You Can't Be Friends With a Slave

YOU CAN'T BE FRIENDS WITH A SLAVE, Part fifteen By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

ON SHOW

I was already naked, so I just stood by the huge old antique bed, then slipped between the sheets and lay there. It felt so odd to be in a proper bed again - with room to move, rather than in the narrow space in the slave dorms. And having the luxurious linen sheets over me was also odd - we weren't provided with blankets or anything on the estate, and it takes some getting used to the idea that you can sleep without anything covering you. But I was used to it by now, so having sheets and blankets on top of me, especially these cool, smooth ones was such a difference.

Billy-Joe came in and stood looking at me. "Jesus, Steve, you look so fucking desirable. The way your bronzed skin is contrasted against those white sheets - you're so, well, so rugged - the outdoor life suits you - and the sheets are so smooth...."

As I watched, Billy-Joe pulled off his T, and dropped his boxers. His body was pasty white, and his gut stood out. But I couldn't help looking at his dick, the dick that was going to be forced up my ass. It was dark against the rest of his white body, sticking out rigidly from his big untidy patch of pubic hair. He stroked himself suggestively, and his tongue was running along his lips at the same time. His eyes were staring, and he seemed to be really turned on.

"Move over...", he muttered, and lifted up the sheets to slide in next to me. Now that was one order it was easy to obey - I really didn't want his body touching mine. But in a bed there's no escaping the other guy, is there? As he moved closer to me I kind of shuffled backwards, but soon felt myself on the edge. Billy-Joe reached out and put one arm around my shoulders, then I felt his legs kind of wrapping around mine and somehow one of them got in-between mine, and he pushed his thigh upwards so that it was pressing into my ass. With his other hand he reached down and casually took hold of my dick.

"Hey, Steve, this is cosy, isn't it? You can't imagine how many times I wanted to do this when we were roomies... Now..."

He carried on stroking my dick and fondling my balls, and in spite of myself I was erect. Billy-Joe moved his head towards mine, and went to kiss me. At the same time his fingers left my dick and started to grope towards my hole. I couldn't bear the thought of him pushing his tongue into my mouth and his dick up my ass... I lay, trying to take no part in it as he made these move on me, and suddenly I snapped.

In an instant I was on him - straddling his belly, and pressing my hands on his shoulders to hold him down. "Listen, you fucker", I snarled. "Enough is enough! I think you tricked me into this slavery thing so you could take my ass. You've had me stripped in public, collared, branded, 'skinned, fucked... I've had to work away on this fucking estate, and now you've got me acting like your fucking pony! Well enough is enough, Billy-Joe. No more, OK? You carry out our agreement, and you free me... We'll go to the lawyers tomorrow..."

"Oh Steve, when you're angry, you're even more fucking desirable... No way am I going to let such a lovely piece of manflesh get away from me! I love watching your body work, love to see the play in your muscles as you jog along in the rickshaw. And having you in my bed like this..."

He reached up with his hands and grabbed hold of my nips and started to play with them. My erect dick felt as if it was about to explode. Somehow having him pinioned under me and being teased like this was doing something to me. But it wasn't right, was it? I've told you I'm not a fag, and I shouldn't be getting enjoyment from this. I only fucked the other slaves as I needed sexual relief, and something to do in the long nights in the slave dorms - no way was I going to get turned on to all of this.

"Billy-Joe, stop that, you bastard. Swear you'll free me tomorrow..."

"Hey, Steve... You like this, don't you.... Is that pre-cum I see drooling out of that dick of yours over my chest? Is this how you fuck the slaves, Steve? I know you do, as Straughan reports to me on your antics in the dorms. You get really turned on by their lovely hard muscled bodies, then you start to play with them, then you start to fuck them...."

I was so angry now that there was a kind of red mist forming in front of my eyes, and I was in a total rage. But Billy-Joe didn't stop. He went on "So the big cocksman at college, who was always chasing pussy and screwing away, the football captain who worked his way through the entire cheer leaders troupe... So now he likes proper sex, loves fucking man ass. So you've learned one thing at least as a slave, Steve - you're disrespectful to your owner, but you've discovered sex at last...."

That did it. Reminding me that I used to be the captain, and that I was now his slave, pushed me over the edge. I threw my leg off him, flipped him over onto his belly, hooked my arm around him at his waist, and hauled his ass into the air. He started to protest now, to make feeble efforts to stop me, but although at one time he might have been able to, now he was flabby with rich living, and I was hard and toned from my life of unrelenting work. He started to shout, calling for help, so with my other hand I slapped his butt hard, several times, and he lost the ability to form words as he cried out in shock instead. It was easy to get at his ass as his butt offered little resistance, and I threw myself around so I was kneeling between his legs.

"Now, Billy-Joe, this is what it feels like to be force fucked by your buddy..."

His shouts had subsided to kind of choking sobs now, and I used my other hand to position my dick at his pucker. I was absolutely leaking pre-cum everywhere, and I did at least take a moment to wipe my dick up and down over him a bit - I was in such an intensity of frenzy that there was no way I was going through all that stretching stuff. Then I thrust forward, hard, no, very hard, and forced my way in to him. He gave a shout as I overcame his pathetic efforts to clench tight and stop me. And then, as you all probably know, once you're in there's that magic feeling of the guy's ass gripping you, and you know that there's nothing he can do about it - he's skewered on your dick, your body is on top of his, and there's no way he's going to get free - and the inevitable need to complete the job, to take him utterly, to totally fuck him, takes over. I thrust and thrust, not caring about Billy-Joe at all, only wanting to feel the power of my dick as it mastered him. I was in some sort of far off place, where the only thing that mattered was the feel of my muscles as I powered in and out of him, and the incredible sensation coming to me from my dick: this was all that mattered, this is what a man did, this is what I was for.

Somewhere in the back of my brain something else was telling me that this was wrong - but how could something that was so much a part of being a man be wrong? A man is meant to take charge, to dominate and control, to utterly vanquish his enemies, isn't he? So I quashed the thought and carried on fucking him. But another thought now came into view, and this one wouldn't disappear - it was the one that said "now you're in big trouble! What's he going to do to you when this is over?"

I should have stopped, should have been really scared about the consequences, but it's not like that, is it?

When you're utterly fulfilling yourself as a man, and your most primitive urges are in control, you just don't care. I was approaching my climax now, and there was nothing going to stop me. I felt it coming, felt the new sensations as my balls readied - and then it was me who was giving a great shout as my head went back, and my body bent into an arch as if it was trying to get the last millimetre of my dick into his ass. I felt waves of power going through my whole body, and I kind of shuddered as my seed pumped up into him.

And then it was over. I pulled my arm away from under him and let him collapse flat on to the bed under me, and my body fell forward to lie on top of him. He seemed to be sobbing, crying... But his head was half buried in the bed. Now the reality struck home to me - I was in big trouble! They kept talking about losing your nuts, and I knew he had the power to order that doctor to castrate me; oh, sweet Jesus, was I going to have to spend the rest of my life as a eunuch? As all this went through my brain I knew my dick had shrivelled up instantly, and I pulled out of Billy-Joe and kind of crouched there. The smell of his shit came up to me, and I almost choked. I got off the bed and went into the bathroom and washed my dick, then came back.

Billy-Joe was still lying there, motionless, head buried in the mattress.

"Billy-Joe, look, I'm sorry... I didn't mean to.... But when you started to play with my nips... Look, Billy-Joe.... Please...."

"Get out, Steve! Get out!"

I backed away, and wondered what to do. I went back into his living room, leaving him there, and just stood. Then the door opened and Charlie and Coon came in - I suppose Billy-Joe had telephoned or something. They led me out, and back towards the slave quarters.

"Man, you don't look as if you've been fucked...", Charlie started.

"No! It's me that did the fucking... I'm in big trouble...."

At once Charlie and Coon pressed their fingers to their lips indicating "say no more". They led me down into the dorm area, then went along looking into the dorm rooms. Charlie then unlocked one of them, and called out and a big slave came into the corridor. He led us back into the general area, then, looking nervously around, whispered "Steve, never say a word about what went on in there. Not to us, not to anyone. Meet Randy - he was Grunt's predecessor as master Billy-Joe's valet and personal servant."

I'd never seen this slave before, as he was one of the indoor servants, but he looked a nice enough guy - about the same age as me, well built, black. I think I recognised him, vaguely, from seeing him when I'd been here on my social visits."

"Show him, Randy", Coon whispered, and the guy dropped his shorts. He turned to face me, and lifted his dick up - and there was nothing there! He had no balls. Charlie gestured, and I bent down and took a closer look - there, running down from the base of his dick towards his asshole was just a scar, well, more of a dark line on the skin, really.

"Now", Charlie went on, his voice even lower. ".. Randy used to be master Billy-Joe's servant. He performed certain services, shall we say, for his master. It was all fine, until one day he told one of the other slaves about it. And master Billy-Joe happened to overhear. The slave who had been told was at once sold to the mines, where you never hear of guys again. And Randy was taken straight to the doctor and gelded, and muted."

"Muted...?"

"Yes. They had his vocal chords cut, as well as his balls taken off, so that he could never speak of it again. That's right, isn't it, Randy?"

The slave nodded at Charlie.

"He's kept around here as a reminder of the punishments that can be handed out. So take care, Steve."

"Look", he went on, "I think master Billy-Joe likes being fucked, and that's OK providing it's only him and the slave know about it. But if anyone else finds out, then it's a big problem - masters are meant to be in charge, to be on top. They do the fucking. They don't get slaves to take their asses. So if anything happened in there tonight, don't tell anyone. Don't tell me, don't tell Coon... You put us in danger too, understand?"

I nodded, silently. And, actually, I began to get a bit more cheerful - if this had happened before, and if Billy-Joe liked being fucked, then perhaps he wouldn't have me castrated for what I'd done. Nevertheless, I didn't sleep well that night, and several times I woke up in a panic sweat, as I dreamt I felt the gelding sheers approaching me.

The next morning, Sunday, I was outside as usual, slightly cold. The estate limousine came and parked behind me, and soon Billy-Joe and his father came out, both immaculate in pearl-grey suits, shining leather shoes, gleaming white shirts, and expensive silk ties.

Billy-Joe helped his father into the limousine, and it swept off. He then came up to me, and I wondered if I should say anything - but Billy-Joe just said "Off to church, Steve! Have to be seen to be doing our duty to preserve standards, don't we? It's a load of rubbish, of course, but it does what it always has - helps to keep the poor folk subdued by promising them a better life in ju-ju land above the clouds, rather than becoming envious of us rich and powerful here on earth. It's really amazing how the Christian myth has worked so well over the centuries."

Without another word he got into the seat, and issued me instructions to head towards the gate of the estate towards the town. I kind of assumed that when we got there the limo would be waiting and Billy-Joe would go on with his father, but, no, as we approached there seemed to be no sign of it. Billy-Joe did however command me to stop, and then got out of the seat and came up to me.

He pulled something out of his pocket, and there was something cold around my wrist. I looked down and saw he'd slipped a handcuff on me, the other end of which was attached to the shaft. He trotted around and did the same to my other wrist, saying "Sorry, old boy, but you know how sensitive the Colonel is about slaves leaving the estate - he insists they're properly restrained. So if I want to take you to church, I've got to attach you to the rickshaw like this. It's not that I don't trust you myself - why would you run away when I'm going to give you your freedom anyway? But the Colonel's rules are the Colonel's rules."

He hauled himself back into the seat, and gave me the order to jog on, and I left the estate for the first time in weeks. It felt odd jogging down the county road, and the occasional auto that passed us clearly thought so, too, as some of them almost swerved off the road in surprise. And I could see faces peering out of the back windows, as they strained to get another look at me. I hated being attached to the rickshaw, too - although I hadn't found pulling it so bad, now I felt as if I was somehow "part of it" - what little freedom I had left had been taken away, as Billy-Joe had successively converted me from a free man, to a slave, to part of his carriage.

As I jogged down the main street it was even worse - the passers by, who were themselves mainly heading to church on foot, were staring in amazement and pointing to me. And when Billy-Joe stopped outside the church then casually used a short length of chain and a padlock to hold the rickshaw (and hence me!) to a sapling in the grounds, a small crowd soon gathered. Look, in this rural backwater slaves were common - most families had one, I suppose. But they were almost all blacks, or Hispanics, and they all did "real work" - cleaning, yard work, cooking, that kind of stuff domestically; or they worked in gangs in construction, or road cleaning, or whatever, for the municipality. Billy-Joe was probably the first person to publicly display a slave in this way - a pure-bred white, being used for something utterly useless, and something so totally humiliating. It was a display of wealth, power, and sheer arrogance, that most of the townsfolk couldn't match (and probably wouldn't want to).

I just had to stand there whilst the service went on, unable to move away from where the rickshaw was tethered. Thankfully the sapling provided me with a bit of shade, but the flies were a real problem - without the free use of my hands there was just no way I could brush them away from me. And the news had spread - all those who weren't in church seemed to find some reason to pas it that morning, and I could hear little kids asking their parents why a man like me was standing there like that.

Straughan rode up on one of the estate's magnificent horses just as the service was ending, and when Billy-Joe emerged he tipped his cap politely to him. He asked Billy-Joe if I was performing well, and was told that I was, and that Billy-Joe was pleased with the whole idea, and that Straughan was to be thanked for thinking of it.

"Can I ride back with you, sir?" Straughan then asked, "As I'd like to assess the slave's performance personally."

"Certainly, Straughan. There's room on the seat for two. Tether that horse to the back of the rickshaw, then release the chain holding us here, please."

As he said this, Billy-Joe heaved himself into the seat, and a moment later Straughan was undoing the chain connecting us to the sapling, and joined him. Actually, on the level, smooth roads in the town it wasn't so much of a problem pulling them both - Straughan can't have weighed more than 140 pounds - and it was almost as easy as coming in. But the estate was on a small hill, basically - not so much that you noticed normally, but enough when you started to move loads around: those of us who pulled the carts were well aware of whether they were going "uphill" or "down hill" as even a slight slope makes a difference with a heavy load. The same was true making our way back home - You'd hardly notice it normally, but pulling the rickshaw with the combined weights of the two men was actually quite hard. I kind of remembered something from High School maths about the effort required to pull something along an inclined plane being the same as raising the stuff the vertical distance anyway, and I was therefore in effect lifting Billy-Joe and Straughan. I'd started out at quite a fast jog, but I'd slowed down as it got tougher and tougher, as my lungs were beginning to strain, my heart pound, and my legs had to really work to take up the load.

"Get a move on, slave", Straughan called. "I want to see you maintain a good, even pace. A proper rickshaw slave moves his master around evenly, and doesn't vary the pace to suit himself!"

I tried, and put a huge effort in, and managed to maintain it for another ten minutes or so before I began to slow down again.

"I warned you, slave", Straughan shouted, "And I don't give orders twice!"

"Please, sir", I managed to gasp, "It's the hill - I am working as hard as I can..."

I heard Straughan say something to Billy-Joe, and his reply: it sounded as if they were in agreement about something. Then there was a sharp "crack" and pain exploded across my shoulders - Straughan had lashed out at me with his tawse! I leapt forward, almost as if by reflex, and the whip hit me again, and again.

For the rest of the journey every time I showed any signs of flagging or slowing , the tawse cracked out and as it stung and smarted on my shoulders, back, and thighs, I did find, from somewhere, the additional bit of energy to speed up, and make it stop.

When we got back to the house Billy-Joe and Straughan got down and came to look at me. Straughan ran his fingers lightly over my aching shoulder and down my smarting back, as I stood there, my whole body heaving as I desperately sucked in air and tried to calm my pounding heart. I was covered in sweat, and huge drops of it were falling off my brow onto my nose. My shorts were absolutely saturated, too, and felt all cold and clammy against me.

"See", Straughan said to Billy-Joe. "No permanent damage - I haven't broken the skin. But did you see how that little touch of pain caused him to react? A slave may genuinely think he's working as hard as he can, may truly believe he's doing all that he can to please his owner. But the body betrays him - it tries to keep something in reserve, tries to hold back some part of his effort in case an emergency arises. A little 'encouragement', pain applied scientifically and properly, can release that additional effort, can get the slave to give you that extra ten to fifteen percent of his energy that you need for proper performance."

"Yes, I saw that", Billy-Joe responded enthusiastically. "It's rather like when I slip the gear box from 'normal' to 'sports' mode - there's a big kick in performance. I never thought that slaves would react in the same way. I must say, Straughan, you've taught me something about the management and control of slaves that I really didn't know. Thank you."

"It's a pleasure, sir. I hope you will take it to heart, though - it's not good for discipline if the other slaves see this one taking it easy. You let him jog too slowly around the estate, and it would be an enormous help to me if in future you made him really run - he's a big, strong slave, with long legs and hard muscles - this jogging is too easy, and a proper, racing run would show all the other slaves that you, too, expect hard work from everyone here. And, you know, it's good for him."

"How so, Straughan?"

"It will tire him, and tax him. A slave who's properly tired at night doesn't cause mischief in the slave dorms, and this one has been a bit too vigorous recently in fucking the other slaves: if you worked him harder during the day, it would wear him out and give the other slaves a little more chance to rest. And, you know, a big buck like this one need stretching, he needs to keep his body in the absolute peak of condition - aren't you studding him?"

"Yes, I have, and I've been thinking of doing it again - the Colonel's keeping me a bit short of money, you know."

"Well then, you want him in peak physical condition to attract the best stud fees, don't you? Owners planning to breed from him want to see a well muscled, hung, stud, so that they can see what they're breeding into their flocks. Yes, from every point of view, it would be sensible to work him very hard, and the only real way of doing that is to get him to give that extra effort, all the time."

"You mean whip him constantly?"

"Basically, yes, when he's between the shafts of your rickshaw. It creates more of a spectacle, too, doesn't it? When you drive him into town the crack of the whip will show all the ordinary folk that you not only have a prize possession - a white buck - but that you understand how to treat him properly, how to really manage a slave like that. Your reputation will be enhanced, no doubt of it."

"Thank you, Straughan. I'll think on about what you've said. I can certainly see that he's worked hard this morning - look at his shorts: wringing wet!

Anyway, it's almost lunch time, and you know how the Colonel hates to be kept waiting after church. So I'd best go in...."

The two men mounted the long white steps, leaving me there, completely exhausted and worn out. I just couldn't help myself - I sank to the ground, totally exhausted. Billy-Joe hadn't even had the sense to release my hands from the cuffs, and so I had to sit there in the dirt with my arms almost above my head. I was desperate for something to drink, too - the hot morning and the sweat had left me with a raging thirst, but he didn't even seem to think about that.

Fortunately some of my fellow outdoor slaves, gardeners, came past and they had a can from which they were watering the ornamental flowers that lines the steps. Seeing me sitting there they looked around nervously to make sure they weren't being observed and came over and offered me the spout of the can. I sucked the water in desperately - man, it was good. You don't know just how good cool, fresh water can be until you're parched and overheated. They commiserated with me having to sit there chained to the rickshaw - at least working as gardeners they had some element of freedom left to them - they could walk around! They had to leave me soon, though, as I knew that if they were late for their next assignment they'd be punished.

There was nothing for me to do but sit there, and after a bit when I was recovered I thought about moving off into the shade - if I kept a careful eye on the front door, it seemed to me I could be back at the foot of the steps if Billy-Joe came out. So I struggled to my feet, and moved off under one of the huge limes that lined the drive. Another problem now caught me, though - after drinking all that water, I desperately needed to piss! You know how it is - once you've thought about it the pressure starts to build, and all you can think about is the pain in your bladder; you become obsessed with the need to get your dick out and start pissing. And I couldn't do that - cuffed to the rickshaw, I was stuck. It got worse and worse. If there had been any other slaves about I would have called out to them and asked them to slip my shorts down, I was so desperate. But they all seemed to have moved off to other jobs, and finally, I could stand it no more. I just had to piss as I stood there, feeling my hot urine soak my shorts then start to run down the inside of my thighs and over my knees and calves. I felt utterly humiliated - I hadn't pissed in my pants since I was a tiny kid - and I hated the feeling of the warm piss running over me and forming a pool by my feet before it soaked into the ground.

When it was over I moved away to the next tree, hoping to get rid of the piss off my legs by shaking them as I moved, and getting away from the pool of stuff where I had been standing. But what about my shorts? They'd been saturated with my sweat when we got back from town, so they couldn't be wetter, but I started to worry that my piss would have left a big yellowing patch on the front: you know how it is, if you wear white undershorts, the natural leakage always leaves faint yellow stains? Well, would my slave shorts now be very yellow, I wondered?

When Billy-Joe did come out I almost missed him, and had to run over to him as he came down the steps. "So, Steve", he called out cheerily, "Had a good rest?

I tell you, you're jolly lucky not to have to eat Sunday lunch with the Colonel. He gave me a good talking-to again about my career prospects and everything! And you could just relax out here, enjoying the fresh air under the shade of the trees - yes, I saw you... But don't worry, as long as it's just you and me, that's OK. But, you know, if Straughan had been here.... For your own good, you might want to think about just waiting patiently."

"Still", he went on, not at all interested to even think that I might have something to say, "The Colonel seems to have relented a bit. He's agreed to pay off the bank, provided I sell the Jaguar and spend more time down here. That will be a relief, I tell you - I was getting worried that they might start to complain about missing payments and so on. But now the Colonel's paying them off, I'll be happier - giving up the Jaguar will be tough, but I suppose it's worth it."

"Billy-Joe.... Master.... If the bank loan is paid off, you'll not be using me for the collateral. And I'm sure Chantelle isn't still after me.... Couldn't you let me go free now, as you said you would? Remember, the 'voluntary enslavement' was only until Chantelle went away...."

"Hey, Steve, don't you like it here? It's better for you working away with your body, you know, rather than being stuck in that office. And Straughan has told me you get lots and lots of sex in the slave dorms. A lot of guys would pay big money for that, you know - the chance to work out all the time, keep a properly buffed body, and have as much sex as they wanted.... So quit complaining ,eh, buddy? Don't you think I'm looking after your interests properly?"

"But Billy-Joe, I just want to go back to being a regular guy. I don't..."

"Steve, stop it! I've told you before to stop being so fucking selfish - all this 'I want' and 'I don't'... Think about me for a minute, will you? If I'm going to be stuck down here for most of the summer then I'm going to need to go out, visit the neighbours, go into town... All that sort of stuff. And you've shown me you're really good at pulling this rickshaw - how would I get about without you? You know I don't like horseback! Now, if you really are my buddy, as you used to be, you'd think about that and would stop whining. I tell you what - I'll think about it when Autumn comes, or if the Colonel lets me go back to the city a whole lot more. Now.... Jog on...."

"No!", he continued. "Remember what Straughan said about setting a good example to the rest of the slaves... RUN on!"

To my astonishment, before I'd even had time to really make a move and get under way, the tawse came down and hit my shoulders, and I started forward.

"Billy-Joe, what the fuck....?"

The tawse fell again, now in the small of my back.

"Steve, I don't like to have to keep telling you this, but you need to keep a civil tongue in your head. 'Master' is what you call me, OK? And I don't think it's right you should be trying to talk whilst you're running - I'd like all the effort to go into pulling me, please. So shut the fuck up, and just get a move on, will you - I've had a call from the Hendersons who saw you in town this morning, and they've offered me a very respectable fee to stud you - as the Colonel's keeping me short, I need a bit of extra cash for life's little luxuries. Now, run on!"

End Of Part 15

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

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

HOT WEATHER

Billy-Joe did have some sense that afternoon, though. I ran hard away from the house, and of course it's mostly down hill, and he only used the light lash occasionally on my shoulders to keep me going. But once we pulled out of the gates and were presumably no longer concerned about Straughan, he allowed me to slow to a reasonable jog. As he explained, "I don't want you totally exhausted when we get to the Hendersons - they want a good show out of you as a stud, Steve!"

I was going to argue with him, tell him that he shouldn't subject me to this humiliation, but what was the point? I was cuffed into the shafts, and he had the lash ready and waiting.

When we arrived Billy-Joe was greeted by the owner of the place, and I was led around to the back by one of the slaves. I stood there in the yard, and was brought fresh water to drink, and I really needed it. I was almost panicking about my shorts now, as surely someone would notice the piss stains on them.

They didn't use a blindfold here, evidently, as when I'd finished drinking the slave pulled a loose hood over my head - it was an easy fit, so that my breathing wasn't restrained or anything, but I couldn't see - it almost fell down on to my shoulders.

I stood there, cut-off from the outside world, then I heard Billy-Joe and someone else come up.

"Excellent", I heard the second person say. "I was really impressed when I spotted him from the church steps this morning, Billy-Joe, but close-up he's even more spectacular. Where did you get him?"

"Oh, the slave auction, in the usual way." Liar, I thought.

"The Colonel must be doing pretty well then to let you have a slave like this - I certainly couldn't afford stock like this with the agricultural prices so low. All we have here are blacks and Hispanics. And I've even thought of buying in some Indians or Asians to cut costs further - there's so many of them that the prices are really low, and even though they're not big like this guy here, I'm told their little wiry bodies can be lashed hard to make sure they do an acceptable day's work."

"Oh, I don't know", Billy-Joe responded. "I understand little of these business matters it - we leave all that sort of stuff to Straughan."

"Yes, and that's a mystery, too - I don't know how you afford an overseer, either. The Colonel's place and this one are about the same size, but I certainly couldn't afford to employ a free man to manage it for me. I suppose that, as a professional, Straughan can probably squeeze a few extra percent out of the place, but hardly enough to compensate for his own costs. I guess the Colonel must almost be subsidising the operation from his private fortune...?"

"Don't know, sorry! The Colonel never talks about money, as he says it's un-gentlemanly. But we've always run the place this way, for as long as I can remember. Now, shall we get on with it....?"

"Sure. But although he's magnificent to look at, isn't he a bit... well, 'high'? You know, some of the ladies might want to come and watch, and this slave's a bit rank...."

"Oh it's the sweat! He's been running a lot today. But you can have one of your slaves clean him up if you want to..."

"No, perhaps not.... My wife's been giving me a hard time lately, and perhaps if all these male pheromones drift through the air towards her, she'll get a little roused...."

The two men laughed, and I felt Billy-Joe snap open the cuffs holding my wrists to the shafts. But it was only a momentary freedom - I had to put them behind me, and they were cuffed together.

I didn't know who it was who pulled my shorts off then - Billy-Joe, Mr Henderson, or another slave, but they fell to the ground, wet and clammy, and I was standing there blindfolded, helpless and naked. A hand grabbed my dick, really roughly, and reached around and caressed my balls. "He really is amazing, Billy-Joe", I heard Henderson say. "If I could breed tackle like this into my slaves I could sell them for a fortune into the brothels!"

Look, I know it's good to be well hung, and I know that having other guys look at you in the showers and being envious of you when they see your dick makes you feel good, but when it goes beyond this, and there's someone actually feeling your dick and talking about using you as a slave in a brothel, then it's gone too far. I felt utterly wretched, and it wasn't helped by the thought that I was going to have to fuck some woman whilst a whole lot of others watched: can a man really sink lower than this, than to be used in this way? But what could I do? Any protest, any rebellion, and the cattle prods would be out at my naked body, I knew.

It must have been Henderson who put his arm around my shoulders to guide me to the studding room - Billy-Joe wouldn't have wanted to risk getting the fine silk of his shirt covered in my sweat. I flinched as the arm toughed me as my shoulders were really sensitive, and I think that Henderson must basically have been a kind guy as he said, softly, "Sorry, slave! You look really red there - I should have thought", and the pressure eased.

Well, when you've fucked one woman when blindfolded and cuffed, the second time it's easier. There was no Craig to guide me into her cunt this time, and I think it was Henderson who stroked me hard, then inserted me. I just stood there, hips bucking, forcing myself in and out. The sensation's good, of course, but now I was a bit more discriminating - after all, I'd now had a lot of asses to compare it with. I was no longer certain of something that I'd thought I'd known all my life: that fucking a woman is the greatest thing a guy ever does. It's amazing, isn't it - my mind started to wander as I fucked away: at one time I'd have been totally focussed on this, every fibre of my being feeling, sensing and completely involved in what I was doing. Now it was almost as if I was detached from it - I almost found myself floating high above the scene, and looking down at this big muscled guy standing there, his ass and thigh muscles flexing and contracting, as he pumped his seed into some slave woman, watched by a small but interested audience. I didn't even know whether the woman was a black or Hispanic - or, perhaps, even a white, like me - it was that impersonal.

I shot eventually of course, then was led back to where I started and the hood was pulled off me. A black with a hose stood there and I was allowed to wash myself, crudely, before I pulled my shorts back on - mercifully they'd fallen into a patch of dirt, so they were mud-stained as they'd been wet to start with, so I no longer had to bother about the embarrassment of the piss stain. Billy-Joe then appeared with Mr Henderson, and I saw a lot of dollar bills changing hands. He came over to me, gestured for me to get into the shafts, snapped the cuffs closed over me, and we set off home.

He was in a really good mood when we arrived back, and he didn't even make me run hard towards the house - not that I think I could have, even if he'd whipped and whipped at me. The morning's run to and from the town, then the run to the Henderson's and the "studding" had left me totally exhausted.

As he got down from the rickshaw Billy-Joe turned to me and said "You did great today, Steve" (it was so unfair - he couldn't even get his grammar right!). "I think you deserve a treat. There's football on TV tonight, so I'll have them prepare you, you can come up to my room, we'll watch it, and, who knows...."

I hated the whole enema thing, and even though I had been done several times now, it never really got any better, even though Charlie and Coon were generally very supportive. They took me along to Billy-Joe's suite, and again were left standing out in the corridor, as Billy-Joe did not let them in. He was in a loose T and boxers, as that seemed to be his usual dress when he wasn't showing off to the world, Grunt was kneeling, totally naked, holding his beer for him, and he told me to take my shorts off and sit beside him on the couch. I really hate the feeling of a leather couch on my naked back, ass and thighs, and as I sat there I said "Billy-Joe, why do you make me strip to watch a football game? Couldn't I keep my shorts on?"

"Oh come on, Steve! You don't hear Grunt complaining, do you?" As he said this, Billy-Joe reached out with his leg and casually tickled Grunt's balls, which were hanging low as he knelt by us, with his bare foot. "I've been busy all day, you know - going to church, having to have lunch with the Colonel, all that crap... And I deserve a bit of pleasure. All I see most of the time is your back and your legs, you know - and I do enjoy seeing your dick! After you kept it hidden from me for all those years I feel you owe it to me now - and you've got nothing to be ashamed of, have you?"

So saying, he reached over and casually grabbed my dick, just as if he owned it (well, I suppose, in a way, he did!). He started to stroke me, and said "You're so much better 'skinned, Steve. Look, I can play with your flange without any effort..." He casually pinched the heavy rim of my dick head between his thumb and forefinger, and I let out a little yelp as it was so unexpected. His other arm went around my shoulders, and he started to squeeze my muscles there, which were very sore due to his constant use of the tawse - and I almost leapt out of the couch when he raked his finger nails across my sensitive skin: you know how it is when you've had a beating, or even just got bad sunburn - anything sharp on your skin, and you really feel it.

"Oh stop complaining, will you? I'm only playing!", he went on, completely oblivious to my discomfort and the humiliation he was causing me.

His hands now moved up to my nips, and he was idly rolling my teats between his thumb and forefinger. My nips at once went stiff and hard, and he looked closely at me, grinned, and commented "You like this, too, don't you Steve? Look... As I play with you, your dick's getting hard...." And it was, too. All the time he was continuing to squeeze and scrape my shoulders, which are quite sensitive anyway, aren't they? Actually, for me they're a bit of an erogenous zone: if a guy bites my shoulder muscles, it's a real turn on (although I didn't know this at the time), so I suppose his gentle abuse of me there was doing something to me too.

"Now, Steve, seeing you fucking away this afternoon quite turned me on to your ass. Watching your butt thrusting in and out made me really horny - and you don't like sitting here naked, so you? So kneel down on the floor, put your shoulders down, and get your ass in the air so we can really play...."

I thought about disobeying him, but I knew that Charlie and Coon were outside and that it would be easy for him to call them in and force me to do it. I knelt there, and the next moment Billy-Joe was kneeling beside me, and I felt the palm of his hand stroking my butt. He carried on, almost crooning at me in pleasure, then his finger slipped down the crack on my butt and played around idly for a moment or two, before starting on down again to reach my hole.

"You're ready for it, aren't you, Steve? I can feel your pucker contracting as I touch it...." And it was. I tried to clench my butt tight, but his finger was in there, probing away. "Do you want me to fuck you, Steve, or shall I have Grunt do it? Or perhaps it might be more amusing to have those two black guards come in and have one take your ass, and the other rape your throat? Yes, that might be more of a spectacle. Or perhaps I'll have one of them ride you, and the other ride Grunt, and we'll see who finishes first! Yes - that would be different..."

He snapped "Grunt - down on the floor, and kneel next to Steve. Get your ass in the air like his..."

The boy obeyed, and his shoulder pressed close to mine. I looked across and he was looking at me, but his eyes seemed somehow vacant and expressionless.

"Yes", Billy-Joe went on, "Two blacks fucking you two - it's better than watching the football."

He flicked the TV off, and as I kept my face pressed down into the rug, I saw Billy-Joe's boxers fall to the floor. He knelt between my legs, and went on "But before that, I think you need your owner's dick again, Steve. The blacks can finish you off, as they did before..."

I felt his fat fingers prising my butt apart, and then that tingling sensation from my pucker as his dick head touched it. And then I got that same sensation as I had had before - that rage, that all-consuming anger that I was about to be used just like some animal for his pleasure. It's one thing to be made to fuck a woman in front of an audience, but, somehow, being made to take dick was utterly wrong. Before he could do anything, I'd reared up onto my knees and swivelled around to face him. I saw his look of complete bewilderment as I pushed him down, onto his back, and then, as my anger and fury and excitement built, I picked up his feet, forced his legs apart, shuffled forward and stabbed my dick at him.

Grunt was watching all this with a kind of fascinated horror. I suppose he though that Billy-Joe would call out for help, and then he'd better do something. But instead I ordered him to bend down and position my dick for me - when you've got a guy's legs opened like that, you need him to guide you into him, don't you, as your hands are full? And whilst Billy-Joe was not crying out for me to stop, he wasn't exactly co-operating either.

Grunt did as I told him, and I felt his wiry fingers grab my shaft and move my dick head around a bit. I got that exquisite sensation you do when your dick touches a warm pucker, and the moment I felt it, my whole body jerked forward, pushing me into him.

Well, I don't need to tell you the rest, do I? I fucked Billy-Joe hard again, and without a whole load of lube it wasn't all that pleasant, either for me, or, I guess for him. But he didn't cry out or call Charlie and Coon in, so I guessed he must be savouring the experience.

When I'd shot I fell forward onto his body, although it made me feel slightly nauseous to know that it could have been like mine, hard and lean, rather than fat and flabby. My head was right on top of his, and I kept my legs locked around his. "The only ass that's going to get fucked around here, Billy-Joe, is yours!", I said defiantly. "I told you, I don't take dick. But you do, don't you? The reason you were turned on this afternoon was that you saw my dick going into that cunt, saw my butt muscles fucking away, and you thought how it would be if it was my dick fucking you, your ass. I'm right, aren't I?"

He just looked away, saying nothing, so I reached down and gave his balls a good hard squeeze. "Answer me, fucker, if you don't want more of that..."

"Get out of here, Steve. Get fucking out of here, before I lose my temper.... Do you want me to call Straughan and have you locked up and carted off to the doctor tomorrow...?"

His threat struck home, and I let go of him, climbed off him, and with as much dignity as I could, given that my dick was covered in his shit, walked to the door. As I went out I saw him lumber up onto poor Grunt, who was still kneeling there, and I knew he was now, in turn, going to fuck the ass off the poor lad.

Charlie and Coon just really didn't want to know. I remembered what they'd said, and didn't say anything - it was a bit like being in the US forces, I suppose -"Don't ask, don't tell" - but they knew what had happened as the smell of Billy-Joe's shit from my dick was really strong, and, of course, if Billy-Joe had made me fuck Grunt, it would have been perfectly clean as, like all indoor servants, daily enemas before duty were compulsory.

The next day Billy-Joe said nothing as he mounted the rickshaw, but the moment we started off the tawse started to fall all over my shoulders, back, and thighs. It was as if he couldn't punish me the previous night for fucking him, and so was taking his revenge now, in a way that was appropriate for a "gentleman" to treat a slave: a "gentleman" owner couldn't punish a slave for fucking him, as he ought to have controlled the slave properly, but certainly could do so for some small failure to perform his normal duties properly. By the time we got back at lunchtime, therefore, I was bright red all over my back, and was extremely sore.

His behaviour continued for most of the afternoon, except that he was half drunk after his lunch, and so his strokes did not hit with the force that they had previously. And then that evening, he pretended to prepare to fuck me, and goaded me until I snapped and gave him a good seeing to.

This pattern of destructive behaviour continued all week - his constant beating of me as I dragged him along got steadily more prolonged and more severe. My fucking of him at night got harder and stronger. I don't know what would have happened had he not suddenly left and gone back to the city for a few days - my life could then return to relative "normality", as Straughan returned me to the farm cart and I could at least then work hard, without being subject to this capricious and continuous punishment. Mind you, I found that I couldn't fuck my fellow slaves at night - my forcible taking of Billy-Joe and my subsequent "punishment" seemed to have almost conditioned me to not want to fuck guys, and in spite of a lot of the other slaves almost throwing themselves at me, I contented myself with masturbating myself to sleep every night.

When Billy-Joe did return I was once again ordered by Straughan to wait at the front steps of the mansion in case Billy-Joe wanted to go anywhere. I stood there in the cool air of the morning - far too early, as the lazy fucker never emerged until at least 10:30, and I was there by 07:30, and jogged up and down on the spot for a bit to get warm: even on summer days it can start off cold, can't it, especially when you've only got a pair of thin cotton slave shorts on?

He came bounding down the steps at last, and tossed a package at me - one of those expensively gift-wrapped packages that the big city stores do for birthdays and so no. "Here, Steve, this is for you - something that's really going to make life better for you."

He watched as I held the thing in amazement - I wasn't used to getting presents wrapped like this even in my "real" life, and I'd never got anything at all since I'd become his slave.

"Open it up!", he said, and as I started to pull open the ribbons he continued "In the current issue of 'You And Your Slaves' there was a really good article about the problems you guys face in the hot weather. All that sweat, and with our humidity down here it doesn't really evaporate, and it makes your shorts all wet and damp. I've seen that on you, Steve, when we've come back from even a short run. The author of the article asked us owners if we were really doing the right things by our slaves - it can't be at all pleasant to run with that damp fabric clinging to you, and there's always the potential problem of chafing and soreness. It really made me think, I can tell you, and I'm sorry if I've inadvertently caused you problems in the past. But this should fix it - I'm really glad to be doing the right thing for my old buddy - you're more than just an ordinary slave to me, you know that, don't you, Steve? And I want to make life as good as I can for you here on the estate."

My hands had now got the box open, and I tore aside the layers of thin white tissue paper. Inside was a scrap of silk, and some string. I pulled the thing out and saw that the silk, which was white, was roughly triangular, and the string was in fact very thin straps of silk, attached to each corner. I just looked at it.

"Well, go on!", Billy-Joe said eagerly. "Come on, I want to see you in your new summer clothes. I had to go to a lot of trouble to get his for you, make a special trip to the slave department of the store. You might at least look pleased."

"Sorry, Bil... Master. What the fuck is it?"

"It's a thong, Steve. Sometimes known as a posing pouch. You'll be much cooler in that as there won't be a lot of fabric clinging to your thighs and butt, so the sweat will be able to run away. Now, just slip out of your shorts and put it on, will you, and let's go for a run and see how you get on."

What was I supposed to do? I could hardly disobey a direct order, could I? So I dropped my shorts and kind of held he triangle in front of me.

"The longer edge goes on top, Steve... Put the strings under your pubic bone, take them around the back and tie them above your butt, so that it doesn't slip down." I did as I was told, feeling the thin silk straps gently pressing into the flesh at my sides. One string was longer than the other, so when I went to tie it I found I could do so with a bow, on my left side. My dick and balls hung there, with the thin silk flapping on top of them.

"Are you stupid, or something?", Billy-Joe went on. "Isn't it obvious what you do next? Take the bottom string down under your dick and balls, make sure they're tucked in nice and snug, then bring the string up your butt crack and tie it at the back to the waist string."

Again, I did as I was told, feeling the thin silk scrape over my pucker as I pulled the string tight. I felt completely ridiculous. In spite of having my pubes cropped and mostly shaved off, the tiny triangle was so small that wisps of my hair protruded above the top. And the silk was so thin that the outline of my dick and balls were clearly visible - looking down I could even make out the thick flange around my dick head.

"Good! Wow, Steve, that really suits you. It really helps define your body. And I'm sure it will be easier for you, as 'You And Your Slaves' says. There's only one problem, and we'll soon fix that - I really don't like to see the change of colour all over your body - that dark tan all over your chest and legs, then the white band around your butt: I'll have to get Straughan to do something about that next week.

Now...."

He came up to the rickshaw and kicked the empty box, which I'd dropped in surprise, away, along with my shorts. Then he reached down and snapped the cuffs closed over my wrists. "That's another thing, Steve.... 'You And Your Slaves' made me think that I've not been treating you right about this, either. It says that slaves like consistency, to know where they really stand with their owners. And if sometimes I leave your hands free, and sometimes have you cuffed, then you don't really know where you are. So as I have to have you cuffed sometimes, when we leave the estate, it will be better if I have you cuffed all the time."

Well, what was I supposed to say? "Thank you master for keeping me chained up like some sort of animal?" I just gritted my teeth, and said nothing.

Billy-Joe hauled himself up into the seat, and said "Jog on" to me to get me started. But no sooner than I'd gone a couple of steps he called "Whoa!" In the traditional way drivers all call to make their charges halt, and got down.

"Wait there, Steve. I bought myself a little present whilst I was in the slave supply department too, and I forgot it. It's designed to complement your new summer uniform."

That was typical of Billy-Joe, telling me to wait there. What the fuck was I supposed to do? And what had he bought himself to complement this obscene little scrap of stuff I was supposed to wear? He'd look ridiculous himself if he tried to wear this, with that great fat belly of his. I stood there, and then a good thought came to me - at least dressed like this I wouldn't have to go into the town any more, so I'd be saved that dreadful uphill pull back to the estate.

I could manage easily around the estate with its relatively gentle slopes, but that town run made me absolutely exhausted.

Billy-Joe came back down the steps, almost tripping over himself in his eagerness and excitement to get going. He told me to jog on, whilst he sat there and opened another big gift-wrapped box - who the fuck buys gifts for themselves? After a few minutes he told me to move my pace up a notch, to a fast jog, then to a trot, and a run, and finally to "gallop". It was, I suppose, interesting to hear that he now used those sort of words to describe my running - it showed what he was thinking about in his brain, I guess - that I was now no more than some sort of animal as far as he was concerned.

Look, I honestly did think I was running flat out - after all, I knew I was only going to be used around the estate that day because of the silly pouch thing. But then there was a kind of "swish" noise, and the next instant I leapt forward, as something horribly, viciously, sharp hit my butt and caused it to sting as if I'd been scalded.

"This is it, Steve - my present that perfectly complements yours", Billy-Joe was chortling. "You get a summer costume that makes it easy for you to sweat, and I get something to make you sweat; you get your butt exposed, and I can whip your butt. Do you like my new carriage whip? It's especially long, flexible and springy so that when I need to encourage you, you get a really short, sharp shock. I'm tired of wearing myself out lashing away at your back and shoulders with a tawse, and the slave store assures me that his is a much more precise means of control: no slave likes the feel of this on his butt, and I can tell that you certainly don't."

"You know", he went on, "I wish that someone had told me about this before. Not only can I control you better and get that little extra out of you, but I get two more benefits - in that little string thing, I get to see your butt properly at last. I can see how your slave brand moves as those big strong butt muscles of yours pound away: I've always wanted to see your butt in action more, and the occasional views when I'm having you studded just aren't enough. And the second benefit is that the thin end of this whip leaves a really visible mark on your butt - I can see exactly where I've struck, and with a bit of practice, I bet I'll get to the point where I can even make patterns in your skin!"

I was sweating away so much now that I couldn't even be bothered to try to shout a reply to the fucker. And I don't suppose he would have cared, anyway. I'm not sure that the one hard cut with the new whip wasn't better than the constant battering from the tawse, anyway - Billy-Joe had, as I've told you, got really bad recently as he punished me for fucking him, and I fucked him harder and harder to punish him for the way he was treating me.

There was something funny about our route, though, as instead of going on a vaguely circular tour of the estate, Billy-Joe was heading for the gate that led to the road to the town. Yes- there it was now, ahead of me. Surely we weren't going out, with me like this? But yes, we were - Billy-Joe gave me a little sting of encouragement with the whip to make sure I accelerated smoothly through the gate, and then we were on the town road.

I've told you what a sensation Billy-Joe caused when he first used me as a pony to pull him through the town in just my shorts. Some of the excitement had worn off by now as people were used to seeing me, and, indeed, some of the other younger guys, like Billy-Joe, had started to appear with rickshaws of their own: although they were always pulled by big blacks, not by whites, like me. I'm still not sure whether it was the shock of seeing a guy used as a pony that made such a stir those first few times, or the fact that Billy-Joe was using a white guy so profligately.

Well, whatever it was, it was certainly a sensation all over again as I ran down the main street. Folks literally stopped what they were doing to marvel at my muscular body, now almost totally exposed, as it pulled Billy-Joe along. I hated it. I hated the comments I could vaguely hear, I hated the way they all stared at my butt, and at my dick - the silk was drenched with sweat anyway now, and it was semi-transparent so making me very obvious to the crowds. And I hated the way Billy-Joe whistled his whip in the air to make a show, and just occasionally let it caress my butt - not hard, not like when I was running, but enough so that the eyes of everyone were drawn to it, and they could look and see the marks that were on there from his earlier efforts.

Billy-Joe stopped me outside his favourite bar - the one used by all the younger guys who fancied themselves as the "in crowd", and as usual he "tethered" the rickshaw to a convenient sapling. He sauntered indoors, and I was left there to be looked at, stared at, admired, and pitied by the passers by. On a previous occasion when I'd engaged the folks in conversation, thanking them for their compliments about my physique and so on, Billy-Joe had been furious and the kiss of the tawse had been even harder than usual on the way home. I knew better , now, and suspected he was just inside the bar listening to what was being said. So I stood there in a slave-like attitude - I couldn't clasp my hands behind my back, of course, but I spread my feet, gripped the shafts lightly, and bowed my head. I found that with my head bowed like that and making no eye contact with the passers by it was easier to avoid conversation, and somehow it made it easier to bear for me too: when I couldn't see the people who were commenting on my butt, or remarking about the size and shape of my dick.

I don't know how long I waited, as I had no clock, no watch, or anything. But Billy-Joe did eventually emerge and got back into the rickshaw. "Now, Steve, I want you to put on a bit of a show for the folks as we leave town", he told me. "I want to see you really high-stepping - we'll not go fast, but I want to see your knees coming right up to your belly. Nice, even strides, with the knee raising to the same height, OK?

I don't want to have to encourage you to do this too much, as if I use the whip too much in town people will think I'm some sort of sadist. But, remember, there will be plenty of opportunities when we're alone, so behave nicely, and give them something to look at. OK then.... 'step out'."

I did try, really I did, but it's really unnatural to half walk, half run like that. Funny ways of walking have been used by dictators through the ages to regiment and control their men, haven't they? Look at the famous Nazi "goose step" - you can tell those soldiers were properly under control. Well, Billy-Joe was doing the same to me now, using his power to control me in a new, different, way. I suppose I did it satisfactorily, as once we'd left the main street Billy-Joe told me to start running normally, and to pick up speed.

He couldn't resist using his new toy, could he? As I tried my best to run as fast as I could up that killing hill back home, the whip rose and fell frequently onto my butt. It really did sting - literally, just like that, being stung by some huge insect. And very time it hit I couldn't avoid crying out, so harsh was it. It didn't seem to matter how much I maintained the pace, how hard I even tried to increase it, Billy-Joe always wanted more. He was no longer trying for that "extra few percent" from me - he wanted it all, he wanted me to be totally and completely exhausted by my efforts, with absolutely nothing left in reserve.

One surprising thing they don't tell you about G-strings - the tiny thin silk strap running up under my ass ran straight across the middle of my pucker, and as my butt and thighs moved to drive me along, the string kind of "sawed" across it. It started to turn me on, and before I could help myself, I was getting an erection. I had to work hard to avoid being erect when wearing my shorts as I didn't want people to see my hard-on tenting them up, and I mostly managed to succeed. But the extra stimulation of my hole by the string made it totally impossible - my dick was hard and stiff, and was pulling the tiny covering right away from my body. I've never felt so fucking humiliated in my life - I mean, you have erections in front of your girl friends, and now in front of the slaves, and Billy-Joe, when I was about to fuck. But you don't do it in the street, do you? And even if you do, you try to arrange your clothes so that it's not obvious to all the other guys. Well I couldn't do any of that here - there wasn't really any "clothes" to arrange, and, even if there had been, my wrists were cuffed and I couldn't do it. So I just had to run along with the scrap of silk tenting out in front of me, and I just knew that in addition to all the sweat making it semi-transparent, there'd now be lots of pre-cum adding to it.

Actually, as well as being stimulating, the string made me sore! I now know that it's really important to have the underneath string relatively loose, otherwise it causes worse chafing than damp cotton shorts ever did. So when we finally pulled up I was in a lot of discomfort - my sore hole, and the incredible continuous smarting and burning from my butt where Billy-Joe had constantly whipped me. As luck would have it, Straughan was waiting for us, and he saw my butt, and the whip Billy-Joe was holding.

"So, sir, you've decided to take this slave in hand properly, I see. That's a fine whip - is it a Theakston & Collins, by any chance? They're the finest, you know?"

"No, Straughan, I just can't afford those fancy prices with the Colonel keeping me so short. But it is a good make, and it's really well balanced. I'd never thought that the feel of a whip could make such a difference - I like the control I have as it flies through the air, and I swear I get some tactile feedback when it hits his butt.

"Yes, sir, I always think that it's wise to invest in the best possible tools. May I try it?"

There was a lot of general swishing around in the air, and that "cracking" sound a whip makes as the tip goes very fast and changes direction. "Excellent!", Straughan said. "May I...?"

Billy-Joe must have nodded or something, as there were a few more cracks and then it hit my butt again, unbelievably sharply, and I leapt forward in the traces, and the two men chortled with amusement.

"Indeed, a fine instrument, sir", Straughan said. "Now, sir, may I suggest that you be most diligent in using it? This slave is still rather above himself generally, and he needs to understand that he's here for only one purpose - to serve you."

End Of Part 16