Date: Fri, 4 Feb 2005 03:35:00 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Enslaved, Part 4

ENSLAVED, By Pete Brown. petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part 4

They only tattooed your SIN into you at the last
minute for some reason I still don't understand. But
after the pain of my 'skinning and branding, it was a
"nothing", almost, as the tattooist's needle inked my
number high on my right arm, at the shoulder. Now I
was certain that no one would ever doubt that I was a
slave, and, as Wayne pointed out, anyone could go to
an Internet terminal, connect to the bureau of slave
affairs, key in my SIN and see the "official" pictures
of me to compare them with the slave that stood in
front of them.

I don't know what sort of deal was in place between
that awful centre that turned free men into slaves and
the dealer, as I was left in my cage until Julian and
Wayne came in with a third man who had a rather sly
look, and was wearing the rather over the top garish
clothes that I'd seen other dealers wear when I'd been
taken to slave "meets" by my uncle.

"This is Steve", Wayne told him, rather unnecessarily,
"And remember, keep him muzzled until he's well and
truly sold - after that, there's very little risk of
anyone believing his stories, or even if they do,
wanting to take a financial hit by possibly losing
him."

I was hauled out of my cage for one last time, and the
dealer pulled a cheap plastic muzzle out ofhis jacket
pocket, commanded me to "open wide", then effectively
gagged me. He also slipped a solid leather collar
around my neck, snapping it shut and fiddling with
some adjustment so that it was relatively tight around
my throat, clipped a chain onto the collar, and tugged
at it to indicate that I should follow him.  In the
yard at the back of the warehouse place where my
"transformation" had taken place there was a small,
totally enclosed truck. He opened the rear door, and
inside I saw that both sides of it were lined with
slave cages, small ones, just big enough to take a
slave if he was crouched and squashed, and I was told
to get in.

There were twelve cages in all, and eight of them were
occupied - I could see the muzzled faces of the other
slaves staring out at me. The door was slammed, so
that we were in total darkness, and the truck got
underway. Conversation was obviously impossible, so I
just had to sit there, uncomfortably cramped, as the
truck jarred and lurched its way along the highway. I
must have drowsed off to sleep several times, I
suppose, so I had no ideas how long I was in the truck
before it stopped and the door opened.  The dealer
stood there with a bucket, and hand pump and a hose,
and he snapped "Feeding time! Faces to the front...".

He came along the rows, pushing the end of the hose
into each mouth in turn through the hole in the
muzzle, then pumped vigorously on the hand pump once
or twice, and moved on. When it was my turn I found
that it was the regular slave chow, but made into a
paste with water so that it could be fed without
removing the muzzle. And that was it - the door was
slammed and we were left in darkness again, and
somehow I knew it must be "night". You had to piss and
shit where you were, as had been the case at the
training centre, and so it was a relief when the door
opened again and the dealer repeated the feeding
procedure.  He opened the first cage and hauled out
the slave, and fastened a chain to his collar. The
second followed, the slave being added to the chain,
and so on. When it was my turn I made a token
resistance but my muscles were so stiff and cramped
that the slave dealer was easily able to overcome me
and add me to the chain.

As we stood there in the morning sun, I looked around
and saw we were parked out the back of a cheap motel,
presumably where the dealer had spent the night, and
he now appeared with a water hose attached to a spigot
on the wall, and proceeded to give us all a cursory
"shower" with the icy water, commanding us to use our
hands to clean our bodies as best we could.
Fortunately he then hosed out the inside of the truck,
so at least our onward journey would be better, I
supposed.

One of these travelling dealers came occasionally to
our local small town, so I ought to have been ready
for what happened next! The dealer fitted us with the
very short tunics in thin satin-like material that I
used to make my body slave Sam wear, adjusting the
straps that fastened the two sides over our shoulders
so that the hem just exposed the tip of our dicks. I
felt much worse, actually, than being totally naked -
somehow there was almost something "noble" about a
totally naked slave (well, at least one in as good
shape as I was!), but now I'd been transformed into
some sort of object of interest and curiosity: my
genitals just tantalisingly out of sight, and the
length of my body totally exposed anyway as this
"tunic" was more of a "tabard". I began to understand
how hurtful it must have been for Sam to have to
prance around like that all the time.

Clipping a lead chain to the collar of the slave at
the front of our coffle, he led us off on a tour of
the only two streets of interest in the town, handing
out leaflets saying that we would be on view for the
rest of the day at the motel. Passers by stopped to
look at us, as you'd expect, shopkeepers came to the
doors of their premises, and office workers hung out
of their windows as we passed by, and I just hated
being paraded around like this as if it was a circus
parade coming to town. The dealer never missed an
opportunity to excite further interest in us or to
enhance his opportunities for a sale, either: if
anyone in the street showed even the smallest level of
interest in us, he'd halt our coffle, and display the
slave there and then. As an obvious really choice
specimen, there was a lot of interest in me and I lost
count of the number of times therefore that the dealer
raised the hem of my smock so that a potential client
could see my tackle more closely, or to allow them to
feel the muscles in my arms, or test the power in my
butt with their probing fingers. To all their
questions, though, he only ever answered "believed to
be a virgin", as our laws on the sale of goods clearly
scared him into not exaggerating on that point at
least: the fact that he was selling a free man, not a
slave, notwithstanding!

For the rest of the day our coffle stood behind the
motel as potential customers came by and the dealer
tried to strike bargains with them. My body was sore
and painful by the end of it, as I had been squeezed
and prodded, probed and tested. It seemed I was
attractive to women as well as men, and I inwardly
shuddered at the thought of being bought by some old
hag who might then require me to service her - some of
these women, old enough to be my mother, seemed to
have no shame when it came to handling my dick, and
even discussing amongst themselves how I might
perform. I was even more worried by the men, though:
at least half of them felt the need to inspect my hole
- it was obvious that they were sizing me up as a sex
toy, and I hated it. As I've told you, I knew men did
this, although I never had, and it seemed to me that
it was going to be part of my new life as a slave
unless something exceptional happened.

It was obvious that this dealer was operating at he
bottom end of the market, though, as in this small
hick town there weren't any customers willing to pay
the price he was demanding for me. He did sell one
slave, though, and by late afternoon he was
unshackling each of us in turn from the coffle chain
and locking us back into the cages in his truck. I
thought about hitting him then, and running away - but
it was just hopeless: almost the whole town had seen
me being paraded around, and so where could I hide,
how could I escape? Given the very large number of the
inhabitants who had come along to "see the show", it
was clear they were strongly in favour of slavery, and
it seemed unlikely that I'd find any sympathetic soul
who would help me, or would even go as far as to lend
me a phone to call my uncle. Still, I suppose you can
understand their point of view - would you let a
tough-looking naked slave use your phone, however
politely e asked? It was really the case that, looking
like a slave, I was a slave.

This procedure was repeated three times more in small
towns, and all the time I remained muzzled, being fed
mashed chow. The cursory washings at motels or even
filling stations didn't get me really clean, and I
felt disgusting - never in my life before had I not
been able to shower, or clean myself properly. My
beard was making my face rough and sore as it grew as
there were no facilities for shaving , and far from
being able to achieve the price the dealer was asking
for me, it seemed to me that I was probably losing
value.  On the fourth day, though, I discovered
another facet of the slave business - just as motor
dealers do, there was trading between dealers: a more
"upmarket" dealer, with a bigger, shinier truck,
bought me, and we went off to slightly larger towns,
with his stock of around twenty slaves.  I was sold on
again, and again, and never did any of these dealers
ever speak to me - they only released my muzzle
occasionally so that I could shave properly (there
were minute basins and stuff in the largest trucks, so
that this could be done). It was clear that to them a
slave was not a person, someone who had views or
needed consideration: they were just a piece of
merchandise, to be traded, bought and sold, just as
you might do with any piece of expensive, portable
property. I'd never thought about this before - to me,
slaves where just "there", always available, and
whether they wanted to be, or were happy to have been
bought by us, simply didn't enter into my thinking.

It must have been about ten days into this
peregrination of the small towns and cities of the
south when my then dealer-owner released us from our
confinement in his truck and we found ourselves at one
of the large "slave meets" that were traditionally
held three or four times per year where many dealers
congregated and all the local inhabitants got together
to be able to select from a large range of stock. I
used to be taken to these things by my uncle, and we
always made a day out from it: as well as the slaves
themselves, dealers specialising in whips, paddles,
chains, slave clothing, slave chow, and all the other
necessities of slave ownership assembled, so that
owners could have the convenience of being able to
purchase everything they needed in one place. There
were lectures and demonstrations on new techniques for
slave handling, you could take lessons in caning and
whipping, slave dancing and slave wrestling delighted
the crowds in the arena, and those with ponies could
enter them into the pony show, with classes for
dressage as well as the traditional cross-country and
track racing. It was very much a "family" affair, with
parents and their children enjoying being together,
and there were lots of activities to amuse everyone:
the fairground rides with their slaves pulling the
carousels and powering the swings, and the special
ponies for kids where they could sit on tiny saddles
on the slaves' backs and be jogged around the field.
The smell of hot-dogs, barbecues and popcorn hung
heavily in the air, and many families brought their
own slaves with them to serve elaborate picnics in the
parking areas.

This was still the time when there were prohibitions
in most towns on nudity for slaves, to protect public
modesty, they said (our slaves on the plantation could
work naked as they were not in the town, and there
were of course sensible exceptions for slaves, like
Blackie, where the job demanded nudity). But we could
not be offered for sale naked as we would have been
these days, and with the throngs of potential
purchasers all the dealers were keen to show as much
of our flesh off as possible and did not want the
annoyance of the tunics that I had become used to.
Consequently we were displayed in the minimum possible
- a tiny loin cloth.

My current owner's stock of slaves was so numerous
that it was impractical to have us all lined up in one
coffle, so we had restraint collars on with our hands
cuffed behind our necks, and short chains held us in
place by pegs driven into the ground to a manacle
around each of our left ankles. As I stood there one
of the dealer's assistants then came along and strung
a thin chain around my waist, or, rather as low as he
could get it on my hips so that it had to rest on my
butt at the back to stop it sliding off, and then
tucked into this a tiny piece of white silk - just
broad enough to cover my dick and balls, and just long
enough so that, once again, the very tip of my dick
peeped from below it.

With this number of slaves we were a mixed group: not
just blacks and Hispanics as you'd expect, but men and
women, too. Directly across from me there was a really
good looking young black slave girl, wearing, as I
was, just the tiny piece of silk to cover her sex and
with her firm breasts thrust proudly out as her arms
were cuffed like mine. She reminded me of one of the
slaves on the plantation that I'd fucked (it was only
the male slaves I left alone!), and slowly and
inexorably as my mind thought back to those happier
times, my cock rose and stiffened, thrusting aside the
tiny piece of silk. I'd never imagined that one day
I'd be as exposed as the slave girls that I so
casually used for my sexual gratification, and that
I'd be standing almost naked on public display staring
at a young slave who I might otherwise have fucked.

Because it was deemed that we were "decent", it was
perfectly acceptable for families to stroll around
amongst us inspecting our bodies, and I was inspected
by several couples who seemed to be considering buying
a fit young guy for yard work and stuff like that.
Fortunately the presence of the women and children
seemed to restrain a little the hordes of young guys
from high school who wanted to feel my ass in that way
that groups of late adolescents do to try to impress
each other, but I noticed that whereas it might be
unacceptable to finger a male hole in these
circumstances, there was no such restraint for a
female slave, and the poor black girl opposite me was
the subject of many unwelcome "investigations".

It must have been mid-afternoon when, to my
astonishment, there standing in front of me was my
uncle's overseer, Straughan. I started to shout in
excitement, trying to get the words out through the
muzzle and to let him know that it was me standing
there, and not a slave that he was thinking of buying.
But the words were all fuzzy and he didn't seem to
heed them, although he did snap "fucking shut up,
slave", at me. I became desperate, and when he moved
my brief covering aside and started to feel my dick
and balls, I became almost frantic: he was an
employee, after all, and he shouldn't be doing this to
me! He did a really thorough inspection of all my
musculature - kneeling, almost, to test the power in
my calves and thighs, then stood directly in front of
me. It was more humiliating to have this man that I
knew do this to me than it was one of the hordes of
total strangers.

As he stared into my eyes and I carried on shouting in
my desperate efforts to make myself understood,
suddenly that feeling came over me: he knew who I was,
and he was deliberately not saying!  "Hmmm...
'Believed to be a virgin'" he mused to myself. "How
interesting... Bend over, slave, and let me test your
hole."

I shook my head vigorously, and Straughan just leaned
forward, took hold of one of my nipples and bit into
it with the nails of his thumb and forefinger. My
desperate attempts to communicate with him vanished
into a scream, and he held on, causing me waves of
pain, and he snapped "Boy, on our plantation we don't
tolerate disobedient slaves. The owner believes in a
firm hand for discipline, and I implement it. So now,
fucking well bend over!"

I'd never been so humiliated in my life. My uncle's
overseer, our employer, someone I'd known since my
uncle gave me a home all those years ago, was now
doing this indescribably intimate thing to me. But
then he was finished, and stood up, looked at me again
as I was continuing to try to shout stuff at him, and
walked away! I didn't know what to think - I felt
certain he had recognised me, and yet he'd done
nothing, given me no sign even that things would be
OK. What the fuck was happening?

Not long after, he reappeared, but this time with my
uncle! So my message had got through, I was saved! If
it hadn't been unmanly, I think I could have let the
tears that tried to form in my eyes really flow. I
tried to smile at my uncle (hidden by the muzzle) and
make "happy" noises, but something was wrong! As he
stood there, immaculate as usual in his mustard
coloured cord slacks, silk shirt with a loosely tied
cravat at the throat, and an expensive straw hat to
shade his eyes from the sun, he made no recognition
signal, either. I was hoping that he'd throw his arms
around me, or something - but, urged on by Straughan,
he too took my dick in his hand and began to stroke it
to life. This was vile - this was my uncle, who'd
known me since I was a baby: what was he doing
stroking my dick?

Once he saw I was erect, though, he moved on and
cupped my balls in his hand!  Look, I'd had my balls
examined a lot of times whilst I as on the road "for
sale", but this was different. This was my uncle's
firm hands feeling my manhood, for Christ sake! And as
I'd seen him do before at slave sales, he suddenly
squeezed - twice - and each time I doubled over as
that awful sensation you get when your balls are hurt
went trough me. I now know that he was making sure
that each testicle was still "mine" and not a
prosthetic - my uncle was, as I've told you,
interested in slave dealing, and always knew the
tricks that dealers could get up to, such as replacing
an undersized ball with a plastic or steel one. He
must have had early warning of the range of "lifelike"
prosthetics that became available at around that time,
so he needed to nip the ball between his fingers to
make sure it was not false, as signalled by the
slave's reactions.

Straughan ordered me to bend over again then, and I
just shook my head in horror, hardly being able to
believe what was about to happen to me. He shrugged
and reached out for my nipple as he had done before,
so I just had to comply.... And he and my uncle
together then inspected my hole, gently teasing at it
with a finger, and then forcing one in to test my
"tightness". Finally, both men stood in front of me,
and my uncle said "Well done, Straughan, for locating
this excellent specimen - it's easy to overlook such a
prime piece of stock as this when there's so much
choice. He's capable of erecting, and both his balls
seem alive, so providing there's no other problem with
him, he ought to be capable of breeding.... It's a
bonus, I suppose, that he's not been fucked yet, but
the ability to breed is the most important thing."

As he was speaking I was becoming almost frantic in my
efforts to shout at them, jigging up and down at the
end of the short chain that held me more or less in
one place. Suddenly Straughan lashed out and slapped
me hard on the butt, telling me to stand still and be
quiet: they were debating how much to pay for me, and
I was disturbing them! He commented to my uncle that
he could soon knock such behaviour out of me at the
plantation, as it was not unusual for young
newly-enslaved men to be sensitive about being
handled.

What the fuck was happening? The more I thought about
it, the more I just knew Straughan knew who I was, and
I could almost tell from my uncle's body language and
general demeanour that he was in on it, too. So why
were these men subjecting me to this totally
humiliating experience? Why was I having to wait one
second longer to be released from this bondage, and
before I cold be allowed to cover myself decently? And
what was all this talk of being good for breeding? Was
it some terrible nightmare I was having, from which I
would soon awake? It didn't seem so, as everything
else was jus too realistic - I could hear the screams
of delighted kids, the music from the carousel, the
crack of the whips and the cheering as another pony
race finished; the sun was beating down on me, the
flies were biting, I needed to piss.... No, it was all
too real.

So I made one last desperate effort to attract my
uncle's attention, falling to my knees in front of
him.  "See", Straughan told my uncle, "This is a
proper slave. He evidently has been trained, as he
understands that a slave's position is on his knees in
his owner's presence. He must have realised that
there's a good chance you will succeed in buying him,
if the price is right!"

They simply walked away, leaving me there, almost
sobbing, and so tense with anxiety: this was my one
chance of salvation, and I just couldn't read what was
going on! Straughan and my uncle reappeared a few
minutes later, though, with the dealer. I've told you
of my uncle's reputation as a man who liked to bargain
and who bought and sold slaves profitably, and now I
stood there in an agony of suspense as his
negotiations with the dealer raged back and forth.
Offers were made and rejected, twice my uncle seemed
to be on the point of walking away, until called back
by the dealer - why the fuck was all this happening,
when he or Straughan could simply say that they knew I
was a free man, then the police could come, and all
this stuff could be sorted out? But no, the haggling
went on, and I felt more and more demeaned as my uncle
schemed away to shave every last cent from my price.
I was ecstatic when my uncle finally concluded a deal,
though - so, OK, he'd had to "buy" me from the dealer,
but perhaps he thought that was the easiest way of
getting me free, without the need to call the cops or
anything. After all, southern gentlemen always wanted
to avoid a scandal, and if the papers got hold of the
idea that his heir had been branded and 'skinned and
sold naked in public, it might not look good for him.
The money I'd cost would be a small price to pay, I
reasoned, for preserving the anonymity and dignity of
our family.

Still, it was odd that the moment he had written the
cheque he did not immediately acknowledge me in some
way, and simply strode off, followed by Straughan. I
had to wait another ten minutes or so before one of
the dealer's men came to release me from my ankle
shackle and lead me away to the "sold, waiting
collection" pen where I stood with the other slaves
who had been bought, awaiting their owners to finish
all their day's business and come to pick up their
purchases.  As the afternoon stretched into evening
and one by one the other sold stock was collected by
their owners, I began to worry. Surely uncle Jed had
not forgotten me! But perhaps., I reasoned, he had
other complicated business to transact at the slave
meet, and still wanted to remain a respectable aura of
having just bought another slave, and not raising
suspicions about that slave being me. But as the
lights in all the stalls were being turned out and the
dealers were packing up, I knew this couldn't be so.
Finally, the dealer's men came and, without
explanation, took me back to his slave transporter and
I was once again locked into the tiny cage. I tried to
show them that they were wrong, that I'd been bought,
that they shouldn't be putting me in there, but the
muzzle and my cuffed hands to the restraint collar
stopped any of this. I began to get sick with worry -
suppose the transaction had gone wrong, or there was a
mix-up in the paperwork so that some other slave was
now arriving at the plantation? Would they ever be
able to sort it out?

The transporter roared into life and set off as usual,
and I was in despair! Perhaps I'd been wrong, and
Straughan and uncle Jed had not recognised me, and
that, having bought me, he'd sold me on at a profit
(which I knew he did, as he often returned from these
slave meets with no slaves but a handsome profit from
his ability to spot undervalued stock and sell it on).
As I lay there in my misery, I also started to think
"Oh, fuck me! I'm thinking like a slave now, worrying
about being sold, and sold on.... I'm not a slave...
I'm a free man". But lying there muzzled, and cuffed
in a cage in a slave dealer's transporter, these
thoughts just weren't convincing!

I hadn't gone to sleep before we stopped - unusually,
as the thing seemed to go all night between slave
meets and fairs. The doors opened and one of the
dealer's men came to release me from my cage. Then,
blessed relief, I heard Straughan's voice! "Thank
you", he was saying. "We didn't want to have to
transport the slave home in the car, and it was good
of you to oblige..."

"Think nothing of it, my dear Straughan", the dealer's
voice replied. "This plantation is a good customer of
ours, and we're happy to oblige if we can - we're on
the way past, anyway, and it's little enough we could
do for your continuing business..."

Oh, fuck me - why couldn't they have just told me that
this is what a happening, and saved me those terrible
hours of worry? Of course, they thought I was a slave,
and slaves should not care about stuff like that, so I
suppose that was why; still, I was here now, home, and
I'd soon be free.  "Safe journey then, until next
month", Straughan responded, and then, in a different
tone, obviously to some of the plantation slaves or
guards "Have the new slave brought to my quarters, at
once!"

Straughan actually lived on the estate, in a small
house that was always known as the Overseer's Cottage.
I'd met Straughan on its steps many times, but had
never been inside. I knew that he had some house
slaves, of course, as part of the "perks" of the job -
the slaves were actually on the plantation's books -
but they tended not to mix with the other domestic
slaves, and little was known about Straughan's way of
life. That he selected his personal slaves from the
good looking, fit, white field slaves and had no
female slaves in attendance led to the rumour that he
was perhaps gay, but then, like many men, it was also
possible that he just preferred the sight of male
slaves around him, and was perhaps just not interested
in sex. To add to my excitement about being freed now,
I was therefore also interested in seeing something of
Straughan's domestic arrangements - it would be
something to talk about at those endless tea parties,
where such things were always a matter of intense
speculation and interest.

Straughan was as ever clad in his canvas jodhpurs,
shiny black boots and snowy white shirt and was
sitting there when I was led into the small room that
was evidently his study. Someone had gone to a lot of
trouble to create an air of calm masculinity, as the
walls were papered in dark red and green stripes,
thick silk curtains were swagged the window, dark
mahogany bookcases held hardback books, and dark
leather chesterfields flanked the marble fireplace,
which contained a magnificent arrangement of flowers
as this was summer and a fire was unnecessary.  I
stood there in by bare feet, feeling the luxurious
pile of the carpet, and wondering why Straughan was
making no attempt to release me. Instead, he
approached me and whipped off the tiny silk loin cloth
that I was still wearing, and undid the thin chain
that had been holding it, so that I stood naked in
front of him.

I saw the Steve Masters slave folder open on his desk,
and now he went and looked at it, then came back,
looked at me, and said "So, you're a slave that likes
to fuck around - two sons by that mother and
daughter."  I shook my head, trying to understand why
he was still sticking to this silly game. "What,
Steve? Is your dossier wrong? I looked at that SIN on
you a moment ago, and it tallies. And those pictures
in there, whilst hardly doing justice to that
magnificent body of yours, is indisputably you. So
what's the problem?"

I shook my head violently. Oh why the fuck didn't he
stop this charade? But now he was speaking again.
"It's interesting that you have two children, slave,
and two sons at that. Let me tell you a small secret
about this plantation where you are now a slave: it's
owner, my employer, had a nephew who was his pride and
joy. He treated him like a son, gave him every
advantage, even paid his extraordinary college fees to
a fine northern university. Then when that nephew,
whose name was Jon, came back, he wouldn't do the
simplest thing for his uncle: he was asked to marry a
local heiress, a charming southern lady, after his
uncle and her father had spent a long time negotiating
a most satisfactory marriage settlement. All he needed
to do was to remain with her until there were two sons
- the classic heir and the spare - and then he could
have done what he wanted with his life. But this
ingrate refused, and walked out, leaving his uncle
desolate, and the lady's reputation ruined: it was
well known that their betrothal was imminent under
most favourable financial circumstances, and as the
young man had gone off, it was widely supposed that
there was something wrong with her!"

"So we have Steve here, who produced two sons under
unusual circumstances, and a missing nephew, who
wouldn't produce any sons! A curious world, don't you
think? Now, I'm about to un-muzzle you, but before I
do, let me ask you if you have ever seen this
instrument...."

He held up something that looked like an electric
toothbrush, except that the shaft was much longer and
thinner and made of metal, with two small pads at the
end. He pressed a button on the side, waited a moment,
then held it near my face: the two small pads were
hot, very hot.  "This is an electric cauteriser. A
very quick and easy to use instrument. In fact, I'm
something of an expert! We had a new slave here a few
months ago, nothing out of the ordinary, just
something we bought to keep up the numbers in the
field gangs, but he kept saying that he wasn't a
slave, but a free man! He claimed that he'd been
abducted and illegally enslaved, and it was most
upsetting for all the other slaves who thought he
might be getting special treatment as a result of this
status, even though he wasn't: the plantation had paid
good money for him and we needed his work, and it was
clear that all his particulars matched his dossier and
that he was indeed a slave. In the end, in order to
stop him continuing to spread unrest, we had to stop
him speaking - this little instrument inserted down
the throat burned out his vocal chords in only a few
seconds, so he was permanently muted. He soon settled
down after that, and now you can't tell him from any
of the other slaves in his coffle, except that he
can't laugh and joke with them, or join in any of the
working songs properly!"

"Now, before I remove the muzzle, J.... Steve", he
smiled evilly, "Let me remind you of this cautionary
tale. I don't like having to permanently mutilate
slaves as it reduces their resale value, but I won't
hesitate to permanently mute a slave who spreads
seditious rumours about his origin - especially when
that origin is so clearly documented and defined. If
any slave came in here and pretended to be a free man,
perhaps even someone important... I'd need to use the
cauteriser immediately. Is that clear?"

Oh, what the fuck was going on? He clearly did know
who I was, but was playing this elaborate game for
some reason. I thought I'd better go along with it, as
I'd soon get to see my uncle and I knew it would be
then easy to fix things as he'd be overjoyed to have
me back. So I just nodded my head.  Straughan came and
loosened my muzzle and I was able to push it out of my
mouth at last. As I was running my freed tongue
around, loosening my lips and cheeks and preparing to
speak, Straughan went on "Now, Steve, as that's your
name, isn't it, Slave? There's one little ceremony we
like to go through here - your owner, the owner of
this plantation and everything on it, interviews all
new slaves personally; but he's away at the moment for
a few days , so your interview will be postponed.
We'll put you to work, of course, but I don't want you
mixing with the normal field slaves in case your owner
decides to use you in the house, or around the
pleasure grounds. Consequently we'll lodge you at
first in the stables - and let me caution you again
about spreading seditious stories: the slave who
really rules the stables is this missing nephew's
personal pony. That pony has some unresolved issues
with the way his owner trained him and used him, and
it would be particularly unwise to get him to even
think that he might be able to take some kind of
revenge.... Still, as you're a new slave, never been
here before, that can hardly affect you, can it?"

I looked at Straughan, so confidently sitting there,
and wanted to scream and shout at him about the
stupidity of this whole thing - he clearly knew who I
was, so why wasn't I free, back in my suite with Sam
ministering to me? Then I understood - my uncle was
cross with me, and was going to make me spend a few
days actually as a slave as "punishment" for walking
out! Still, I could handle this: I was a tough, strong
guy, and life here on the plantation couldn't be
nearly as bad as what I'd endured so far, could it? We
were, after all, known for the exemplary way we
treated out slaves - I could certainly survive a few
days of hard work.

"I don't know how you were trained". Straughan's words
brought me out of my reverie, "But I asked you a
question, boy. And slaves always answer. I think you
need a small lesson in discipline, as I run a tight
ship here for the owner."

He clapped his hands, and three of the big handsome
slaves he had selected as his personal servants
appeared as if by magic. "Put this one on the horse",
he commanded.

Two of them grabbed hold of me, and before I could
protest or do anything to stop them, they had me
strapped down onto the same kind of antique punishment
horse that there was in my uncle's study. I lay there,
my arms and legs strapped to its legs, but with my
body relatively free on the leather top of the horse.
I felt Straughan's hands resting on my butt, and
squirmed as if to make him take them away - what the
fuck did he think he was doing? This was taking this
charade too far!  "A very good butt, slave", he said.
"Extremely well muscled and a good shape. You'll be an
asset to the work force here. I always thought the
nephew could benefit from more exercise and toning...
Now, I'm only going to give you two strokes of the
cane, just as a reminder of your slave lessons in the
polite ways of dealing with and addressing free men!
And be careful what you say from now on.... Once
you're on that horse, you know, it's easy to leave you
there and continue your education - I've not much else
scheduled for this evening..."

Even though I'd now been caned before, I still wasn't
prepared for the stinging blows that Straughan laid
across my butt. I howled with anguish, and lay there
gasping and sobbing when they were over.  Straughan
bent low near my head, so that only he and I, and not
his personal slaves, could here. "Think carefully,
J... Steve, about what's just happened here. I only
punish slaves with the owner's approval, you know. So
think carefully, very carefully, about your position.
You're a slave, remember? A slave who has just cost
his owner a great deal of money. A slave over whom his
owner has complete and absolute power - you are a
'lifer', as we know from your dossier, and that lovely
brand laid on your butt. I would be very unwise of you
to act as anything other than the perfect slave! Do
you understand?"

My brain was working in overtime now, and I said, as
humbly as I could, through gritted teeth, "Yes,
master."

"Excellent, Steve! I think we understand each other.
Now, I'll have you put in the stables as I said, then
tomorrow you can join one of the work gangs to keep
you from getting bored... Ennui was a problem for the
nephew, I think, which is why he wanted to leave. I'd
hate you to be in that position!"

He left the room, chuckling, and his two slave
released me from the horse. "He's not a bad old
stick", one of them said. "He treats us quite well,
considering what a tyrant he is to the field crews.
Come on with us, though, as if we're not back soon,
he'll cane us..."

"Yup!", the other slave commented. "He really gets off
on caning us... He's always looking for an excuse to
do it - he can't get it up otherwise!"

"What do you mean?", I asked.  "Well, he fucks us -
that's not the problem, as he's only got a tiny dick
and it's not a problem even if he thinks he's really
fucking us hard! No, it's that he can't get it hard in
the first place unless he's just finished caning
someone. Usually it's one of us who has to get beaten
so that he can then fuck one of the others.... But
you've done us a favour, Steve: he'll still be
thinking about tanning your hide if we can get you
over to the stables quickly and get back here soon, so
he'll be hard as a rock and he can fuck us without any
of us getting hurt. So let's get a move on...."

I learned then an important lesson: slaves talk freely
amongst themselves, even about their masters' most
intimate and private doings. I hadn't just found out
about the inside of Straughan's house - they'd told me
something that none of our circle of acquaintances
would ever have guessed at. What fun I was going to
have at that next tea party, once uncle had finished
working his little joke on me: the ladies would all be
clustering around as I whispered Straughan's little
secret to them (although I'd better be careful with
the language I used, as our southern ladies really are
just that, and it's easy to offend their
sensibilities).

I followed them almost happily to the stables - at
least I now knew I was safe, even though the next few
days might be tough. When my uncle had had his little
games, I'd soon be back in my suite and life would get
back to normal. Although would he still have that
stupid idea that I should marry that Marie-Louise?
Surely he'd see that I was a man capable of making my
own decisions, and that if he didn't give me some
freedom of choice, I'd have to take it by leaving
again?

End Of Part 4