Date: Sat, 22 Oct 2005 00:17:12 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Dad And Me, Part 29

Dad And Me by Pete Brown    petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part 29

I woke up fresh and alert that Saturday morning as I
usually did.  I was really looking forward to seeing
how my scheme to further my "breaking" of a free man
had progressed.  But then I had the other thought,
that sick realisation that I also had to do something
with dad.  I hate it when I can't "see" what's the
right thing to do - perhaps it's because it happens to
me so  infrequently;   I mean, I never shirk from
implementing things, however unpopular they might be,
as long as I know that what I'm doing is right, which
is almost all the time.  And I'm usually so decisive
that I have no time for self doubt:  so on those rare
occasions, like this, it's a terrible blow to me as I
not only cannot act, but I can't see how to progress
things to clarify the position.

Still, I pulled on my baggy swimming shorts, and went
down to the pool area where I'd told Jeff to meet me.
The usual routine was in progress - the Mexican slave,
Juan, was making his way slowly up and down the sides
of the pool with the sweeper, and Jeff said "Why's he
naked?"

"Why not?  It's warm down here, well, at least most of
the year.  He's very easy on the eyes, don't you
think?  He's got a good tan, so he won't get
sunburned, and, anyway, as you'll see later, almost
all the slaves who work out of doors are naked as it
saves so much money on clothing."

"Oh come on, sir, just a pair of shorts...."

"Multiply that by hundreds, Jeff, as that's how many
niggas we have here.  Then add in the cost of keeping
them clean - I mean, it's easy to hose down the niggas
every night, but you'd need laundry and stuff for
shorts, if they were to be kept smart."

"But it's not right, sir..."

"Not right?"

"To make guys work naked... It's not decent...."

"Jeff, you're clearly an innocent in the world of
slaves!  Firstly, you're correct, of course, it's not
right for men to work naked.  But these are not men,
they're slaves.  It's time you realised that different
rules apply to men and slaves - think of a horse,
pulling a wagon:  you wouldn't put it in shorts, or a
T, would you?  Well, it's the same for a slave:  a
slave is just an animal, like a horse, and he has no
need of clothes for modesty or anything.  The only
time we clothe slaves around here is when they're
doing something hazardous, like.. Well, I'm not sure.
But if it was hazardous, and there was a danger that
the slave would be at risk, then they'd get some sort
of protective clothing to protect my investment.  Oh,
like, for example, when they're cutting stone - they
get protective eye goggles."

"And secondly, the slave is not actually naked.  He's
wearing a slave collar, if you look.  And that's all a
slave needs - a collar like that tells everyone else
that its wearer is a slave, and then, as I've
explained, that's sufficient."

"He's got that big tattoo on his back, sir.... A bit
like yours...."

I knew this would come up one day, and so I said
casually "Oh yes, for some of the slaves here I like
to have their names tattooed like that:  it's easy to
forget who's who, and if I'm out here and want to
order the slave, it's sometimes easier to have a name.
 Some of us kids at High School thought it was kind of
cool to pretend to be slaves - you know how kids
revolt against their parents and try to do stuff to
deliberately shock them -  well, we all went off one
day and had our names tattooed on our backs.  There
was a real row that night, I can tell you... My
parents were really pissed off...."

Jeff nodded, but I'm not sure he believed me.  "And
that tattoo on his butt?"

"That's not a tattoo!  That's a proper brand, seared
into the flesh.  It's the 'M' for Manderleigh:  didn't
you notice it's embroidered on your sheets, and the
towels, and the china at the table last night.... On
most of the objects around here?  We have all the
permanent slaves done - it makes them truly understand
that they're here for life, as branding them with an
ownership mark like that makes it much more difficult
to sell them on."

"Doesn't it hurt?"

"Oh no, provided you don't touch the branding iron as
you press it into the slave's butt...." I laughed, at
my somewhat feeble humour.

Juan looked as if he was finishing, so I said "How
many lengths?  Or do you want us to swim on until one
of us gives up?"

Jeff looked really uneasy, as he said "Twenty?  I
don't think I can do all that many... These
Speedos...."

He was tugging at them, and I smiled, inwardly, as I'd
ordered the ones he'd brought from New York to be
surreptitiously replaced with a pair two sizes
smaller.  He seemed uneasy, tugging at the waistband,
in a feeble attempt to get them higher up.  My other
plan had worked, too, as he went on "...and those
slaves, Amos and Andy.... They shaved me...."

"As I'd expect! That's what slaves do in the
mornings..."

He blushed.  "No, sir, last night.... I'd had a few
glasses of wine when I went up, as you know, and when
they came into the shower I couldn't really stop
them.... They were jabbering away to each other, and
before I knew what was happening, they were.... were
cutting away at my pubes!  I tried to stop them, but
they just treated it as if it was a joke - well, I was
a bit unclear, I suppose, with the wine, but they
didn't seem to take my 'stop' as a command...."

"Oh, well,  no harm done!   In fact, most men around
here like it.  I take it they shaved your balls, too?"

"Yes, how did you know?"

"Look, it's hot and humid down here in the summer.
Most men find it cooler and less sweaty to have their
balls shaved and their pubes trimmed a bit -  didn't
you find it easier to shower this morning?  And you
can wear smaller Speedos and stuff, in the heat, as
there's no risk of the odd pubic hair straying above
the waistband...   I expect that as you're freshly
arrived from New York the slaves just thought they
were doing their job, and you'd appreciate it."

"Well I don't..."

"Oh, come on, Jeff!  When you felt your balls this
morning, didn't they feel different, better, silkier,
nicer to the touch?"

He just looked at me, so I went on "There's another
sort of tradition around here.... You can swim naked
if you want to.  There are no ladies around...."

"No, thanks..."

"You really are inconsistent!  You say you can't race
me properly because of your Speedos, and when I
suggest the normal solution, you don't want to take
it....  What's the matter?  I've seen your dick and
your ass enough times, after all - and you were happy
enough to flaunt your dick in front of Tony and Miles,
even!  So why not strip off and really enjoy your
swim, or are you afraid I might beat you in an
endurance trial?  Is that what it is, you're scared of
being beaten, so you don't want to start, and you're
making this feeble excuse about the Speedos?"

I knew I had him, as he hated to be accused of not
doing things because he was afraid.  As I watched, he
pushed the Speedos down, and I at once saw that Amos
and Andy had done a great job:  not only did his dick
now look magnificent, lying against his bare balls,
but they'd artfully trimmed the extent of his pubes,
and its length, to really make Jeff look sexy.  Even
more than usual his body now looked like something you
see those models displaying on porn sites on the
internet.

"So lets' swim!", he said , trying to sound
nonchalant.  "Until one of us gives up!".

With that he jumped into the pool and began long, fast
strokes.  I longed to strip off and swim naked, too,
as I think there's nothing better:  it's so natural to
feel the water against your dick and balls.  But I
couldn't - he was already suspicious enough about my
tattoo, and if he saw the "M" on my butt, there's just
no simple way I could fob this off as a "schoolboy
prank to annoy my parents".

We swam on and on,  and I don't doubt that Jeff has
more strength and endurance than me -  but he just
isn't as good a swimmer, and swimming is all about
minimising the water resistance and slicing your way
cleanly through the water.  I easily kept up with him,
but with much less effort, and ultimately he had to
cry "chicken" and stop.  We sat there on the side of
the pool for a few minutes as guys do together, then
got out.  I motioned the slaves away who at once
rushed over to dry us, and Jeff and I stood there
drying ourselves.

He went to put his Speedos on then, but I said quietly
"It's private here, and you said they were
uncomfortable.  It's a lovely warm day.. Why not just
lie here and enjoy it?"

He was going to object, so I put my hand on his
shoulder and said calmly "Just lie on the lounger, and
I'll tell the slaves to bring breakfast out here -
let's enjoy the sunshine."

Jeff did as I'd "suggested" - exerting your physical
presence, even by just a hand, often has that effect,
I've found - and the slaves were soon running around
carrying out the big chafing dishes with the hot food,
the crystal jugs of fresh juices, the fine china
platters of exotic fruits, and cold meats, and the
spirit burners to keep the coffee warm.  Jeff just lay
there looking at all this - all ten waiters were
involved, and as they were outside, they'd shed their
tiny loincloths and so were entirely naked except for
their collars and the thin gold chains around their
hips, which somehow seemed to emphasise their taut
butts.

"We can't really do this in New York", I commented,
but I think these informal breakfasts outdoors are
really rather nice."

"Hardly 'informal'... with ten slaves... And they're
all naked...."

"Oh, who cares?  Young niggas like those are cheap
enough, and don't cost much to feed.  And, as I
explained, they're not naked.  But, as you can see, as
waiters they're totally shaved, not a hair on them....
It makes them look kind of boyish, don't you think?"

"How old are they, sir?"

"I've really no idea.  We could ask Stryker, if you're
interested - he has that kind of thing in the
inventory files.  But I'd think they were probably no
more than twenty or so, as waiters are meant to look
good, and not too old - but completely shaved like
that, it makes them look a bit like kids, doesn't it?
Do you remember how you were before your dick hair
grew?"  I laughed as I said this, and he seemed
satisfied.

Jeff tucked into his usual huge piled plateful of eggs
and ham and sausage and stuff, then, the morning sun
and the exercise making him drowsy, he stretched his
lovely body out and sighed.  I ordered one of the
waiters over and whispered something to him, and when
he returned with Amos (or Andy - I still could never
tell which was which), I sat there amused as he
started to rub oil into Jeff's body.

Jeff was startled at first, but I said to him "Look,
it's for your own good!  If you're going to lie around
buck naked like that you need some protection:  the
sun can be fierce down here, even in the early
mornings, and you don't want to get burned."

"I can do it myself", he said, going to take the oil
off Amos (or Andy).

"Oh Jeff, don't be so stupid", I chided.  "The slave's
an expert!  You need to get that sun oil spread
evenly, or else you'll go all blotchy."

He didn't seem to have an answer to this, so I sat
there, seeing the slave's big, black hands running
over Jeff's lightly tanned body and stark white butt.
I wished it was me doing that, but I'm a patient man,
and I knew that rushing it at this point could set me
back possibly months, so contented myself with just
the sight, rather than the sensation.  All the same,
when the slave's fingers disappeared down the tight
crack between Jeff's butt cheeks, I did feel like
getting up and going to take over!

We use a special rapid tanning oil as a lot of the new
niggas are sensitive to the fierce sun (yes, even
niggas can get sunburned until their hides have been
exposed enough), so I knew my plan to get Jeff nice
and evenly tanned was starting to work.  We'd need
another couple of weekends, probably, but I felt I
could bear to sit there and watch his body as it
gently toasted.  Even though I was still troubled
about how I was going to deal with dad later, I had
the prospect of seeing Jeff turn over to look forward
to - was he going to let the slave rub the oil into
his dick and balls, I wondered.

Jeff still had a lot to learn about the use of slaves,
evidently, as when he did turn over about half an hour
later and the slave, noticing this, at once came up to
oil him, Jeff allowed him to massage the oil into his
torso and legs, but when the slave made any movement
at all towards his dick and balls, Jeff stopped him!
Still, peering around the newspaper, so that he
wouldn't see me looking, I did have the pleasure of
seeing Jeff massage the oil into his own dick - and I
thought I detected a slight erection forming as he
worked away.  I was certainly erect - just the thought
that it could be me stroking the oil into his dick
made me hard!


I can never really lie in the sun just doing nothing -
I like to be active, doing something physical, or
working away at stuff connected with the bank.  But
Jeff was different - he just lay there, his head
nestled in his folded arms in the way that men do,
soaking in the heat and just "cooking".  Even though
he was a feast for the eyes, there's a limit to the
amount I wanted to sit there and observe his body, and
after I'd finished the papers, and worked for a bit
reading some proposals that were being made for
projects that the bank might become involved in, I was
bored.  Finally,  I could stand it no more, got to my
feet, slapped Jeff on his butt to stir him, and said
"Let's run!  I don't want to sit here all day doing
nothing."

He got to his feet and stretched, his dick jerking
slightly into the air as his body tightened, yawned,
bent over once or twice to touch his toes and get life
into his body, and said "Sure, sir.  I'll go and get
my stuff."

"You don't have to, you know... You could run like
that:  it's only guys around here, and slaves.  It
would save you from getting hot and sweaty."

"No way, sir!  It was great to swim like that, but if
I really run, without support, my balls will ache.  I
don't know how all those niggas of yours can work like
that..."

"Oh, they get used to it.  It's only because American
men are used to wearing jocks and stuff that there's a
problem when they don't.  If you'd always run and
exercised naked, like the ancient Greeks did, you'd
have no problems at all.  In fact , they tell me that
it's a bit uncomfortable for the newly-enslaved for
the first few days, but after that, it's perfectly
normal and they don't notice it at all - your balls
adjust."

"Well, sir, I'd still rather have some shorts, but
I'll leave my shirt off.  I haven't got two or three
days, and I don't want sore balls tonight!"

I smiled in agreement, thinking that one day he would
certainly be naked, all the time, But I could afford
to be patient, to get what I wanted.  We told the
slave to scoot off and fetch Jeff's shorts, therefore,
and a couple of minutes later we were ready to set
off.

"I'll take you around the plantation - well, some of
it.  After that swim we don't need more than about
four miles - is that OK with you?"

"Yes, sir, of course."

"Good.  Well, as we go you'll see a lot of my niggas
working away  in their coffles.  And I'm going to tell
you now that you must not interfere!  I know you're
sensitive to the way that slaves have to work
sometimes, but my overseers have a hard enough time as
it is controlling them without any interference from a
free man.  So if the overseers are "encouraging" them
with a whip, that's the way it is:  slaves get whipped
if they don't work, and overseers get paid to get the
niggas to work, OK?  This place hardly makes a profit
as it is, and if the niggas aren't made to really pull
their weight, it would be hard going for me.  So
whatever you think, don't say anything, and don't
interfere, is that understood?"

Jeff looked at me, and said, slowly  "If you say so,
sir..."

"Yes, I do say so, Jeff.  Now, come on... let's run!"

Actually I wasn't all that used to the plantation - I
rarely went out into the fields, preferring to stay in
the pleasure grounds, as, after all, I did pay Stryker
to manage things generally and  I didn't see the need
to get involved in every detail.  So it was probably
as interesting for me as it was for Jeff to see the
niggas toiling away, neatly coffled together by their
collars.  And it's surprising how many niggas one
overseer can supervise when they're linked like that -
there's no danger of them running off, after all, and
if the coffle isn't turning out enough work, it
doesn't matter that much which one of them you lay the
whip in to as they're all equally "guilty".  As we
ran, though, Jeff seemed strangely silent whenever we
went past an overseer who was using the whip - he's
normally calling out to me to "keep up" and "shift
your ass" and "faster" and stuff like that, but he was
tight-lipped past the coffles.  And it's not as if
they were getting a serious whipping - not one where
you really punish a slave by taking the bull whip to
him!  No, the overseers just use the short, thicker
"encouragement" whips that sting and smart when they
strike and make the lazy fuckers know that they're
being punished;  but they're not designed to break the
skin, as out in the fields all the blood would cause a
problem with the flies and so on.

When we got back I dived straight into the pool to
cool off, and Jeff joined me.  I didn't swim much,
though, and we stood in the deep water, our hands
resting on the edge so it was no effort to remain
there.

"So, Jeff, do you like the place?"

"Manderleigh?  It's fantastic, sir.  But the
slaves...."

"What about them?"

"Well, all these slaves... And the way they're
treated...."

"Jeff, without the slaves, Manderleigh would be no
more!  There's no way  I could afford the salaries of
free men to do all the work around the place - it's
bad enough having to fund Stryker and the other
overseers, when they are at least getting the niggas
to work and produce things.  If I had to pay the
cooks, laundresses, bath servants, gardeners and all
the others needed to keep a civilised life going here,
I really couldn't afford it.  Manderleigh would have
to be shut up, and a bit of our heritage would be
lost, lost for ever.  In the last century most of
these big places had to be given up, and they fell
into rack and ruin - you do care about history, don't
you?  This place dates back to the 1800s, and it's one
of the very few left that's still functioning properly
as it did then - that's an awful lot of heritage you
seem willing to toss to one side!"

I was warming to my theme now, and went on "And what's
wrong with the way the slaves are treated here,
anyway?  They're properly housed - the slave barns are
all watertight to keep the rain out, and they have
fresh straw every night to sleep on.  They're properly
fed - use your common sense:  there's no point in not
feeding a slave well, as his work output falls.   And
they're only punished when they don't work to their
maximum capacity.  That's a pretty good life for a
slave, you know.  And I'm not like some owners - I let
all the niggas keep their balls, even though they'd be
easier to control if they were neutered, as some
owners do:  so all those bucks are still men, and can
fuck each other for pleasure.  It's not a bad life for
them at all - and what would be the alternative?  In
the old days all these uneducated niggas would be on
welfare, and they'd eat unhealthy food and get really
grossly fat, and die young.  They now live out long,
healthy productive lives.   So don't feel sorry for
them, Jeff- the alternatives could be a lot worse!"

"But you have some white guys as slaves, too.  That
Mexican..."

"Strictly speaking, the Mexican doesn't count as a
'whitey', as they're known.  Genuine 'whiteys' are
really rather rare, as they're so expensive.  I do
have a couple of them here, but that's about the limit
to what a place like this can afford!  And it's been
really beneficial having Mexican slaves, you know:  in
the old days the Mexicans used to breed like flies,
then try to get across the border into the USA to find
work.  They were piss poor in Mexico, and when they
got here, they took any kind of badly-paid work they
could find.   Once it became known that illegals would
be enslaved, the Mexicans got the message and cut
their birth rate so that they're not all born into
poverty and there's enough space for them to live in
Mexico with their families."

I paused again and went on "And as for the genuine
whiteys - well, that's their own fault!  They're
criminals, mostly, enslaved rather than spending time
in jail.  And if you've read anything about jails
earlier in the century, you'd know they were pretty
vile places to be in:  locked up in a cell twenty two
ours a day, with most white guys ending up as
'bitches' to niggas in there for gangsterism and drug
running.  It's probably far better to be a whitey
slave than some big nigga's bitch in one of those old
prisons.  But, as  I say, don't feel sorry for them:
it's their own fault!  We all know the law, and If you
choose not to obey it, you'd better be prepared to
take the consequences."

I guess Jeff knew he wasn't going to get anywhere with
this argument, so he kind of shrugged, and hauled
himself out of the water to sit on the edge of the
pool for a moment - as he did so, the thin wet cotton
of his running shorts pressed itself close to his
body, and I saw his dick and balls properly outlined,
with the dark shading of this trimmed pubes showing
through the white.

We ate lunch by the pool, although Jeff did not strip
off and just sat there in his running shorts as they
dried on him.  We only ate a light salad and fruit,
although Jeff had a beer with it, and as we were
drinking coffee afterwards Stryker came up.  I offered
him coffee, but he declined, and went on "It's just to
remind you, sir, that there's a studding this
afternoon.... I wondered if you wanted to attend?"

"Oh no, Stryker.  Not another one!"

"I think you perhaps might want to, sir.  It's an
elderly lady who's bringing her two maids to be
covered, and she ought to be properly entertained...."

"Oh Stryker, lay on a cup of tea for her, or
something!  I don't want to waste my afternoon being
polite to old women, and watching the studs fuck a
couple of niggas again."

"Sir, the elderly lady is the aunt of one of the state
senators... It's said she has considerable influence
with her sister, the senator's mother, and she in turn
really calls the shots...."

"Ah, Stryker, thank you.  Looking after my interests,
as ever.  The bank is proposing a big agricultural
loan to the state, and a friend in high places is
always welcome.  I think this elderly lady needs to be
shown that she's special: make sure there's a
sumptuous buffet, we'll have champagne as well as tea
- let's not presume she's straight-laced.  And I'll
personally act as her host."

I got to my feet, and went on "And so I'll have to go
and change!  I can hardly turn up for an old lady just
wearing shorts, can I?  After all, there'll be enough
male flesh on display as it is!

There's a whole lot of my clothes at Manderleigh,
suitable for every occasion, and down there it's
expected that "visiting" requires some degree of
formality and smartness.  Consequently I changed into
fresh cream linen slacks, a dark green silk semiformal
shirt with a complementing Hermes tie, and a  light
linen jacket.  I met the elderly lady - who was in
fact expensively dressed in the latest fashion and who
evidently had her hair cut and styled in a most
exclusive salon - and handed her out of her limo and
escorted her up the front steps, giving orders to
Stryker to have the two nigga bitches taken out of the
trunk and sent directly to the studding barn.  She was
in fact a stimulating  conversationalist - although  I
thought she was testing me constantly - and we sat in
the large reception area for a few minutes with a
glass of champagne "to revive you after the journey",
as I put it.

"Well, Mr Masters, you certainly do yourself well
here", she remarked as we sauntered across the
manicured lawns towards the studding barn.  "This
place is even bigger than my nephew's."

"Yes, ma'am.  And I'm sure he finds it a terrible
expense, as I do.  But I'm sure he's like me - he
likes to uphold the old traditions.  That's so
important, don't you think?"

"Yes, Mr Masters.  Tradition is very important, and
I'm glad you believe it.  So often we get Yankees
coming down here and not understanding our ways.... My
nephew constantly has to battle to make sure that
unfavourable laws aren't passed that impinge on our
way of life.  That would be a terrible shame, don't
you think, Mr Masters?"

I began to see what she was getting at, and replied
"Indeed, yes.  None of us would want to go back to the
old days totally, though.  We have to take the best of
the past, and meld it with the best of today.  But I'm
glad your nephew is so concerned - although it must
take a lot of his time and effort."

"Yes, he devotes himself to it."

"Quite so.  And that must make it hard to focus on
business.  I know how difficult it is to keep places
like this going - the expenses are dreadful.  I think
your nephew and I should meet and discuss matters like
that, if you understand me.  I do appreciate him
devoting himself to government and trying to preserve
our way of life, and he might perhaps be interested in
hearing more of the business world, how the bank plans
to promote certain schemes down here, schemes where I
think the senator's local knowledge might be
invaluable... Perhaps he might even agree to act as a
consultant to us, in some of his very precious spare
time, for a suitable fee, of course.... The bank
always pays for its advice."

"Ah, Mr Masters, I can see that my decision to use
your studs might be profitable in more ways than one.
I'll talk to my nephew, and perhaps the next time you
are down here, he,  his mother and I might call on
you?"

"It would be more than a pleasure, ma'am.  I'll get my
chief overseer to talk to the senator's aides so that
we can set a date when I can truly show you what
Manderleigh hospitality is like.  Or perhaps you'd
prefer to come to New York?  Meetings there are easier
for me.  My jet would be at your disposal, of course,
so the journey is relatively painless.  And you'd all
be most welcome to stay at my place:  there are ample
suites, and we can accommodate your personal slaves in
the slave quarters easily.  And although the scenery
can't compare to our gorgeous countryside here, many
of my visitors find the view of the park entrancing.
And it's so convenient for the shopping, the
theatre...."

"Ah, Mr Masters, you clearly know the way to a woman's
heart!  I think we'd all be delighted to accept your
kind invitation to a few days in New York.  I need to
see my couturier and milliner..."

Just at that moment we reached the studding barn and
went in.  There was that usual tingle of excitement in
the air that you get when something exciting is about
to happen, with the very faintest scent of "sex"
making its presence known.  I was pleased to see that
Stryker had everything ready, as I really didn't want
to entertain this harridan for too long, and her two
niggas were already on the studding frames, stripped
and tied down.  Dad and Chas were there, too, cuffed
and blindfolded as usual.  Both of them were rampantly
erect, so perhaps Chas was at long last adjusting to
his role in the world!

I wasn't so pleased to see that Jeff was there too,
though -  I didn't mind him watching from the balcony,
but he was hardly dressed properly for meeting a
southern society lady:  unlike me he had no clothes to
change in to, and so he was in shorts and a T.

"Two studs, or three, Mr Masters?", the old lady
enquired archly.  And stepping over to Jeff, she
rested her fingers on his muscular biceps.

Jeff gave her one of those lazy smiles that he
specialises in, and said "No, ma'am, I'm Mr Masters'
personal trainer.  Those two there are the studs....
But if you'd rather, perhaps I could oblige....."

"Mr Masters employs you as a trainer?  You're a free
man?"

"Yes, ma'am. "

She turned to me and smiled "Well, Mr Masters, another
example of your taste.... And your wealth.  Can I use
your trainer to explain to me what's going on?"

"He's a free man, ma'am, as you heard... But I think
he'd be happy to oblige..."

So there we were!  She seemed to enjoy having Jeff
explain the finer points of studding to her - not that
he knew much about it, and I'd be surprised if she
wasn't more experienced than him. But she seemed to
like having this strong younger man dote on her, and
she kept resting her hands on him and smiling at him
seductively.  Still, at least I didn't have to make
conversation as Stryker took dad and led him through
the usual process of "introducing" him into the first
bitch and then slapping his butt to get him started.
I always enjoyed seeing dad in action, as you know,
and watching his thighs and butt pound up and down
made me realise how much I'd missed him since my last
visit.  I really had intended to meet his this
afternoon and "fix" things, and had genuinely not
known about this studding that Stryker had arranged.
Still, I could always do it tonight, after dinner -
but then, perhaps dad would feel I was having him
brought into the house so he'd have to stay the night.
 No, I'd leave it until the morning:  once the slaves
had stood through the tedious religious thing, I'd
take dad aside - there'd be time enough then.

I was so wrapped up in these thoughts that it took
dad's cry of "Yes......." as he shot to bring me
around.  And then it had to be me who explained to the
lady why Chas was immediately "introduced" into the
same bitch as Jeff didn't have any idea, of course.  I
think I told her that it was "Part of the Manderleigh
service, to make sure you're not inconvenienced by not
having your nigga unfertilised for another month.  And
it's at no additional charge, of course."

Whilst dad and Chas were "rested" before the second
bitch was covered, I strolled with Jeff and the lady
around the pleasure grounds, pointing out the rare
plants in the shrubberies and so on.  She seemed
capable of drinking a remarkable amount, as we were
followed around by two of the waiters in their tiny
loin cloths so that our glasses could be refilled, and
a fresh bottle of Veuve had to be hurriedly sent for
at one point.  We all laughed as we watched the young
slave race across the lawns, his dick and balls flying
as he went.

"He'll be sore tonight, according to your theory,
Jeff", I said, to make conversation, and then we had
to explain our earlier conversation to the hag.  "Oh,
I wish I'd been at your pool this morning", she
commented, arching her eyebrows as if this somehow
made her more desirable. "Two handsome young men like
you.... Swimming naked...."

"No, only me, ma'am...", Jeff cut in.  "Steve - Mr
Masters - is a bit shy and wears big baggy swimming
shorts!"

She actually rested her hand on my butt as she cooed
"Oh, Mr Masters, who'd have thought it - a big lusty
young man like you, shy...."

In spite of my revulsion, knowing of her importance, I
just smiled, thinking of how surprised she'd be if she
knew that not so long ago I'd been a stud, too.
Fortunately I saw Stryker signalling to indicate that
it was time for the second studding, so we were able
to wander back to the barn.

Afterwards, when we'd escorted her to the limo and
watched as her two bitches were loaded into the trunk,
then waved goodbye as it sped off down the drive, Jeff
looked at me.

"Sir, we were talking earlier about the treatment of
slaves... Those studs....."

"Yes?  What about them?"

"Well, it  can't be right....  Using them like that...
"

"Jeff, you still don't get it, do you?  There's
nothing 'right' or 'wrong' about using a slave any way
you want.  They're my slaves, I own them, and I can do
what I choose with them.  There's no 'right' or
'wrong' in using a slave this way or that, any more
than it's  'right' or 'wrong' to use my jet, or my
limo, or anything else I own."

"But what do they feel about it, sir?"

"I don't care, and, to tell you the truth, I don't
know.  But they're both criminals, I seem to remember
from their records.  One for tax fraud, the other for
drugs.  So I expect they understand that they deserve
it."

"Oh, come on, sir!  You can't believe that.  How on
earth could they believe they 'deserve' to be
humiliated like that?"

"Jeff, are you calling me a liar?"

"No, sir, of course not!  I just think you don't
understand."

"Jeff, I do, believe me."

"Sir, with respect, I think you don't understand...."

"Want to bet on it?"

"Sure!"

"OK then - a month's salary says that one of those
studs really believes he's treated fairly."

"I can't afford that, sir...."

"Well, I'll pay you an extra month if he doesn't say
that he deserves what he's got, and he likes the life.
 If it's different, you'll pay a forfeit."

"A forfeit?"

"Yes, I'll think of something.  But I know you're
trying to save, so it won't be money."

"How do I know the slave won't say whatever you tell
him, sir?"

"You can meet him privately, if you like.  Get him to
whisper to you, if you're worried about Stryker or me
overhearing.  And I'll t trust you, Jeff, to play fair
- meet the slave in private before dinner, and then
come and settle your debt to me!"

End Of Part Twenty Nine