Date: Mon, 26 Dec 2005 01:30:14 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Everything Was Reversed, Part Three

THIS TIME AROUND EVERYTHING WAS REVERSED

By Pete Brown        petebrownuk @ yahoo.com


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

Part 3


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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, master" I replied miserably.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joe could tell I was amazingly upset when they almost
threw me into the barn before bolting the doors again,
and as we lay together he cradled me in his arms and
asked me what had happened.  I found it difficult to
tell him about the total humiliation of being one of
five studs "tried out" on that woman, and then, to my
amazement, I heard him start to chuckle.  "Oh, Steve -
for fuck's sake, grow up!  So you've had sex - so
what?  And in front of the other men - well, so what?
 When we went on leave in the marines and money was
tight, several of us would often get together and pay
for a woman - there's nothing wrong in having sex in
front of other men... Well, not if you've got a good
body, and nothing to be ashamed of as far as your dick
is concerned, as none of my marine buddies had... And
as you have, of course."

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

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

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

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

"Why?"

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

"No, Joe..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_______________________________


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

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

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

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

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

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

When we were having these conversations, Joe would
sometimes go silent and mutter to himself about "our
fucking government", and when I asked him what he
meant, he looked at me as if I was some sort of idiot.
 "Think about it, Steve:  they're breeding white pups
now from the studs like you and the bitches, but it
takes time - those pups won't be ready for really hard
work until they're sixteen, and they've only been at
it for about eight years.  In the meantime, there' a
constant need for new stock - they brought seven
hundred or so over in our plane, if you remember, and
there would have been a lot of flights in the past
years.  Where do you think all those new white slaves
come from?"

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

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

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

"Joe, that's bullshit..."

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

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

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

"Oil?"

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

"Joe, that's nonsense..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I grieved. I'd lost my best friend and lover. But I
had to work, and it was the work that kept my sanity,
I suppose - the familiar routine, the swish of the
cane... I allowed that numbness to sweep over me that
protects you from extreme grief, as I tried to forget.
 But as I lay in the slave barn at night, trying to
sleep, Joe's savage death kept coming back to me.  And
with it, the realisation that Joe would have said that
our owner was just doing what white owners used to do
to the blacks - they were allowed to keep their
strange voodoo rituals and ju-ju beliefs on the
plantations.  And our owner had simply followed our
beliefs on a suitable way of killing a man.

____________________________________


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


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

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

"They call me Zak."

"And why are you here?"

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

"Where are your clothes, Zak?"

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

"You've never worn anything?"

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

"Steve.  I'm called Steve."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

End Of Part Three