightly hair has been removed from your nether regions, you are very exciting sexually, as I noticed when I saw you in action thrusting away in that bitch earlier on. Your buttocks were very pleasing to my eyes as they flexed and contracted as you thrust into her, and now I am going to do more than just watch them... And I like a man with good long legs, and powerful thighs, as you have.... "

I heard a rustling and that kind of "clink" you get when a belt buckle hits the floor. My owner pushed forward against my butt and thighs and I could feel the warmth of his body, and his scratchy pubic hair brushing against my butt, which was extremely painful from the caning the guard had given me. His strong fingers pulled my butt apart, and then my own dick gave a jerk of surprised excitement as for the first time I felt another man's hot dick head push at my asshole.

Look, I'm not going to tell you how I screamed as he raped me, and how humiliating it was to have this big strong black man forcing his dick into my body. But when he'd finished he stood there and allowed me to stand up so I could see him - his long, thick dick now dripping with cum and my ass juices. "You see, slave, I am a real man - look at my penis, and marvel at it. I did not send the guard out as I was ashamed of my sex, but because I want him to wonder what it is like to enjoy a white slave as I have just enjoyed you: it will make him keener to get promoted, when I might give him a slave as a personal servant. Now, on your knees, and show your appreciation for your owner's dick that has ravaged you..."

I looked in astonishment as I had no idea of what he wanted, and he took a step forward, and slapped at the side of my face. The force of the blow almost knocked me off my feet, and my head was reeling and my cheek stinging with it. "Miserable slave! Get down on your knees, and worship my cock - I want to see you kissing it in gratitude, and cleaning it humbly with your tongue..."

I hesitate again and this time the force of his slap did indeed knock me over. He kicked at me, quite casually but very painfully as I lay there - with my hands still restrained I was almost powerless. I saw him towering over me, ready to hurt me more, and I knew it was no good. I managed to get to my knees, and pushed my face forward tentatively into his groin - the smell of cum, and of his sweat, was almost overpowering, and as I moved slowly forward, his big hands went behind my head and pulled me down on to him. When he released me, he told me again to kiss his penis and to clean it with my tongue, and choking and gagging, I now did as he had commanded.

When he seemed satisfied, he continued to look down at me as I knelt there. "Good, slave. This is how it should be in the world - a strong black master being serviced and worshipped by a white slave. You will learn, as we go on, that a miserable white slave needs to worship black cock, and you will get much practice . I will be using you as a stud occasionally, and afterwards I will often use you like this, as all white slaves should be used by their owners."

With that, he casually pulled on his pants, then called for the guard to take me back to the slave barn.

Joe could tell I was amazingly upset when they almost threw me into the barn before bolting the doors again, and as we lay together he cradled me in his arms and asked me what had happened. I found it difficult to tell him about the total humiliation of being one of five studs "tried out" on that woman, and then, to my amazement, I heard him start to chuckle. "Oh, Steve - for fuck's sake, grow up! So you've had sex - so what? And in front of the other men - well, so what?

When we went on leave in the marines and money was tight, several of us would often get together and pay for a woman - there's nothing wrong in having sex in front of other men... Well, not if you've got a good body, and nothing to be ashamed of as far as your dick is concerned, as none of my marine buddies had... And as you have, of course."

"But Joe, why is he making me do it...?"

"Oh come on, Steve, surely it's obvious? The same thing happened in the South, when they found it too difficult, and too expensive, to keep importing slaves from Africa. They discovered it was cheaper to breed them, and more satisfactory in the long run as the bred slaves, who only knew life on the plantations, were more controllable as they had no concept of being free men in Africa. It's just the same here, I expect: we're all coffled and controlled as we know what it's like to be free. But the ones they breed from you... Well, I expect they'll be much more docile and will work without so many guards and overseers as this is the only life they will ever know. It took the old plantation owners a long time to get around to breeding slaves, but once they started, a whole kind of industry sprang up.... I expect these nigger bastards are profiting form that experience and starting straight away."

I listened to what he said, and when he saw I was quiet and still worried about something, asked me what. He said again that there was no problem in having sex with women, but I just had to tell him all of it. "No, Joe, it wasn't just that...." I almost broke down as I told him about being raped, and then having to worship my owner's cock.

Joe hugged me closer, and put his and between my thighs, just as my owner had, and pressed upwards to feel my hole. I wondered what he was doing, but he whispered "You're not very puffy or anything down here, and I think all that slime I can feel oozing out of you is scum, not blood. So although he was probably as big as you say - although men's dicks can be deceptive when they're erect, and at close quarters - he seems to have treated you fairly gently. That's good, Steve...."

"Why?"

"Isn't it obvious, Steve, buddy? We've been playing with each other for all these months, and I've always wanted to do more as you're such a nice guy.... But you were a virgin, and I didn't think it right to fuck you. But now it's happened, well.... Why not?"

"No, Joe..."

"Yes, Steve. Don't come with all that 'fag' nonsense again - we're two guys together, here in each others arms, naked, so what could be more natural than to enjoy each other properly, as buddies should? That's what dicks and ass holes are for, you know- mutual pleasure. They're made for each other, Steve - think about it. Now...."

Well, I did struggle, and even though I was pretty strong, Joe was even stronger at that time. And he was skilled and experienced at subduing another man, gripping me in ways that I couldn't break away from. And at some point when he snapped "Now stop resisting, you young fucker, or I'll have to hurt you and I don't want to do that....", I knew he was right, and stopped trying to break free.

It must have been my owner's cum still sliming my passage that made it so easy - or perhaps it was that Joe really did try hard to make it good for me, but I was soon lying there with my ankles up around his shoulders somewhere as he pumped in and out of me like a stag in rut. And when he cried out in sheer ecstasy as he shot, and then fell forward onto me, there seemed to be some strange inbuilt reflex at work that made me cross my legs around his sweating waist, and pull him in towards me, trying to prolong the feeling of total togetherness as long as I could. And when he pushed his lips against mine and thrust his tongue into my mouth, well, it wasn't disgusting - it just seemed the right thing for two strong men to do together.

Well, after that, life assumed a slightly different pattern: I still worked all day every day, and as I got stronger and stronger, more and more was expected of me. I was "studded" about once a week - I rarely saw the women again, or the same women twice, as it seemed to be my owner's amusement to invite his neighbours around for a sumptuous dinner and then afterwards to lay on an entertainment for them which was for me, and/or some of the other studs, to impregnate bitches they'd brought with them. And about half the time he then fucked me - he seemed to take a particular delight on some occasions in making me stay buried in the bitch as he used my ass. And always, of course, I had to worship his dick and clean him after he'd abused me.

After the initial shock of having had Joe force himself on me, I began to realise he was right - two men like us, strong, fit, and naked, couldn't just lie together without having sex, could we? It was only natural. Joe was in fact a gentle lover and taught me a lot of things I'd never even dreamed about back in the USA, and, in turn, I began to play with him - at first cautiously stroking his asshole as we lay together, then trying to catch him unawares and forcing my dick between his butt cheeks, until, one night, when we were both very relaxed and laughing, he actually let me push my dick all the way into him. After that, well, what do you expect? I'm a pretty tough guy, after all, and Joe had to learn that although he could fuck me, I could fuck him, too. Mind you, I think he may have got the best part of the deal, as I was always kept smoothly shaved so his dick could really appreciate my ass, whereas he was all hairy and pushing my dick up and down his butt crack in foreplay just wasn't as good.

As we lay talking one night, I said to Joe "You know, it's funny, but years ago there might have been two niggers lying together on a plantation, just as we are now. Do you think they fucked, Joe? Or did they jerk them selves off, or what?"

"Oh no, Steve. I'm sure they fucked. It's only the christians who tried to teach the slaves that it was wrong for men to lie together - here in Africa I'm sure niggers have always known what fun men can have with each other. They're always trying to spoil other people's pleasure" I heard him start to chuckle quietly as he whispered "And that's why all the niggers have suck big dicks - men like to show off to each other. But nothing much has changed, eh, Steve? Now, get that monster of yours out of my butt!"

There really is almost nothing to tell you about the next eight years of my life - we managed to count the sixteen "seasons". Everything was just the same - the life, the work, and being used as a stud perhaps once a week. Joe and I were seen as being "together" and as we were both physically very strong, we did not have to bother about the attentions of the other slaves.

I never got used to being "used" by my black owner and his friends, though: it seemed that part of the enjoyment of watching a big white buck like me fucking a white bitch (see how easily I have dropped into the way of speaking about men and women that my owner used!) was the fact that afterwards my ass was available, or I could be made to service their dicks with my mouth. My owner would generally invite friends over when I was to stud one of the plantation bitches, or sometimes they would come with their bitches for me to cover - I learned that our resident breeding bitches were also sent to our owner's friends, too, as they didn't want too many of the pups on any one plantation sired by the same buck. So I got to fuck a lot of different bitches, although, as time went on, I recognised some of the same ones under me on several occasions - the women and pups were in a separate enclosure on the plantation, and us ordinary slaves didn't really get to see them, but I suppose that after they'd birthed, they'd be put out to get "covered" again as soon as possible, to maximise the number of new pups.

Although the studding was OK, and after the first couple of times I completely lost any inhibitions at fucking in public, it was the time immediately afterwards that was worse. If we were alone as one of the plantation bitches was in season and my owner had not invited friends over, I would be put to her by him, and then he would use me for his own pleasure - often making me stay buried in the bitch, as he grunted and groaned pushing his black dick up my ass as I took the weight of both our bodies in order not to crush the bitch. Mind you, I then had an opportunity to press myself into her breasts, something I was not allowed to do in a normal "cover" - I suppose this all ought to have thrilled me, but after a very short time I came to dread the feeling of those soft, fleshy mounds pressed against my chest: Joe's hard muscular pecs were so much better! But even when he chose not to fuck me, he'd take relief from the erection he'd got from watching me stud by commanding me to kneel between his legs and then suck his huge black member, until my mouth was filled with his cum.

Of course, when there were his friends present, I would always be offered to them first as a courtesy, and I really don't know how many black dicks went up me, or how many loads of their cum I swallowed in that time. It was all so demeaning, although Joe tried to comfort me as best he could. "Look, Steve", he'd say, "Stop trying to understand this according to the rules we used to live by. When slaves came to the USA they had to learn their owners' 'white' ways and forget their own heritage and practices - I bet many a black buck was fucked by a white slave owner then, and now it's just the same really as our black owner fucks you. You've got to remember that the owners - whether black, like now, or white, like then, don't consider slaves to be 'men' at all, as we've talked about before. These respectable rich plantation owners would certainly not want to fuck another man, but taking your ass is perfectly acceptable - you're not a 'man', you're something else: a 'buck'. After all, no 'man' would fuck in public, would he? But a 'buck' does, so he's not a man, and so it's then OK to treat him like the animal he is. And animals are there for their owners' use. It was just the same back then - white plantation owners used their black slaves for sex, men and women. Why not? After all, they were just property."

It was OK for Joe to talk like this, as it wasn't his ass that was being ravaged by these big black guys, or his throat that was sore from being used by their dicks, and it wasn't his chest that was covered in their cum that leaked out of my mouth if I couldn't swallow it fast enough. I tried to tell him how utterly degraded I was, but he just shrugged. "It won't do you any good, Steve. Just accept it - if you're white, like us, you're just here to be used by the masters, the blacks."

Sometimes at night Joe an I would lie and talk quietly, and try to remember what our lives had been like - I tried to describe mom and dad, and he tried to tell me about his life in the marines, and the places he'd been. But it got more and more difficult to do this stuff - cut off as we were from anything other than "the plantation", things back in the USA got more and more remote, and almost as if they were some sort of fantasy. Joe said that he thought this must be how it had been for the slaves brought over from Africa to the South, as they would very soon forget their homes when they were working on the plantations, and our own experience proved it to be so. They'd forget they were proud hunters, fathers, members of a tribe as it would all be too remote from their new lives, just as our past was now from our reality.

When we were having these conversations, Joe would sometimes go silent and mutter to himself about "our fucking government", and when I asked him what he meant, he looked at me as if I was some sort of idiot.

"Think about it, Steve: they're breeding white pups now from the studs like you and the bitches, but it takes time - those pups won't be ready for really hard work until they're sixteen, and they've only been at it for about eight years. In the meantime, there' a constant need for new stock - they brought seven hundred or so over in our plane, if you remember, and there would have been a lot of flights in the past years. Where do you think all those new white slaves come from?"

"Well, they'd be captured, as we were, by the slavers - it would be easy enough for that gang of blacks who captured me to pick up other young guys..."

"Oh come on, Steve! Think! Your mom and dad would go to the authorities, as would the marines when I didn't return from leave - if only because they don't like deserters! Now one or two, or even twenty or thirty, or two or three hundred, young men can disappear, as they always have..... But an operation on this scale, seven hundred per plane load, must be noticeable, don't you think? When the white slavers first went to Africa they fought the natives, captured some, and dragged them off on the slave ships, but as the needs of the plantations grew and grew, that 'raiding' was too much trouble and they found a better way - they struck 'deals' with the tribal chiefs, and the chiefs started to round up niggers and sell them to the white slavers: it was the niggers' own rulers who sold them into slavery!"

Joe paused and went on, dramatically "Well, I reckon it's the same now: the US government is actually selling white slaves to the blacks here."

"Joe, that's bullshit..."

"No, Steve. It's not - well, the government may not be actually selling white guys, but it's not actively tracing missing guys like you, and I bet my file in the marines has been closed and I've just been marked down as a deserter... They're just letting it happen, ignoring the mounting statistics of fit young men who go missing. But it's the same thing, isn't it? Our government is meant to protect us, just as those niggers used to think that their chiefs protected them...."

"There's just one thing wrong with that, Joe: the white slavers paid the chiefs you said. Well, what on earth would the US Government want with the money the plantation owners here could pay? Even if a white slave fetches a huge heap of money, and even if there are now thousands of them, it's just a drop in the ocean compared with the Federal Budget!"

"You're too trusting, Steve. You think the government is the 'good guys'. And you're forgetting one thing... The oil!"

"Oil?"

"Yes, Steve. I don't know exactly where we are, but Nigeria, for example, was a huge oil exporter. Once our own supplies were drying up and those fucking environmentalists wouldn't let us take more from Alaska, we were in the thrall of the Arabs... Unless the US could make new 'friends', that is - African friends, Steve. I reckon the government is effectively accepting 'payment' for us white slaves in terms of being allowed to buy African oil."

"Joe, that's nonsense..."

"So tell me where, Steve? I reckon you and I are white slaves because those fucking environmentalists would rather have a few rare owls or something in Alaska...." He was grinning as he said this, but I think he was a bit serious.

"Joe, you really can't believe the government would 'sell' its people..."

"The African chiefs did, Steve. Those slave ships were stuffed with nigger bucks who were 'sold' by their tribe for the white man's goods. And human nature doesn't change all that much - why shouldn't the government now sell us white bucks for the black man's goods: oil?"

"No, Joe... I just can't accept that. If the government knew I was here, if it knew you were here...."

Joe just smiled. "Believe what you want, Steve, and I'll believe what I want. I'll maybe prove it to you one day." He reached for my dick, and his mouth closed over my nip, and that was all the argument for that night - I can't think straight when Joe's working away at me!

Those words came back to me with an awful reality a month or so later, though: I didn't see it happen myself, as that morning was one of the "unlucky" ones when, as we were leaving the slave barn, the coffle Joe was on was full, and I was the first of the next coffle - we really liked working together, but this did happen occasionally. If only things had been different I might have stopped it, as I could have held on to Joe, or something. In the weeks that followed I pieced together what had happened from what the other slaves told me, and from the final tragic scene.

It seems that Joe's coffle were working on tending the immaculate lawns and plantings on the long drive up to the plantation buildings, when a convoy of cars came along, the middle one of which was flying a US flag! Joe almost dragged his coffle across the road - he was at the end of the chain so it was not as difficult as it might have been - which made them stop. It was some guy from the American Embassy, it seems, who was lunching with our owner, and the cars on either side of his contained marine guards form the embassy. In spite of the overseer's caning of him as he did it, Joe beat on the windows of the flagged car until it opened, and then he blurted out his name, and marine's serial number, and begged the embassy guy to have his details checked and everything. The marine guards had leapt out of their cars now, and Joe screamed the same information to them, named the places he'd been based at, and even showed them his "Semper Fi" tattoo, with our owner's mark so humiliatingly burned into the middle of it.

More guards and overseers, hearing the commotion, had by this time come up, and Joe and his whole coffle were dragged off. They were all savagely beaten, and Joe was locked into a tiny cage, whilst our owner decided what to do, and was not allowed back into the slave barn that night. I was almost overcome with worry, but there was absolutely fuck all I could do as a naked slave there in the barn, and the next morning it was the same: I just had to work in my coffle.

I can only guess that Joe was right about government collusion - I mean, with that embassy guy, and those marines hearing all Joe's details, it would have been easy to check into his background, wouldn't it? And if they'd done that and seen that he'd been a "deserter", and was now a naked slave, chained into a coffle by his big iron collar, and being beaten by black guards, surely it would have sparked some enquiry? But nothing happened - no American troops arrived, not even an investigating team from the UN. Nothing. Except that our owner decided to make an example of Joe, to us all.

Four or five days later all us slaves were coffled and then marched to a field some way away from the main plantation house. The guards lined us up, and seemed even more watchful than usual, with their canes and whips ready, as if they were expecting trouble.

They dragged Joe in front of us - a filthy, half-starved Joe, a Joe covered in bruises, cane marks, and running wounds from where he had been whipped - it didn't look as if he'd been cleaned or fed since that fateful day, and had been subject to constant beating and whipping. His eyes were half closed from the beating his face had taken, and his lips were so swollen and puffy that even though he tried to say something, he couldn't.

Our owner stood on a platform and spoke to us in that perfect English of his. I can remember his words even now: "This slave is wicked beyond belief. He defied all the rules by which a slave should live and was trying to cause the most terrible trouble for me. But fortunately my guests that day understood that he was just a white slave, as you all are. However this wickedness cannot go unpunished, and the slave has been beaten, but that is not enough: I have decided that he should be put to death."

I screamed out "NO!...", and at once the guards near me set about me, kicking, punching and caning me until I was nearly insensible on the ground.

Our owner continued "I value the traditions of you slaves, and I allow you to continue to have your superstitions and beliefs. Consequently he will be put to death as was that 'man on a stick' that so many of you say you believe in: the slave may of course rise again, as your superstitions have it, but I will take that chance."

He said no more, but guards dragged Joe to a large wooden cross that was lying on the ground in front of our owner. They stretched him out on it, and held him down and Joe struggled valiantly against them. But then, in an act so savage that Joe even managed to cry out in spite of the condition of his face, we all watched in horror as large metal spikes were driven through the palms of his hands to pinion him onto the cross. They did the same to his feet, and then the cross was raised into the air, so that Joe was hanging there in front of us.

As this was going on the guards had been patrolling us coffled slaves, slashing out viciously at any of us who dared to make any kind of protest, and now we were all so cowed, or stunned, or realised the total hopelessness of our situation - there was absolutely nothing we could do to help Joe. He hung there in front of us by his arms, and then when the effort of breathing became too great as his ribs were so stretched by the weight of his body, he pushed upwards on his feet and we could see the new agony that this caused him because of the spike through them holding him to the upright of the cross.

We were all made to stand there watching him slowly die, until our owner looked at his watch and evidently decided that enough time had been wasted and that we should resume work. He barked out an order, and one of the guards - one of the really vicious giant blacks - moved a step ladder near to the cross, and mounted it, carrying one of the big digging tools with which all us slaves were so familiar. He just pounded at Joe's legs with it, until we knew they must be broken.

Unable to support the weight of his body except through his arms now, Joe's breathing became terribly tortured, and he died five minutes later.

They left his body there for days, and we had to march past it to and from our work, seeing it being torn apart by the buzzards which were part of the local wildlife.

I grieved. I'd lost my best friend and lover. But I had to work, and it was the work that kept my sanity, I suppose - the familiar routine, the swish of the cane... I allowed that numbness to sweep over me that protects you from extreme grief, as I tried to forget.

But as I lay in the slave barn at night, trying to sleep, Joe's savage death kept coming back to me. And with it, the realisation that Joe would have said that our owner was just doing what white owners used to do to the blacks - they were allowed to keep their strange voodoo rituals and ju-ju beliefs on the plantations. And our owner had simply followed our beliefs on a suitable way of killing a man.

The pups who were being bred from me and the other studs and our owner's bitches were, as I've told you, kept with the bitches in a separate compound. But whilst I was still grieving for the loss of Joe, one or two kids started to appear to do ancillary work around the estate - I remembered what Joe had said about it being less expensive for the old Southern plantation owners to breed slaves rather than continue importing them from Africa, especially as the children could be put to work as soon as they were old enough.

I was sitting forlornly in the shade during our midday break, head slumped on my knees as usual now as I no longer wanted to speak to the other slaves without Joe being there, when someone shook my shoulder and a young voice said "Here's your water..." I looked up, and thought I was having some sort of dream at first, as there was a young kid standing there, holding a heavy bucket of water and some sort of pitcher thing, which he now dipped in to the water, and held out to me to drink. I took a big long drink of it, but I couldn't take my eyes off the boy - he looked exactly like I did at that age: same long colt-like legs, slim body, but one that promised much, thick dark hair, and very much like me facially. It could have been me standing there, except that I wouldn't have had tanned skin like that, and even if we'd just come back from our summer vacation I wouldn't have been tanned all over, as he was, as mom and dad always insisted I wore shorts and stuff!

He was looking at me, too, and he offered me another drink, which I accepted. Finally, I said "Who are you then?"

"They call me Zak."

"And why are you here?"

"They said I was old enough to be working now. They said it was time to leave the other kids in the compound and come and do proper work for my owner, here on the plantation. This morning they said I'd got to go around all the slaves at break and make sure they got water.... And then this afternoon I've got to go back to the plantation and weed the gardens."

"Where are your clothes, Zak?"

"Clothes? You mean like the masters have? I don't have any, of course!" Zak said this as if I was really stupid, and he was explaining things to an idiot! "White slave boys and girls don't have clothes! You must know that - only the masters have clothes."

"You've never worn anything?"

"You are a funny man! Everyone knows that white slaves, like you, and me, don't have clothes.... You're pretty stupid, I think, but you're nice - some of the other men have tried to touch me when I've given them their water.... What's your name?"

"Steve. I'm called Steve."

Just at that moment one of the overseers came past and slapped Zak's butt - not hard, as he might do to a slave, but almost playfully. "Get on, boy, and do all the others and don't stand there talking to that slave!", he said, and Zak dutifully moved on.

All that afternoon as I toiled away my mind was in turmoil. I'd been here all this time, and I guess the first of my pups would be about that kid's age, although it was hard to tell with it being so difficult to keep track of time precisely. But he did look so very much like me in every way, that I just couldn't doubt that he was my son. At one level I was elated - I mean, every man wants to have a son to carry on his genes, doesn't he? But on the other hand poor little Zak was a slave, always had been, and presumably always would be. He'd been brought up in the compound with the bitches and other pups, always been naked.... I wondered what kind of life he'd had - had he been allowed to play with his siblings, who'd looked after him, where had he gone to school, and why wasn't he there now instead of working, as he'd said he was going to do?

I guess my mind was still thinking about all that sort of stuff when we were about to be locked in to the slave barn that night when the guards pushed one last person in before slamming the door - in the dim light I saw it was the kid - although if I'd had any doubts, I'd have been alerted to it as the cry of "fresh meat" rang out immediately. I remembered how Joe had saved me that first night I was there, and at once knew I had to do something to save my son, as I didn't doubt that some of my fellow slaves would not respect the fact that he was only about eight. So I sprang to my feet and pushed my way towards the door.

You know that I was a big tall muscled guy when I arrived at eighteen, and of course now I was really strong and fit, and bigger than most of the other slaves. And Joe had liked to keep himself "fighting fit" as he called it by wrestling and stuff with me, so I was pretty formidable. When I saw one of the other slaves had already put his arm around Zak and was leading him off, I just lost it. The other slaves soon stopped sniggering and laughing about what was going to happen to the kid as I laid into the slave who was taking him off, and started to beat him to a pulp. All men like to watch a good fight, of course, but it was no contest really - I was in such a temper that even if the other slave had had any fighting experience the sheer ferocity with which I went at him would have overwhelmed him. Finally I stood there with my foot pushed in to his back s he lay there moaning when I'd finished with him, and shouted at the slaves who'd gathered in a big circle to watch us "And that's what will happen to any of you who touch this kid, understand? He's a kid, right? And none of you would have touched a kid back home, so don't do it now! Even though the treat us like animals, we're men, and men don't mess with kids! I'm looking after him, and if anyone tries anything, I'll beat them senseless."

I put my arm around Zak and led him off towards the quiet corner where I still slept. I heard one bold slave shout out "He's Steve's, then! Steve's boy.", and there was a lot of raucous laughter. But if that's what they wanted to think, and if it kept Zak safe from their predation, so much the better.

Zak lay there on the straw, and was shivering slightly, and when I lay down he shuffled closer towards me. I pushed him away, but he sounded so pathetic as he half whispered "Steve, I'm cold, though... Why can't I snuggle up to you?"

"Well.... Well men don't do that...."

"There's lots of slaves lying together, Steve. Is it because you don't like me...."

"No! Of course not.... It's just that, well, a big man doesn't let a kid get close to him like that..."

I went to roll over so that my back was to him, but then I heard that heart wrenching sound of a kid trying not to cry. This was my son, for Christ sake... I couldn't bear it. I opened my arms and called softly "Oh, all right... Just for tonight, as I expect you're missing the other kids... Come here...."

End Of Part Three