You Can't Be Friends With a Slave

YOU CAN'T BE FRIENDS WITH A SLAVE, Part eleven

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

A REALLY NICE GUY

Craig stood there and turned the water on. "I bet you'd feel better with all that sweat and... stuff... off you" he said conversationally. "Come on..."

I was astonished, as he held the shower nozzle and started to spray me himself. And when he soaped his hands and cleaned my dick, he didn't seem to mind at all: why hadn't he simply commanded a slave to come in and do this? Once he'd washed all the soap off me, he did something to the shower head, and came and stood in front of me. He held the nozzle up to show me, and asked, quite casually "You know what this is, I guess? And what has to happen next?"

"Sir, yes. I'm going to get an enema. They did that to me when I was fucked last time."

I looked around for the slaves who would surely now come and do it, but Craig just said gently "Bend over, then - it's hard with your hands cuffed, I know..."

"Sir, are you going to do it..."

"Yes of course. Who else?"

"Master Billy-Joe has special slaves to prepare you."

"Well the Colonel uses a lot of slaves, sometimes quite unnecessarily, I think. We run this place a little leaner, at lower cost. It's not hard to clean a slave out, anyway.... Any man can do it.... not that I can see Straughan getting down to it, I suppose."

He gave a little half smile, and I returned it, as we evidently both thought he same about Straughan and his elegant but foppish clothes. There was, just for an instant, that flickering of a bond that forms between guys who are going to grow to be buddies. But I knew that this couldn't be.

I felt him gently prying my butt apart, then the warmth of the nozzle probing at my hole - he'd considerately run some more water through it, so it was no longer icy cold steel. It was all so gentle, the way he did it, not like the rather rough pumping up that I'd got from Charlie and Coon. Then he let me go and sit on a lavatory bowl in order to void myself - somehow this made me feel better, more human, when my guts were not just spewing out on to the floor.

He gave me a couple more rinses, then a final general clean up, and a rough towelling down. It was all so gentlemanly, so civilised, somehow, if giving an enema to a cuffed guy can ever be said to be civilised!

"Bend over again a moment, will you, Steve?", he asked. I liked that. Asking, not ordering.

I felt his cool firm fingers on my butt, then he was probing at my hole. I winced, and jerked forward, involuntarily.

"Still sore are you?"

"Yes, sir. It's a lot better. But master Billy-Joe, well, he's very thick. And the slave he had take me afterwards...."

"They still cling to the old traditions, then?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, we've got a bit of a problem on our hands. I've been told to prepare you for the Nubian we bought last week, and he really is massive - at least as thick as your master, who I saw at the sauna once - and twice as long! But if he fucks you with your ass still rather delicate, like this, then there'll be a lot of shouting and unpleasantness as it will really hurt you. And it ought to be fun."

That was it. I could take no more. I didn't care about his discipliner. I cut in, angrily, "How can it ever be 'fun'? Fun to rape a guy, fun to force a dick up you? Fun to take his manhood?"

"Oh, Steve, it's such a pity you weren't born a slave!

Then you'd have learned sex properly, and you'd know that giving and taking dick is really fun - it's the best things two guys can do together. But I'm not surprised you're prejudiced - I bet you were held down and couldn't 'play' properly when your owner took you that first time? But what's this about taking your manhood? They only fucked you, didn't they?"

"Yes, but a man's not a man when he's taken dick... He's a fag...."

"Hey, hold on, Steve. Stop being so judgmental. If you thought about it, you'd realise that men were meant to fuck with each other. And I thought you were supposed to be educated, and thought about things"

"I am..."

"Well, look at the facts! Think of the way men all 'team' together - didn't you play in a team at school, or college? A lot of man to man bonding there."

"Yes, I was captain of the football squad..."

"And didn't you have a lot of male friends before you were enslaved? I bet you knew more men than you did women, as friends, that is."

"Well, I suppose so."

"Well, see, that's all part of it: men have a natural affinity for each other. And do you like jerking off?"

"Yes, of course, all guys do..."

"Well why do you think that is? Isn't it an anti-survival trait? If men were only meant to fuck women, they wouldn't get pleasure from using their dicks any other way - mother nature and evolution would see to that. But because a man can enjoy his dick, and another man's dick, and because it's natural and built-in for men to bond together, then it's not surprising that a lot of guys want to go the whole way and really show their affection for their buddies, is it?"

"What do you mean...."

"Look, Steve, you had all these great buddies in the team, and at work, but you were just too put off by the propaganda that society puts out to actually do the right and natural thing, which is to really get to know them. To get to know them intimately. To share with them fully what it is to be a man."

"What propaganda...?"

"Oh, the relentless pressure from the breeders that says it's only 'right' to fuck women, and that fucking with your buddies, in the natural order of things, is 'wrong'. They have to do that, don't they?"

"Oh, come on. Why do they need to do that?"

"Because they need men to breed with women so that they get saddled with kids, and debts, and all that sort of stuff. They don't want men to enjoy themselves, to live the lives that men are meant for, enjoying their bodies, enjoying their buddies, and enjoying their freedom to live their lives not saddled with all that baggage."

"Look", Craig went on, "I'm not saying it's wrong to fuck a woman. We need to, to carry on the race. But you don't need to do it all the time - look at the mess, look at the risk, look at the responsibilities it brings, look how it ties you down.... How much better life would be if you just had sex with your buddies when you wanted it, then fucked a woman when you needed to breed. But most women spend all their time trying to lure a guy into the shackles of a 'relationship' - didn't you find that?"

Of course I had. That's exactly what that bitch Chantelle had done. I nodded my head.

"See! It all makes sense, doesn't it? The only pity in your case is that you didn't find out soon enough. If only someone had taken you at sixteen and shown you how men can really enjoy each other! And then, when you did get to take a dick, that oaf Billy-Joe had to spoil it all for you." He stopped suddenly, and said "No. Forget that. I shouldn't criticise your owner."

He went strangely silent, and as I had time to think, I realised that Craig was going what Billy-Joe had done the other day - built this whole rationalisation about why things were the way they were. It was all wrong, somehow, just as Billy-Joe had been, but there wasn't any point in which I could find fault, and the whole thing just seemed to be stitched together.

What did I care, though? I was going to be fucked, whether I liked it or not, and if this guy was concerned about the size of the dick that was going to go up me, I really ought to be scared, I guess!

Craig left me standing there and went over to a cupboard. He came back with a tube of something, then told me to bend over again. Once more I felt his strong, firm fingers pulling my butt apart, then a delicious coolness spread from my hole. It felt so good - what the fuck was he doing?

"OK, Steve - that's what your owner calls you, isn't it?"

"Sir, yes. It's my name, actually."

"A mistake. Shows your owner isn't thinking right. All slaves should be re-named as it helps them forget their past life. Anyway, no matter... Does your ass feel better now?"

"Sir, yes, thank you, sir."

"I've given you a mild antiseptic, and an analgesic. I'm surprised your owner, or Straughan, haven't done this before. The antiseptic will help make the soreness go down, and the analgesic will take away the stinging you currently experience and will.... well.... will help you take the big black dick they want to see up you. But don't say anything, will you?

I think they want to see you suffer, see you buck and writhe, hear your screams.... I don't hold with it personally, and it's little enough I can do for you. It won't stop you hurting from our Nubian totally, but it will make it at least bearable."

"Sir, thank you, sir!" Hey, within the limits within which he operated, this was a nice guy. "But sir, if you don't hold with it, why..."

"Oh, I don't mind a slave being fucked - it helps to bed you into your new life. But there's no need for it to be gratuitously hurtful for you. The whole point is to emphasise to the slave that his life has changed, and that his owner's dick now controls him. That doesn't mean to say that he has to scream, bleed, and generally hate it. Here, when I take a slave's cherry on the owner's behalf, I try to make the slave enjoy it: a slave who likes you is far more likely to work hard for you, you know. Now, if I'd been your owner, you'd have been much further along by now - you'd have wanted to get more, and to try out your dick up an ass yourself. Have you doe that yet?"

"No, sir" Well, I couldn't really count Grunt, could I?

"See what I mean? Fit, young, virile guys like you who have been introduced to proper sex - real man to man stuff, that is - generally can't wait to get started on it themselves. If I'd taken your cherry, you'd have fucked half the slaves on the Colonel's estate by now, and would be really enjoying it. And a happy slave works harder."

The more he said, the odder it seemed, but I couldn't find the flaw in his logic anywhere. He couldn't be right, and yet where was he wrong?

"Anyway, no matter. What's done is done. Now, I'd better go off and fetch that big Nubian. He won't be reticent in wanting your ass, you know - he's been well trained here. And in their tribe apparently, they only go with women when they want sons, and the rest of the time it's considered only proper to fuck with your fellow men. Mind you, he's a bit rough - I suppose he's always been that way, brought up in the wild and so on."

Just at that moment there was a huge clap of thunder. It had been exceptionally humid all day, and it wasn't just the shame and embarrassment that had been causing me to sweat so much - the humidity had played its part. Another peal - closer. Then I heard the thunder of rain drops starting to fall on the roof of the slave shed.

Craig and I stood there, then his cell phone went off. He listened attentively, said "Yes, sir, at once!", and told me to follow him.

We went back through the house to the front door, and the owner and his lady were saying goodbye to Chantelle and Billy-Joe, who were about to be escorted to a large car standing under the portico. There was a liveried slave chauffeur kneeling on the ground, holding open the door. As was I later to learn "traditional" had it that his uniform was a peaked cap, a starched white shirt with a bow tie, and a neat dark blue jacket - the shirt and jacket stopped at his waist, however, and he was wearing only a dark blue pouch covering his genitals below that - his hairy tanned Hispanic butt curved out from under the base of the jacket. The idea, I suppose, was to have the slave appear fully dressed when he was driving, but to remind him of his slave status by having his butt bare.

"Ah, Craig", Billy-Joe began. "Miss Chantelle and I have decided to make a run for it in case this storm gets worse and the roads flood. So we won't have time to see that Nubian of yours buggar my slave. I suppose the slave had better just run back to the Colonel's place... See to it, will you?"

"Sir, wouldn't it be better to put the slave in the trunk? This rain is very heavy, and it's tough on a slave to have to bear the stuff stinging his skin"

"Oh, don't be so silly! It's almost as if you're concerned for the slave. No, he can't go in the trunk, as I've decided to take Miss Chantelle out to dinner - assuming the places in this hick town serve anything better than pig swill. And don't worry about his hide - it needs toughening up and a run in the rain will do him good."

Fucking Billy-Joe! All us slaves hated working in the rain, as it really stings your skin. And this wasn't just rain, this was a deluge. I'd be sore all over, and shivering from the cold by the time I got back to the Colonel's.

"Very well, sir. But I was concerned about your asset - this storm is pretty severe, and if a tree comes down and injures him... You have a valuable asset there, sir, and if he's maimed or, worse, killed, you've got a lot to lose. Still, I suppose you've got him insured."

"Good thinking, Craig! Perhaps he should stay for the night here."

My spirits rose. This seemed a humane place, and it was certainly better than being out in that storm. On the major's place work never stopped for bad weather, and we all hated the rain, and high winds and other stuff like hail lashing into our pelts.

"I'm sure we can accommodate him, sir. And we'll send him off in the morning - I can get one of the drivers collecting our produce to drop him off as I believe he calls at the Colonel's next to collect his."

"Excellent, Craig. But make sure he's fucked tonight, will you? After all that build-up, I don't want him to escape- it's about time he experienced dick again!"

Oh no! Please, I'd rather run in the rain than have this Nubian they were talking about fuck me. I'd seen pictures of these guys in National Geographic - jet black skin, at least six seven or eight, and hung in proportion!

"Certainly, sir. Now, have a good journey. And may I recommend 'Le Lapin Heureuse' in town? It's probably the best there is around here - me and my companion often eat there."

"You dog, you, Craig... Softening her up with food and wine...?"

Craig didn't reply directly, I noticed, but just nodded faintly.

Billy-Joe handed Chantelle into the car after they'd shook hands and the ladies had kissed the air decorously. The chauffeur slave got to his feet and closed the door, got into the driver's cab, and the car swept away down the drive, the headlights making barely an impression though the torrential rain.

Craig led me back through the house to the slave shed - consideration again, I noted, as Billy-Joe would have taken the dry route himself and made me run around the outside in the wet. We stood there, looking at each other, almost as if we were marooned by the violence of the weather outside.

"So, I'd better do as your owner says, Steve, and get you fucked..."

To my amazement, he unbuttoned his work shirt and slowly pulled it off, to reveal a nice torso. He had a pleasing thatch of dark blond hair on his pecs, sensual-looking nipples that were neither too big nor too small, and a hard, flat belly with a deep navel. Straggling up from the top of his Jeans was a little treasure trail of the dark blond hair, that petered out at his navel. He as trim and neat looking, fit and efficient. He reached down and flipped his boots off casually - we didn't wear socks - then, as I watched, undid the leather belt on his Jeans, opened the top button, and slid down his zip. As all guys do he looked pretty awkward as he hopped around getting the tight, tapered-leg Jeans off, but what was left was worth seeing - dazzlingly white briefs that seemed to emphasise a nice-looking package, blond haired lean thighs, pleasantly dimpled knees, and strong calves.

He saw me looking at him, and said "Your master said you had to be fucked, Steve. But he didn't say I had to use the Nubian! I think you deserve an introduction to proper sex, sex the way real men do it."

Look, I'm not gay, right? But the sight of this gorgeous body was doing something to me. I felt my dick stirring.

"Now", he went on, "Let's understand this. You're going to be fucked, but you have a choice. I can take you over to the horse there and force you down on it, then I can undo your cuffs and re-cuff you to the front legs, then I can possess you. You won't be able to stop me as you'll be helpless."

"Alternatively, you can start to behave like a man should when faced with the thought of sex. I'll uncuff you now, then you can go over to the horse, lie down, get comfortable... And then I'll fuck you. Your hands will be free, but I'll rely on you to lie there and take it. So which is it to be?"

Oh, what the fuck was I supposed to do? One half of me said that I wanted no part in this - if I had to be fucked, let it be entirely against my will, so I'd take his first option. The other half was still trying to puzzle its way through all the stuff he'd said about men and sex, and was being boosted by the sight of his body as he stood there. But if I took option two, I'd be giving in, admitting something that I still didn't want to admit.

Craig watched me, and I think he knew what was going through my mind. He came over and stood next to me, and it was almost as if there was something leaping between us, some strange electricity. My dick jumped into the air, and I could see Craig's bulge growing in his tight white briefs. Still half smiling, he pushed his briefs down and stepped out of them, and he too was erect - his dick was, well, "in proportion" to the rest of his neat, trim body - not too long, not too short. He wasn't cut, but he had that sort of foreskin that didn't extend beyond the end of his head - his piss slit was visible through the circle that his 'skin made, and I felt certain that the moistness it promised was being enhanced by leaking pre-cum. His balls, covered in the same dark blond hair that was on the rest of his body, were those kind that are carried high up: a very well-filled sac almost pushed his dick skywards, and I guessed that even when he wasn't boned his dick would be given greater prominence by them.

"I think I know what your answer will be, Steve", he said softly. "Or, at least, know what your answer ought to be."

When I still said nothing, he went on "Sometimes a guy needs decisions made for him. Sometimes he doesn't know what's in is own best interests. So let me make it easy for you."

He moved around behind me, and I couldn't help noticing how light he was on his feet - so lithe and athletic. His boned dick bounced up and down as he moved. He undid the cuffs, and gave me a friendly slap on my naked butt. "Off you go, Steve - there's the horse... Go and make yourself comfortable."

That walk across the room, totally "free", was one of the hardest things I've ever done. The chrome and leather punishment horse stood under a dim light, and it brought back terrible memories of that night with Billy-Joe and Charlie. I stared down at it, then, almost as if in a trance, lay down on the leather, feeling its slick coldness on my flushed and heated belly and pecs.

Craig was standing by my head, and he almost whispered "If you're scared, Steve, there's still time to change your mind. Just say the word now, and I'll cuff your hands to the legs and then I'll fuck you and you won't be able to stop me... But if you want to act like a man, just relax, or try to relax... I know it must be stressful."

Well, I couldn't admit to being scared, could I? Even though, inwardly, I was terrified. To answer him I kind of moved my body on the horse as if to get more comfortable, then brought my hands up to grip the edge of the top, on either side of my face. I couldn't bring myself to say anything.

To my amazement Craig leaped astride me, taking a lot of his weight on his knees. But I could feel the warmth of his ass on my lower back, and his balls and dick head resting on my skin. His hands rested on my shoulders, that were all hunched up from position of my hands, and the tension that was in me generally. He started to stroke me, and knead the big muscles of my shoulders and upper back with his strong hands.

"Relax, Steve... You're all tense. This is meant to be fun, remember?

I lay there, feeling his strong yet subtle hands massaging me, and I did start to relax. His warm, moist ass felt somehow comforting as it slowly slid up and down my lower back as he worked away, and I found myself starting to breathe deeply, and it was almost as if I wanted to drop into a deep sleep.

"There....", he whispered. "That's better, isn't it? Now, are how are you feeling?"

"Great.... Sir."

"No, Steve, we're just two guys together now. No masters, no slaves. I'm Craig."

He carried on massaging me, and I'd never felt so good. He slid backwards so that he was straddling my ass, and now I could feel is dick almost teasing the top of my ass crack, as if it was desperate to get home. He carried on massaging my lower back, and again he whispered "How's that, Steve?"

"Great, Craig..."

"Good.... Now....." He slid off me, and now his hands were caressing my butt, sliding sensuously up and down the hard muscles there. He didn't attempt to dig his fingers in as he had been into my shoulders and back, but I became aware that he was gently parting my butt cheeks. Just a few days ago I'd have hit any man that had even touched my butt, but now it felt fine. I trusted Craig, and trusted what he was doing to me.

I could feel his hot breath playing on my ass hole - what was going on? Then I got a streak of pure pleasure - something very warm, very soft, very wet was teasing my pucker, playing with it, massaging it, tempting it to open for it. How could Craig's fingers be so wet, so subtle? No, it must be his dick - he was getting ready to fuck me.... But it still felt too wet, too prehensile, too gentle.... On and on it went, and just couldn't help starting to moan with the satisfaction I was getting, and my fingers started to unconsciously scrabble at the edge of the horse as my whole body started to gently lose control. I'd never felt anything like this, never known such gentle yet sensual teasing of this most sensitive part of my body.

It slipped in to my pucker - I didn't try to stop it, I didn't want to stop it, and now I was almost crying out with sheer delight. I wondered why Craig wasn't making those encouraging, soothing noises he had been earlier, but somehow it didn't seem to matter. I could have just lain there all night, allowing my whole self to become completely consumed by the sheer erotic delight of what was happening to me.

But then it stopped, and Craig's fingers relaxed their hold on my butt cheeks. I still lay there, but he came and crouched in front of me. He put his hands on the sides of my head and lifted my face up so that we were looking directly into each others eyes.

"Craig... That was fantastic... I'd never known dick could be like that... And you didn't make any noise when you shot your cum."

"Oh Steve, you are naive! My dick hasn't been anywhere your ass! Look..." He kind of gestured down, and I could see his dick sticking straight out of his body: no way had that just cum.

"So what...?"

"Tongue, Steve. It was my tongue, you idiot. I thought you'd still be sore, in spite of the analgesic, and so I gave you a good ass hole massage with that best of all massagers, my lovely flexible, warm, wet tongue."

"You had your tongue up my ass? Craig... That's disgusting!"

"Oh shut up, Steve! " he was grinning at me, and his tone wasn't at all harsh. "I could tell you were enjoying it. You only had to listen to the noise you were making. And how could anything that good possibly be disgusting?"

"Buy my ass hole..."

"Steve, forget it, will you? Look, whatever two guys choose to do together can't possibly be wrong. And you were perfectly clean up there, weren't you? Personally I don't like eating ass when it's dirty, but some guys do, and if it's OK for them, then it's OK. You came and freely lay here, expecting to be fucked, and I freely came here and ate your ass. So what's wrong with that?"

I lay there desperately trying to think. There was no answer, was there?

Craig, still cradling the sides of my face in his lovely strong hands, moved his head forward, and, still staring into my eyes, pressed his lips to mine. I didn't know what to do. It was like the first time I'd ever tried kissing, all over again. Was I supposed to do something? I felt panic start to rise in me, a stupid panic that meant I was somehow embarrassed at my own lack of knowledge and sophistication. Then I felt his tongue, prying at my lips, teasing along them, searching for an entrance, trying to get in.

I don't know why I did it, but my teeth parted slightly, and then his tongue, that big, warm fat thing that only a moment ago had been up my hole, was now in my mouth. It probed around, and I responded - my own tongue started to mesh with his, and it felt so right. My hands, in stead of just lying there, reached out and gripped Craig's head, and I responded passionately to him, just as if I'd been making out with Chantelle.

We broke for air after a couple of minutes, and he was smiling at me. "So, Steve... Something else you like!

Never kissed a guy before, have you?"

"How could you tell... I've done a lot of kissing... I'm thought to be pretty good at it..."

"You can always tell, Steve. You're used to thrusting your tongue into the woman, just as you'll later thrust your dick into her. And she usually just accepts it and lets you make all the running. But when you kiss another guy, it's something you do together.... both of you taking part. So you can tell from the response you get - you weren't expecting a tongue to go into your mouth, were you?" I shook my head faintly. "See, it's much more fun this way."

Suddenly he came a bit more serious. "But you know, Steve, there is one thing that's got to happen - I have still got to fuck you."

"I thought you said that your tongue..."

"Yes, Steve. But your owner said you were to be fucked. What are you going to do tomorrow when you get back to the Colonel's and your owner asks you how you took dick?"

"Well, I could tell him it was OK..."

"NO! Steve, you're a slave, remember? Slaves do not lie to their owners, not ever. If you start off by telling a 'harmless' lie like that, you'll end up lying to him all the time, and as a responsible slave master, I simply can't allow that. Sooner or later your owner would catch you out lying to him, and then he could exact the most dreadful punishments, and rightly so. I don't want that to happen to you, Steve. I don't want yo to set off down a slippery slope that will lead to huge problems for you. So you're going to have to tell the truth."

"So you mean I should tell him that I wasn't fucked, be honest, tell the truth...?"

"No, Steve. If you did that, he'd know that you had connived to disobey him. If any of the slaves here disobeyed a direct order of mine, I'd have him strung up on the flogging frame and flogged to within an inch of his life - and I wouldn't want your owner to do that to you, either."

I lay there listening to this logic, and, as ever, realised I could never win as a mere slave. I realised what was coming, and wasn't surprised, I suppose, when Craig said "So you see, Steve, the only sensible thing is for you to be fucked, isn't it? But don't worry, you won't hurt - well, not much. Now, relax, OK?"

Just as Billy-Joe had said he had to do all these slave things to me "in my own best interests", so now it seemed that I was going to get fucked for the same cause. I really wished these people would stop being so good to me!

It's funny, isn't it - if someone tells you to relax, you can't. Quite the opposite - it starts to make you go all tense. All that massage, all that fantastic tonguing were as nothing as I felt my muscles start to contract and my body going through those age-old rituals as it subconsciously prepared itself for "fight or flight."

Craig got up, lithe as a panther, and his dick, that dick that was soon to be breaching my hole, waved past my face. He moved to the back of me, then I felt his feet push my legs a little further apart as he positioned himself - somehow feeling the soles of a guy's feet pushing on your calves is vaguely sensual, isn't it? Or is it because, as you get more experienced, you know it's preparation for what's to come?

There was a delicious slimy feeling as something cool hit my pucker, and then I felt Craig's finger pushing into me... pushing gently, but insistently. "Don't worry, Steve... It's going to be OK... I've lubed you well, now let's just do a little stretching..."

Funny how random thoughts hit you sometimes, at the most inappropriate moments. I couldn't help thinking how the colonel would be upset if he thought I was being lubed with "artificial" material, rather than good, natural man-juice.

Well, what can I tell you further - Craig's fucking was absolutely unlike Billy-Joe's, or Charlie's. For one thing, his massage of my ass with his fingers went on and on, and all the time he moved his other hand around on the area of my back just above my ass crack - steadying himself and, at the same time, somehow reassuring me that he was in control. Then when his dick did slip into me, it was so slow, so subtle and so totally managed so that I was in no pain: he moved a millimetre forward, checked to see I wasn't tensing up before moving on again.... (some discomfort, possibly, but absolutely no pain). I don't know how long it took, and I don't care - but when I felt his wiry pubic hair brushing my soft skin, and the animal warmth of his pelvis pushing against my ass, it felt somehow totally right.

He played with me, he teased me, he made me moan with pleasure, and laugh with joy. In and out his dick went, sometimes slowly, sometimes a little faster. Sometimes when he thought I was too relaxed, he'd unexpectedly slam into me in a way that made me yelp, but which just added more fun to his next long, slow languid move. His hands reached around underneath me, and as he fucked, he stroked my dick, and fondled my balls.

It was all totally unbelievable - I'd never thought sex could be like this. I'd never known that two guys could do these things together before, and it could be so fantastic. Once, in our dorm room at college, Billy-Joe had put a gay porn movie on the DVD - I'd watched in horror as this big giant of a man slammed repeatedly in and out of a smaller guy, causing him to shout and scream. I couldn't watch it, as I hate violence, but Billy-Joe had said I was stupid, and that that's what guys did, and he thought it was good.

Now I knew different: real men took care of each other.

Afterwards, as he lay on top of me, panting, our sweat-soaked bodies sliding over each other, he gently bit into my shoulder a I still lay there. Somehow it felt fantastic - rather like when you see those animal movies on the TV, where the lion bites the neck of the lioness as he humps her.

"So what next, Steve?", he whispered.

"I suppose I've got to go into a slave pen?"

"No... Haven't you learned anything? Haven't we been talking about guys doing things together, pleasuring each other? I've been doing all the work so far... Now it's your turn. Get your lazy ass off that horse, as I need to lie there!"

He gave my butt a playful slap, and as I got to my feet, my only thought was "Oh Christ, I haven't got to put my tongue up him, have I?" Perhaps I wasn't as sophisticated in all of this as I had imagined myself to be a few moments before.

End Of Part Eleven

YOU CAN'T BE FRIENDS WITH A SLAVE, Part twelve

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

I MEET THE COLONEL AT LAST

As we brushed past each other, Craig stopped, put his arms around my neck, and started kissing me passionately again, standing almost on tiptoe to reach properly. I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him to me, wanting to enfold him and hold him as if he was totally mine. Our dicks rubbed together, and I couldn't believe how good it felt - when I'd done this to women they often objected to having my erect dick stabbing into them, but Craig revelled in it. My hands went down his still-wet back, over his butt, and kind of underneath it, as I hugged him close to me. I'd never had another man this close, another man in such intimate contact with me, and it felt so good.

I was rock hard, achingly erect, and as Craig rubbed his body up and down, It felt so incredible; indeed, I felt as if I was going to cum at any moment. I think Craig must have sensed this, as he murmured "You're a bit of a sensualist, aren't you, Steve? You like this, don't you? But there's unfinished business... Come on...."

He broke off, took my hand in his, and led me to the horse, where he lay down, on his belly. I stood there, not quite knowing what to do. Then I remembered the importance of lubing and stretching. I picked up the can of lube, pushed at his legs with my feet (remembering how sensual this had felt to me) to open him up a bit. I was almost trembling with something - terror, expectation, fear.. I don't know what. I suppose that it's that I hate doing the wrong thing, and although I'd been lubed myself, I had no idea what to do about it.

I crouched down and spread his butt cheeks apart, the first time I'd ever done such a thing, and saw the inside of his crack was lined with the same dark blond hair that was around his dick and balls - so was it only slaves that had to have their asses shaved? There, nestling in almost its own little corona of hair was his pucker - dark brown against the whiteness of his skin, here where the light never penetrated. Tentatively I squirted some of the lube at it, and saw it contract involuntarily. Then, doing as he had, I rested one hand on the small of his back whilst pushing gently with my finger up into his hole.

Well, I suppose it's OK, and you do need to do it. But it's very boring, isn't it? Standing there sliding your fingers in and out of a guy's hole, and stretching him? It may be fun for him, but not for you. As soon as I thought I'd done enough, I wondered what to do next. When he'd fucked me I'd been on my belly, but master Billy-Joe and Charlie had taken me on my back. Somehow the idea of looking at him as I fucked him was very appealing, so I pulled my fingers out, then slapped him lightly on the butt - the way that men did this all the time to slaves. Was there something about this that implied ownership, or control? Anyway, I decided to try it, and it felt good under the palm of my hand: firm flesh, a man's butt, under my control.

"Roll over, Craig!", I said, then as he did so, languidly, I marvelled again at his athleticism, his perfectly honed body, as it rotated under my gaze. I'm not gay, as I've told you, but I once turned on one of those sports channels that was showing coverage of the world men's gymnastics - those young athletes, with their amazingly fit but not obscenely muscled bodies, turned me on, I found. And it was the same with Craig now - I just couldn't help getting a sexual rush as I saw this body displayed for me. It was mine, for the taking, and any doubts that I'd had about being able to perform evaporated.

Just as Charlie had, I bent down and picked up Craig's feet and rested them on my shoulders, then I inched forward until my dick made contact with his ass. Craig was staring up at me, and I suppose I was looking at him, but I was so focussed on doing the right thing that I almost didn't notice.

I curled one arm around Craig's knees to hold him in place, and with the other reached down and manoeuvred my dick to try to find his hole - you can't see, can you, so you have to do it by feel - and sliding the sensitive tip of my dick up and down Craig's hair-filled crack made me squirm with the exquisite tickling sensation. I located it, and it was almost as if my dick had a mind of its own. I moved forward more to try to get in, and Craig grunted. I pushed harder, and it was as if Craig's body subconsciously wanted to get away from me as he moved up the horse, but my arm around his knees soon halted this, and I pressed my hips forward to force my head into him.

Look, the feel of a guy's hole gripping your dick is absolutely amazing, isn't it? With Grunt I hadn't really been in control, but now I felt Craig's muscles squeezing me, I wanted more. Without thinking I pushed my dick right in, in one single motion. Craig almost screamed, and I realised I'd probably one something wrong - I should have been slower. But my dick was telling me such amazing things now that I didn't care, and I pulled back, and then slammed home again. Craig did let out a scream - no, more of a squeal now - and this should have alerted me to stop or slow down. But somehow having this man almost suffering with my dick was so exciting.

I started to fuck really hard, and Craig was now gasping and crying out in time to the motion of my dick. The more he did it, the more excited I became, and the harder I fucked him. All my life I'd wasted time fucking women, being gentle with them, and now this was the real thing - I was doing the thing that one man is supposed to do to another - utterly dominate and control him, drive him to cry out in acknowledgement of who is in charge. I thrust on and on, and Craig tried to twist and turn, as if to get away form me. I had to really tighten my grip around his legs to keep him under me, and I deliberately changed my mode of attach, so I did a lot of little short, sharp stabs at him. As my dick thrust in and out he was almost screaming now and his hands were beating up and down, futilely, on the horse.

If only it could have gone on for ever - but the inevitable happened - my cum started to bubble up. I hugged his legs towards me one last time as if to bring his hole in maximum proximity to my body, and my body arched as if it was trying to bury me as deep as possible inside him, and then my hips shuddered very quickly back and forward, as if shivering almost, as I pumped up into him.

I stood there ,looking down at him, sweat pouring off him. Pushing his feet off my shoulders I bent my body forwards, so that my face was looming over his. I lowered my head and went to kiss him, and he turned away from me! I flew into a rage - I'd just fucked this man, showed him what a real dick feels like, and now, here he was, turning away from me. I was truly surprised. And it was by reflex that my hand snaked out and slapped the side of his face, hard, then gripped his chin. My fingers pressured the sides of his jaw to force his mouth open. Then I could kiss him, and I did so with gusto, forcing my tongue in and out in the same way that my dick had a few moments before forced itself in and out of his hole.

When I finally pulled out of him and allowed him to sit up, he sat there, just looking at me. All of a sudden I realised what I'd done - I'd almost raped him; and then I'd slapped a free man. A feeling of dread started to sweep over me.

Craig just sat there, trembling slightly, looking at me. Finally he spoke. "Wow, Steve, you don't mess about , do you?"

"Craig, I'm sorry..."

"Look, Steve, there's some things you should know about man on man sex. Some guys are pretty aggressive and once they get into heat, they can't stop. I think you're pretty far at then end of that spectrum - you enjoyed fucking me, didn't you? You liked actually doing it, rather than taking my dick earlier?"

"Yes, I did", I said almost sheepishly. After all, I had enjoyed his dick, but actually doing the fucking was far, far better.

"I think, on the basis of the very limited evidence we've seen, that you're what's called in the trade a dominant, aggressive top. You want to be in control, you want to fuck ass, and when you do, you do it in the way that pleases you, never mind the other guy."

I looked at him, and he gestured for me to sit beside him on the horse. I guess I was still looking pretty miserable and terrified at what might happen, as he put his arm around my shoulder, and went on "There are other guys who really like it very soft and gentle, a lot of mutual stuff, like we did earlier. And that's OK, too. I'm usually like that. But sometimes I like, well, I like it a bit 'rough'. I suppose I spend so much of my life controlling slaves, that occasionally I want to be utterly dominated and controlled myself, fucked hard, with no possibility of escape."

"When a dominant aggressive top like you meets a guy like me who doesn't mind a bit of rough occasionally, there's no problem as we both end up getting what we want. But suppose you'd just acted like that when the guy you were with only really liked stroking, kissing, fondling, and the very gentlest and softest fucking? Then there'd e real trouble - especially if the guy was a free man. So, Steve, be careful. You probably can't control your nature: it's been bred into you for millions of years - you're the tribal chief, the alpha male, all that sort of stuff - you just have to go where your dick leads. And it's why you have so many problems in being a slave, never mind in taking your owner's dick."

He pulled me close to him, and gave me a little kiss, just a peck on the lips, really, as if to say "no hard feelings", and went on "But you'd better be careful, Steve. Try to control it. If you do something like that to Billy-Joe, he might have you castrated to calm you down."

"Oh, you're joking..."

"Hey, Steve, I never joke about slave matters. He has the right, you know - you're a permanent slave, aren't you? And hasn't he already had some modifications made to your body - those brands and, if I'm, not mistaken, you're only recently 'skinned."

I nodded. "Well then, take care! They can take one of your balls, you know, and it's said to really calm down an aggressive slave. They even pop a prosthetic one back in your sac, so your appearance isn't spoiled. Still, there's hope for you - I'd encourage him to stud you so he starts making money, and that will curb his enthusiasm for even a partial castration."

"So what now?", I asked.

"Well, I ought to lock you in a slave pen until morning and then return you home. You're a valuable property, and I wouldn't want to risk losing you. But, on the other hand, I've only fucked you once, and I think I deserve a second shot, given what you've just done. So, you big brute, I propose to take you back to my place, fuck the eyeballs out of you, then forbid you to fuck me back."

He was smiling again now, and this time the kiss was long, and deep as we hugged each other close.

He pulled his clothes on, then we both ran across the couple of hundred yards to the small cabin in the grounds where he lived. The storm was still raging ad he was soaked through, literally, a I could see all his flesh gleaming pinkly through the wet fabrics. It had been unpleasant for me as the rain drops stung my skin, but I just stood there now in the one room that formed his cabin, planing the water off me. "See, Craig... There are some advantages in being a slave. I'm almost dry, and no wet clothes."

"Ah yes, Steve, but you forget.. The pleasure of clothes is in the tearing of them off..."

It was fun, too. And there was only a single big space with a sofa, a bed and a table and chairs, and there was plenty of room to roll around together on the floor as we got Craig naked. Then I scooped him up in my arms and carried him across the room and threw him down onto the bed, and threw myself on top of him. We fondled, kissed, caressed, stroked... I never knew there were so many pleasure points in my body, but the moment I tried to move my dick towards his hole, he very firmly stopped me. "No, Steve. Remember how you felt after Billy-Joe.... Well, I'm probably feeling much of the same now. So no more dick up my ass. However..."

I rolled him over onto his back, he was powerless to stop me as I was much stronger than he, and straddled his stomach. I caught each of his wrists in my hands and pushed them above his head, and I leaned forward so my face was just over his. My dick was hard, and leaking pre-cum all over his belly.

"Craig, if I want your ass, I'll take it. You're powerless to stop me, aren't you? You're helpless under my body, and if I want to fuck you, I will."

"Oh, Steve - I love it when you talk dirty like that..!"

We were then both helpless with laughter, and I got off him, lay on my back and pulled him on top of me so we could fondle and caress each other for what seemed like hours. Then, I suppose, of the truth is told, I let him fuck me - naked, rolling around in a bed, there was no way he could have forced himself on me. But I enjoyed it, allowing him to slip his dick into me again, and then just lying there afterwards with his arms around me.

It's funny, isn't it, the first time you sleep all night with a guy? I'd had several women stay over, as you'd expect, and they usually wore something - a slip or whatever. But guys go to bed with each other naked, don't they? And their bodies are so much more muscular and kind of angular (well, the ones I go to bed with are - I guess if you sleep with chubby, overweight men, it might be different). It seemed hard to get to sleep, and then hard not to keep drifting into wakefulness. But that wasn't a bad thing - we were both awake at about three, and we jerked each other off before falling back to sleep. This was a first for me, too, and Craig taught me just how much fun it could be to have to synchronise my stroking of his dick with his of mine. It was sort of like "follow my leader" - if he stopped and played with my piss slit, I had to do the same to him.

In the morning I wanted more sex, but Craig stood there, looking down at me sprawled luxuriantly naked in his bed, and said, sadly "Sorry, Steve. I've got to work, and you've got to get back to the Colonel's place. No time now..."

"Craig, will we do this again...?"

"I don't know, Steve. If you were a free man, of course we would. But, you know, you are a slave. And you're pretty much confined to the Colonel's place unless your owner brings you her again, for.... " he hesitated before saying the word "... for studding. And then he'd probably take you away as soon as the visit was over. Look, it's hard being a slave, it's almost impossible being friends with a slave. We might both just have to think of this as a single meeting of fantastic sex...."

He kissed me fondly, and I could tell by the way he hugged me that he knew it was wrong and cruel to be separated like this. But at the same time he knew, and I suppose I did, too, that it was inevitable.

After that, Craig was all business like. "Get yourself over to the slave shed and get washed down, slave!" He commanded, yes, that's what it was - the tone of "equals" was simply replaced, just like that, with the one of command. "Then take a SMALL portion of slave chow, get them to give you a pair of clean shorts, then run home. We'll check to make sure you do run and don't dawdle, and that you don't try to make any diversions, or even escape, on the way. Understood?"

"Sure, Craig."

He slapped me! Hard, across the face (I suppose as I had to him, earlier). Even though he wasn't a big muscular guy like me, he was fit and trim as I've told you, and it hurt.

"Watch your manners, slave."

I knew then that the night was over, and the reality had begun again. I lowered my head and said "Sir, sorry, sir."

Actually I did cheat a bit - as I wasn't "metered" here with my barcode, I had a HUGE portion of slave chow, as the rations at the Colonels' kept us all constantly just on the edge of hunger. And as I ran back "home", I was cheerful in spite of everything - that's what good sex does to you, I suppose. The grass seemed greener, the birds sang louder, and even the hot sun didn't seem to worry me quite as much as usual.

Straughan eyed me almost suspiciously as I jogged in to the yard of the slave quarters.

"You seem cheerful, Slave! I understood master Billy-Joe asked for you to be fucked. I would have expected you to be sore at least, and in a bad mood probably, after your showing last time. You did get fucked, didn't you, slave? And don't lie to me!"

"Sir, yes, sir. I was fucked. And I never lie to a master, sir."

"There's something suspicious going on here, slave. But I don't have time to go into it now. Get and pick up your cart, and get to work - they're cutting the rear lawns, and all the clippings need carrying away to the compost heap."

"Sir, yes, sir." Once my back was turned I broke out into a big smile. I'd got one over on Straughan.... Perhaps this was going to be a good week for me. I even thought that tonight, in the slave dorm, I'd take one of the other slaves and practice my fucking, now I knew how good it was - none of them could resist me, as I was the strongest, toughest one there. My smile broadened at the prospect.

Later that morning I was working away: it was one of those warm spring days where the weather is unseasonably warm for the time of year. Sweat was pouring off me as I dragged my cart between the gang that was mowing the lawns and the giant compost area right on the far side of the grounds - I'd been told that this was another one of the Colonel's schemes for living ecologically, as he hated using artificial fertilisers and all the vegetable matter from the estate had to be composted and re-used, not hauled away to the town tip. It might have been ecological for the Colonel, but it surely was a lot more effort for us slaves: instead of being allowed to let the grass fly up from the mowers and lie there, it all had to be collected, and then carried away as I've said.

The sweat was pouring off me as it was so humid, and I could feel the little rivulets of it running down my back and across my belly, and soaking into the worn-through cotton of my thin slave shorts. I suppose that as the fabric got wet it was making my arse even more prominent, but I hardly cared any more - I was so used to seeing all the guys around me just in these tight shorts that it no longer mattered.

I was shovelling up a giant heap of cuttings that the lawn crew had raked together, when one of the house servants raced up to me. I could tell he wasn't "one of us" outdoor slaves, as he wore tight black shorts, almost like cycling shorts that emphasised his butt and his thighs, and around his neck, just above his collar, was a neat white bow tie on an elastic ribbon.

"The master wants to see you, slave", he told me, and his face split into a big grin. "He's waiting on the veranda, as he's been watching you work. Wow, man, are we in for a treat... Us house boys don't often get to see to you outdoor studs stripped... Come on, hurry up, get your arse over here, as the Colonel hates to be kept waiting."

I knew about the Colonel, of course, Billy's uncle, the owner of the estate where I now toiled. I'd met him when on "social" visits in my former life But he almost never came into the grounds, and as I was an outdoor slave rather than an indoor servant, and rarely went into the house, I'd never been close-up to him. We sometimes saw him sitting in the back of his limo as it swished down the drive, but he never stopped.

I loped off after the young slave, and mounted the steps of the veranda. He was half sitting, half sprawled, on one of the rockers that lay scattered over the vast area. To his side there was a slave boy kneeling with his elbows to the ground so that his broad back was horizontal, and this was being used as a table to hold the colonel's drink - some iced concoction, full of leaves and fruit, rested on the boy's naked flesh. I could see the trickles of condensation falling down the side of the glass in the humid air, and forming a pool on the slave's skin.

The colonel himself must have been in his seventies. He was a big, overweight, florid man, who must have weighed at least two hundred and fifty pounds. His white hair was matched by an old-style drooping white moustache. His elegant grey suit struggled to contain the bulge of his giant stomach, but otherwise he was, as you would expect for a man who had an army of personal servants to groom and dress him, immaculate: his shirt was a dazzling, spotless white, his shoes shone in the sunlight, and his grey tie was perfectly knotted and neatly tucked into his waistcoat.

I knew enough by now not to say anything, so I just stood there, in the "rest" position with my hands neatly clasped behind my back, my feet apart, and my head bowed.

"What's your name, slave?"

"Steve, sir."

"I'm 'master' to you, boy!"

"I'm sorry, sir. But I belong to Master Billy-Joe, and he's 'Master': he insists I call all other free men 'Sir', sir."

"Oh, so you're that friend of Billy's that enslaved himself are you, to avoid the rape stuff. I understand now - when I saw you working away there I thought Straughan had been wasting my money on buying white slaves - blacks and Hispanics are perfectly adequate for hard outdoor work. Still, you're here, a slave, and I suppose that's all that matters. But why are you working on the estate?"

"Sir, Master Billy-Joe says it keeps me in good shape.

And he doesn't want to have to pay for my upkeep here, sir. Mister Straughan has agreed that he'll house me and feed me for Master Billy-Joe provided I work on the estate."

"I see. Or, rather, I don't see! You've got a fine body, slave, from what I can see of it. Now, shed those shorts, and let me get a proper look at you..."

Well, what was I supposed to do? I hesitated, and even in that instant the Colonel's face turned from amused affability to something approaching anger. I supposed that he'd never had a slave even think of disobeying an order for many, many years. Although he was not my master, I didn't doubt that if he wanted to he could have me punished, so I put my thumbs in to the elastic on the waistband of my shorts, then wriggled them down over my hips and let them fall to the floor. I stood there in front of him, conscious of his eyes looking at my dick, and I also saw that the several household slaves who were hovering around him waiting for any sign that he needed some small service performed, were also watching me intently.

"Come close, boy!", he told me curtly, and I advanced to stand next to him,

He reached out and took hold of my dick - his hand was thin and wiry, almost claw-like, and I couldn't help noticing the dark brown mottling of age spots all over its back. He played idly with my dick, and, in spite of my feeling of revulsion at this vile old man feeling my flesh like this, I was unable to prevent myself starting to go erect - you know how it is: almost any sort of manual stimulation will make you go hard, won't it, even if you don't want to?

"Nice, boy. And a good, clean cut, I see. Were you done at birth, or when you came here?"

"Sir, I was circumcised here, sir..."

"I thought I recognised the local vet's handiwork - he always seems to get it just right, so that the dick can get fully erect but there's no slack hanging around the shaft when you're at rest. Still, he gets enough practice, as I have all the slaves here cut - don't like foreskins on them - it's unhygienic, that's what I say; and a slave shouldn't be allowed to hide his dick head from his owner."

I felt myself flushing, and a slow anger started to spread through me. So it was this man's whim, and his unscientific view of "hygiene", that had caused Straughan to have me cut. Without thinking I blurted out "So that's why I've been mutilated..."

At once the old man's demeanour changed. His face became like thunder, and his hand tightened around my dick so that it was almost painful. I saw the other slaves on the veranda look at first genuinely shocked, and then almost pitying as they clearly knew something about the Colonel that I didn't.

"That's a punishment for you, slave! How dare you speak without being spoken to! And did I hear that you even dared to criticise me....?"

I didn't get a chance to say anything - probably fortunately - as he turned to one of the slaves and snapped "Fetch Master Straughan. At once."

The slave turned and raced away into the house, and the Colonel let go of my dick. "You - go and stand against the house wall. I don't want to see your face:

I can't stand insolent, uppity slaves!"

I suppose I could have disobeyed him, but I sensed that I was already in a lot of trouble and did not want to provoke him further. I shuffled over to the wall, and stood there, facing the white clapboard siding, feeling slightly stupid.

"No, slave! Haven't they taught you any manners? Toes to the wall, nose to the wall, and hands behind your neck!"

I could hardly believe it. Could he be serious? But I supposed he was. I shuffled closer to the wall until my toes touched it, and then I realised how subtle this position is - with your toes and nose against the wall, the rest of your body has to adopt a kind of half-bent posture as your pecs and hips try to press against it. The wall was cool to the touch against my skin, and I could smell the paint of the sidings as my nose touched them. With my hands clasped behind my neck my posture was even more uncomfortable as my whole body seemed to be subtly out of kilter. And the longer I was made to stand there, the worse it got. I shuffled my feet a little, to try to get some relief, and the Colonel, who must have been watching me closely, snapped "Move once more, slave, and your punishment will be doubled!"

Fortunately I was saved by the arrival of Straughan, who strode up the steps. I didn't dare turn around, but I recognised his voice as he said "Good morning, sir. You sent for me."

It was a statement, not a question, and it was clear that Straughan was used to obeying the Colonel in all things.

"Yes, Straughan. I understand that you have agreed to give free board and lodging to this slave of Master Billy."

"Yes, sir. We discussed it, sir, if you remember. I thought that we could get useful work out of him. In exchange for a few handfuls of slave mush every day I get another strong, hard body to work the estate. And he doesn't take up any more room in the slave barracks - there's enough spare space there already. And, sir, I think you'll have to agree he's easy on the eye, too - having a white slave working the grounds makes a nice contrast with the blacks, don't you think?"

"Possibly so, Straughan, but you should have consulted me about decisions like this."

"Sir, I'm sorry - perhaps it's slipped you mind, or perhaps it slipped my mind." I doubted that anything ever slipped Straughan's mind - perhaps the Colonel was no longer as sharp as he should be. "But, sir this matter is so trivial that it doesn't merit disturbing you - he's just another slave working the grounds, and his upkeep is insubstantial. And, sir, it pleases Master Billy-Joe, who doesn't have to worry about housing him securely in the city, or of paying fees to the slave gyms to keep him in good shape. It seemed like a win-win situation. I had him branded, and cut, sir, so that he's just like the other slaves..."

"Quite so, Straughan. You're probably right. But what are we to do now? He's been uppity and insolent to me. If he was mine, I'd have him flogged - not that any of my slaves would dare behave like that."

"Sir, it's no problem. Master Billy told me to treat him just like the other slaves, so if a flogging is in order...."

"No, Straughan, I learned long ago that you can't flog another man's slave: the risk of damage to his flesh from the whip is too great, and that's the way to spoil friendships between owners. Still, it's a pity - a very handsome view he presents from the rear, doesn't he - look at the way his shoulder muscles are bunched, that almost perfect triangle falling down to his butt, and the way it flares out so enticingly. I suppose the work here keeps him like that - I like to see a slave without an ounce of fat on him, and with well-defined musculature like that. And it's most appealing , the way that you can just see the end of his dick and his balls through his open legs - that's one real advantage of a well-hung slave, the rear view. He really is a first-rate animal, and I'm sure Master Billy-Joe wouldn't want to risk damage to him with a good whipping. But he must be punished...."

I could feel a hot flush spreading up my body, colouring my shoulders and racing up my neck to my face, as the two men discussed me like this. It was just as if I was some prize piece of stock, rather than a guy who had, until recently, been a free man like them. And someone who had been a guest in the house - why hadn't the Colonel recognised me?

"Sir, if I might suggest... Master Billy-Joe said that he could be treated like the other slaves, as I mentioned, and for a first offence we wouldn't necessarily resort to the whip - I do need to keep something in reserve to threaten the slaves with in order to maintain discipline. But we should never underestimate the power of physical punishment, and so perhaps you might agree that his offence was not so heinous that a whipping was necessary, and that a simple caning might suffice?"

"Perhaps so, Straughan."

"A further advantage is that we don't need to send for a whip master, so there will be no delay: The man we usually use is always booked a few days in advance. And less expense, of course. He could be caned now, sir - sometimes a swift, immediate punishment drives the lesson home better than a harsher one administered at a later date... rather like training puppies."

"Indeed yes, Straughan, you're right. A swift punishment, administered now, will fit the bill exactly. And it will pass the time until luncheon. How many strokes do you suggest?"

"Eight, sir. Somehow it seems more symmetric on the butt than the traditional six. And it will bring home to him, sir, that even the tiniest bit of insolence will be swiftly punished. That tends to be the trouble with the newly-enslaved - they just can't forget that they're no longer free, and that they must obey absolutely and not have any thoughts of their own: in a way, it's so much easier to have the farm-bred ones who have known no other life."

"Yes, Straughan, but the way those breeders produce slaves in those cramped breeding pens - they rarely achieve the perfection of form that this one is showing. Mind you, I take your point - look at him trembling: it's as if he's been listening to us, and daring to disagree!"

I was, in spite of trying to control myself, beginning to shake. It wasn't just the uncomfortable way I was standing and the muscle ache that had now spread through me, either. I was almost enraged by the way that these two were casually discussing beating me. I hadn't dared say anything, as I knew that that would just make matters worse, but my body had formed it's own view and was playing out the emotions I was trying to hide.

"Shall I proceed with the caning immediately then, sir?"

"You're quite sure that Master Billy-Joe won't mind?"

"Absolutely, sir. As I said, he told me to treat the slave well, as we do all the slaves here, but to give him no special privileges. And anyway Master Billy-Joe is not expected until the weekend - I'll take care not to break the skin with the cane, so that by then there'll only be the residual bruises and marks and the texture of the butt won't be affected at all."

Straughan issued a crisp order to one of the house slaves standing around to run to his quarters and fetch his four foot Malaca "and be quick about it, if you don't want a taste of it after the slave here", he added.

End Of Part 12