Date: Tue, 27 Dec 2005 06:35:41 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Everything Was Reversed, Part Four

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 4

I don't know why I fell for Zak, as soon there were
other kids appearing who had a vague resemblance to me
- or perhaps it was just my brain playing tricks, as
some of them must have been sired when their bitch
mothers were loaned out to other plantations.
Probably it was because he was the first, that he had
such an amazing resemblance to me, and because he came
along when I was still missing Joe so terribly.  I'll
never forget Joe, of course, but having Zak to take
care of gave me something else to focus on.  And I
started to see similarities about the way I now looked
out for Zak, and the way Joe had looked out for me
when I first arrived as a  naive eighteen year old.

Even though we were slaves, I let it be known that
there was no excuse for us treating each other like
depraved beasts, and that if I ever found any guy
interfering with any of the young pups, he'd be in
serious trouble with me.  I knew I couldn't do
anything about the kids who were fascinated by dicks
and who therefore would give themselves to the guys,
but at least no kid here  was going to be subject to
the kind of abuse that makes me feel sick, when older
guys force themselves on young boys.

It soon became clear that Zak didn't just want to
snuggle up to me  as he'd been cold on that first
night - he saw me as a kind of "big brother" who
looked after him, and every time we were about to go
to sleep in the barn he'd put himself close to me.  He
liked to lie with his back to my front,  with his head
on my outstretched arm, and then to pull my other arm
over him so that I was holding him close.  It was
difficult for me at first - I like to move around a
bit in the night, and when you've got someone's head
resting on your upper arm, that's hard.  I didn't want
to wake him up by moving as young kids need their
sleep, and sometimes even my arm would kind of cramp
as it was so uncomfortable.  Perhaps putting the needs
of someone else first was good for me, though, so I
didn't mind all that much.  More of a problem was what
to do about erections - I'd wake up in them middle of
the night and feel my erect dick sandwiched between my
belly and Zak's young body, and that was really
uncomfortable - I mean, I was twenty six or so by now,
and a man at that age likes to jerk off when he's
lying there awake, doesn't he?    There was no way I
was going to fuck Zak, obviously, and I didn't even
want to disturb his sleep by pushing him away from me
so I could jerk myself off - his deep, heavy breathing
and the feel of him against me was somehow soothing
and it would be a shame to disturb him.  So on many
nights I lay there with that ache you get in your dick
and balls when they need relief, but you can't give
it.

I had to get into the habit of jerking myself off
before Zak came to sleep with me as I didn't even like
doing that in front of him.  Fortunately, most nights,
he'd be off for a few minutes with some of the other
young kids, and then I'd quickly and furtively lie
there and stroke myself, hoping to get done before Zak
came back and leaped all over me!  It was sad, really,
a grown man like me having to jerk himself off
furtively.

Zak worried me, though, as although he could talk to
me, we didn't have all that much to talk about.  I
decided to educate, and tell him of our proud
heritage:  all the technology Americans had invented,
the splendour of our mighty cities with their rearing
skyscrapers, the way we'd put men on the moon, the
medicines and drugs we'd perfected, our houses, our
cars.... And also give him some idea of his homeland -
the best country in the world, stretching from ocean
to ocean, the plains, the mountains, the rivers,
lakes, deserts....  Then our huge cultural
achievements - our art, our music, our movies, the
great books our writers had produced...
Zak would listen politely as I descried all this, but
I could tell that it was hard for him to take it all
in, and sometimes he'd just smile quietly and say
"That was a good story, Steve.... Tell me again about
how thousands of slaves would go to a big house to
listen to those strange sounds you told me about...".

"No, Zak!  They were not slaves.  They were men, and
women, going to a concert hall to hear musicians play
great works of our cultural heritage..."

"So they were all blacks?  Does our owner go there,
Steve?"

"No, Zak!  They were white men and women, like us.
And they were not slaves...."

"But all white men are slaves, Steve...."

And so it would go on, and I realised I really wasn't
making all that much progress as there was just
nothing here on this flat African plain, where we were
confined to the plantation, that had any elements of
our culture and way of life associated with it, and
this was all Zak had known.  It must have been just
the same for those black slaves imported from Africa
to Virginia and places, who would be unable to tell
their sons about their tribal life, the hunting of
animals, and so on.  It was worse for me and Zak, of
course, as we actually had so many more achievements
and so much more culture, but the principle was the
same.  Zak was growing up a slave, accustomed to
knowing that with a white skin he was different from
the blacks who guarded and controlled us, and that
they had the clothes, the guns, and all the other
stuff, and were the superior race because of that.

I also tried to teach him to read and write, but it
was impossibly difficult.  I would sweep away a small
area of straw as we lay there in the slave barn and
try to scratch letters into the soil underneath with a
stick, and get Zak to repeat them after me:  a, b, c,
d....  He thought it was a good game at first and he
got to know the letters so I could, for example,
scratch out a z and he'd tell me its name, but he soon
got bored.  I was so frustrated as I knew that if he
couldn't read or write he'd always be condemned to be
a mere beast, using his muscle for our owner and he'd
never be able to appreciate other things in life.  But
it seemed hopeless to me, after a time, as we didn't
have any books or any real writing implements or
anything like that, and so how could we pass on things
this way?   I got him to the point where he could
scrape out "zak" in the soil, and was teaching him
"steve" one day when he was so bored that he just said
"This is shit, Steve.  I'm not going to do any more of
this crap", and turned away from me (well, all of us
slaves used that kind of language, and so it wasn't
surprising hat the kids did too, was it?)

"Hey, Zak, this is important.  Once we've done some
names, I'll show you how to write other stuff - it's
really neat, you know... 'The cat sat on the mat' and
things like that."

"Fuck it, Steve.  I'm not wasting time on that
rubbish.  What's a 'mat', anyway?"

I should have know it was pretty hopeless without the
cultural referents, and given up.  But I persisted and
told him to concentrate, and then, when he started to
look away and wave to his buddies, I told him again,
and then the third time I was so pissed off that I
grabbed him, pulled him over my knee before he
realised what was going on, and spanked him!  Look, it
wasn't hard - if I'd really hit him it would truly
have hurt him with the power I have in my arms.  No,
this was more of a light slapping of his bare butt,
but nevertheless he howled and shouted, and then when
I let him go, he stood there sobbing in front of me.

"You dirty fucker, Steve...."

"Zak, I'm sorry, but you didn't listen to me, you
weren't paying attention..."

Through his snivels he almost whined "And I'm not
going to, either.  This reading and writing is a load
of crap, a fucking waste of time...."

"You will learn it, Zak..."

"Fuck you, Steve, I won't..."

He could be defiant like that, and he really pissed me
off - I was, after all, giving up my time to try to
educate him. So I grabbed him again, and this time he
wriggled and struggled and tried to get away as I
forced him over my knee as I knelt there, and I had to
grip his neck really tight to hold him over my knee.
And this time the sound of the slaps as my open palm
hit his young butt echoed around the place, and
several of the guys nearby sat up and watched.

"Steve's spanking his boy, rather than spanking the
monkey!" One called out, and there was that coarse
laughter that guys do when there's sex in the air.
"Come on, Steve - get on with it - once you've warmed
up his butt, let's see you up his ass...".

I didn't do any more than spank him, of course, as you
know what I think about men and boys.  And my spanking
wasn't at all sexual - it was just the type of
corporal punishment that any dad might give his kid if
the kid wasn't doing well at school.  But I guess that
ordinary dads have their boxers and pants to cover
themselves when their sons are over their knees, and I
was naked, and I felt vaguely ashamed that Zak brushed
against my erect dick as I let him go.  I don't think
that should have happened.

At first that night Zak was determined to show his
continuing defiance of me and didn't come and lie
close to me as he usually did, but settled himself
down in the straw a couple of feet away.  It was cool
that night, and as I lay there I saw him start to
shiver, and so I moved close to him and started to
wrap my body around his to warm him up.

"Fuck off,  Steve!  Leave me alone..."

"Come on, Zak, you're cold..."

"Fuck off, Steve.  What's it to you?  You don't really
care about me..."

"Zak, that's not true!  You know that!  Of course I
care about you..."

"You hit me, Steve."

"No, Zak, I spanked you.  Spanked you for disobeying
me, for not concentrating on your reading..."

"Steve, it's crap, as I said.  You don't 'read'
yourself.... So why have I got to learn?"

"So you can understand things, Zak.  If you can't
read, you can't learn new things...."

"But you never learn anything new, Steve.  You don't
'read'.  And you're doing OK - everyone says you're a
great guy, you're a good slave..."

I could have cried, because of course it was true.
I'd had difficulty remembering some of the letters
myself as there had been no papers or magazines or
books or anything to read since I'd been here, and the
only 'reading' stuff we ever saw was all in the
strange foreign characters that none of us understood.
 I knew it was hopeless - however much I tried,
however much I made Zak work away at it, it just
wasn't going to work - without a lot of stuff to read,
to practice on, it was just not going to stick.

"Look, Zak, OK.... But you've got to learn that when I
tell you to do something, you do it. Do you
understand?  I don't want to spank you, as I'd rather
we discussed things and worked things out as two guys
together.... But if you are rude, or defy me, then I'm
afraid you'll learn the hard way that your butt really
hurts when I spank it."

"So that's like when the guards cane you, isn't it,
Steve?  You don't do something they tell you, and they
tawse you, or cane your butt.   I have to do what you
say or you'll spank me, and you have to do what the
overseers and guards say, or you get caned!"

I felt so depressed, as of course it was true.  That
was my life now - obey, or be caned.  And that was all
Zak had to look forward to, as well - so perhaps it
was a good thing that he was starting to learn to
obey.  His life as a slave would probably be a whole
lot easier than mine.
But I felt Zak's chances of "life" were slipping away.
 If I couldn't teach him about America, about our
heritage and culture, what would he know?  All he'd
understand was that the blacks were masters, and that
as a white man he had to obey them completely.

_______________________________

About a year later I was surprised when I entered the
dining room, the usual place where I "studded" for my
owner and his guests, to see him sitting there with a
white man - a guy of about my own age, too, but
obviously not a slave as he wore clothes - jeans, a
short sleeved shirt - and had no collar on.

My owner gestured for me to wait, and as usual I stood
against the wall, feeling the eyes of the young white
guy on me as he looked at my naked body - I couldn't
even attempt to cover myself of course, as even after
all this time my wrists were still bound to my collar
for a studding session.  My owner poured both of them
another glass of wine, and in his perfect English said
to his guest "I promised you a little diversion after
dinner,  John.  Handsome, isn't he?  He's been my
chief stud for some years now, and he has an excellent
record of confirmation."

"Confirmation, sir?", the young man asked.  He was an
Englishman, or, at leas, had an English accent.

"Oh, it's a technical term from stock breeding - how
well his sperm 'takes' so that you do not have to
repeatedly cover the bitch, and then how well he
passes on the characteristics for which you chose him
as a stud in the first instance.  Clearly we want to
select for power and strength, and he has this in
abundance himself, and all the indications are that
his progeny are going to have the same general
characteristics."

"He's a handsome brute, too, if I may say so..."

"Quite.  Well, standards of masculine beauty vary
greatly of course, and no white man can really compare
well besides the more striking features of us black
men.  But I'll take your word for it, John, as a white
man yourself."

I listened almost in disbelief to the way the two men
were discussing me just as if I was some piece of
prize beef animal and they were two farmers, and as if
I wasn't there, or could not understand them.  But I
knew that if I said anything I'd be punished, and it
just didn't seem worthwhile.

"So, shall we proceed?", my owner asked.  "I've got a
nice young bitch just in season who needs covering,
and if you're not offended by the sight....?"

"Oh no, sir.  I'd have to pay good money to see a live
sex show in London!"

My owner clapped his hands, and the guards brought in
a bitch I'd not covered before - she was probably
sixteen or seventeen, but judging form the way she
held her body proudly and unashamed, I knew she must
have been handled by the guards like this before, and
she lay down on the studding bench and opened her legs
without any hesitation or embarrassment.  By now I was
used to then just going over and getting on with it,
without the need for my owner to lead me by my dick as
he had done initially, and at a nod from him I walked
over and stood between her legs.  But then, as much as
I tried, I just couldn't get an erection.  I think it
was the thought of a white guy, a guy my own age,
watching me - I'd got used to the audience of blacks,
but somehow, having someone so like me there just
turned me off.

My master rapped "Get on with it, Steve....", but I
just couldn't.

My owner looked very angry, and came over and began to
jerk at my dick very roughly, and when even this was
slow to make me respond, he hissed "If you continue to
shame me in front of my guest, you'll be beaten...."

Well making a threat like that just isn't helpful when
you're having problems with your erection anyway, and
the thought that I wasn't performing properly in front
of a guy like myself  made me start to blush.  My
owner continued to jerk at me, and fortunately I did
start to "show" properly, and he pulled me forward and
inserted me into her.  It was horrible, though, to
have him grip my hips and then push me backwards and
forwards in and out of her, just as if I was some
inexperienced novice, and the red stain of shame
spread from my face down on to my shoulders.  After
all, as a slave all I had to be proud of now was my
body - I owned nothing, had no freedom, but in front
of another man I could at least take pride in my
masculinity - but this had failed me.

When I was finished my owner commanded me to stay in
her, and I stood there, taking most of my weight on my
hands, and trying not to look down into the face of
the bitch.

I could hear my owner talking to his guest.  "I'm
sorry, John, that the stud wasn't as enthusiastic as
he normally is, and I'll have him thoroughly caned
later as punishment."

"Oh please no, sir, not on my account - it was
absolutely stunning to see such a handsome pair in
action:  when I have paid to see a live show, the
performers have never been as attractive as these two.
  The stud in particular is absolutely stunning - I've
never seen such lovely buttocks in action as he
fucked:  I thought they were appealing when he was
just standing there, but watching the muscles play in
them, and in his thighs, once he'd got going....
unforgettable.  And those low-hanging balls of his -
the glimpses of them between his thighs....
wonderful."

"You sound as if you're something of a connoisseur,
John..."

"Well I wouldn't say that, sir.  But when I knew I was
going to be assigned to come here as our company's
representative, I thought it best to learn about the
customs of the country in case I ever had the
opportunity to be entertained by someone like
yourself, sir.  So after I'd moved in, and established
myself, I went to see two or three slave dealers.  Of
course it was difficult - they were all so prejudiced
against a white man, but I persisted, and learned
quite a lot about what makes a good slave."

"We were talking earlier, John, about the importance
of establishing good personal relationships between us
if I decide to do business with your company.  I am
indeed impressed with your knowledge of slaves -
unless you are of course just flattering me....."

"Oh no, sir!  In business, especially if we are to
enter a close partnership, it's vital we are truthful
with each other. I really am impressed with the
slave..."

"How much do you want me to agree to your business
plan, John?"

"Very much, sir!  If you agreed, it would make my
reputation in the company, and my career would take
off like a rocket.  I know other companies have asked
you before, though, and you've never agreed...."

"Perhaps they didn't send the right men to ask me,
John.  But let's talk of pleasure - you definitely
think the slave is handsome, with a delightful ass?"

"Oh yes, very much so."

"Well amongst my closest acquaintances we have another
little custom after a studding -  the stud is
available for use, and it rounds off the evening in a
most convivial way if we get together and use him.  So
you want to be in my inner circle of trusted
acquaintances, John?"

I could see the young guy looking a little startled,
but he looked my owner straight in the eyes and said
"As I said, sir, very much so.  And it would give me a
real pleasure to be granted the use of your stud...."

My owner nodded.  "I think, then, that we might
dispense with the bitch - men can have more enjoyment
together...."  He clapped his hands, and the guards
came in.  He rattled off his native language ,which
I'd never managed to learn, and the guards pulled me
away from her, one led her out, and the other one
pushed me back onto the studding bench, face down, and
kicked at my ankles to open my legs wide.

After the guards had left, my owner said softly "Well,
he's all yours now, John....  It will be a novel
experience to see a white man use a slave - it's
somehow disturbing.  Do you know, back centuries ago
it was considered an abomination for a black man to
fuck a slave?  It was acceptable for a white owner to
do it, but not for a black.  There's an interesting
comparison here! "   The guy John said nothing ,and I
watched as he got up from the table, slipped his shoes
off, then lowered his jeans to stand there in his
short-sleeved shirt and a pair of black, thin, bikini
briefs.  My owner's eyes were on him, looking almost
greedily at him, and the young guy didn't hesitate but
pushed them to the ground, touching his dick to free
it from where it had been stuck to his balls.  My
owner nodded approvingly, and watched almost hungrily
as the man now unbuttoned his shirt, then cast it
aside to stand there just dressed in his wristwatch
and socks.

He was actually quite a fit guy for someone who was
not doing continual manual labour, I suppose - a flat
belly but no pronounced muscles, not much sign of fat,
and with a nicely proportioned loose-limbed sort of
body.  It did look odd, though,  as his upper body was
tanned, as were his calves, but from the waist down he
was deathly white as he clearly never exposed his butt
to the sun.  I'd got so used to seeing slaves all
darkly tanned all over, as I was, or pure white, like
the waiters, that the streak of white across his loins
looked almost bizarre.
I think my owner must have shared some of my surprise,
as he said "You know, John, there's something vaguely
pornographic about watching a free man like you
undress - one is used to seeing free men prepare
themselves to use a slave, of course, but there's
something deliciously different watching a handsome
free white man doing it..."

John said nothing, but just smiled.  With my owner
still watching him he came across the room stroking
his dick, then he stopped and reached out towards me
and began to force his finger up my ass.  "Ah, already
nicely lubed", he said to my owner.  "How very
thoughtful....", and with that, he was away.

I don't know why, but it was somehow exciting to be
fucked by another white guy in front of my owner.  I'd
been fucked by Joe, as you know, and by lots of my
owner's black friends, but never by another white guy
as my owner watched.  And I didn't know what to make
of this man - I mean, he was white, visibly so, but he
wasn't a slave.  It seemed somehow wrong to be fucked
by a white guy, even if he was "free" like my owner
and his colleagues.  He knew what he was doing,
though, as he really went at me hard, pulling right
out and slamming back into me very hard indeed,
causing me to groan.  And to add to his excitement he
sometimes pulled right out, slapped my butt hard, and
then started again.

Out of the corner of my eye  I saw my owner get up
from the table and shed his clothes, and advance on
us.  I thought at first that he was going to make me
suck his dick as my own fucking continued, as I was
sometimes used by his colleagues, but instead he went
up behind the guy John who was fucking me.  Look, I
don't know if you've ever tried it, but this idea of
having a "man sandwich" where one guy is
simultaneously fucking and being fucked is a great
erotic idea, but difficult to bring off as everyone
has to try and synchronise his movements.  And I don't
think John was used to taking a dick as big as my
owner's, either, as I could feel his body really tense
as my owner entered him, and then his cries and shouts
completely drowned out my more restrained ones.

They went and sat on a big couch afterwards, and sat
there drinking more wine, and laughing and joking.  I
heard my owner say "How delicious, John - a white man
who is not a slave, and yet who I used as I use my
slaves."  My owner called me over then, and commanded
me to kneel in front of them and clean their dicks.
Well it was OK, but strange, to be kneeling their
licking at the white man's, but when I had to do my
owner, it was absolutely foul - that John had not
cleaned his ass out and so my owner's dick tasted
almost indescribably bitter and foul, as his cum and
sweat was mixed in with shit from John.  Still,
perhaps he hadn't realised that he was going to be
fucked when he accepted the dinner invitation.

The two men sat together with their arms around each
other's shoulders, continuing to sip wine and idly
play with each other's bodies, as men do:  gently
fingering each other's nips, toying with their dicks,
and occasionally kissing each other as they laughed
and talked.  It was odd, though, to see a man who
could so easily be a slave being treated almost as an
equal by my owner.

My owner looked at his guest and said "You know, John,
you have a good plan for increasing my profits hugely,
and it has been suggested by some American companies
before.  But when they came to discuss a potential
deal with me, I realised they were not men I could do
business with:  invited here as you were tonight, they
seemed outraged when I suggested that watching a
studding provided a good after dinner entertainment
and a good prelude to a business negotiation.  They
did not seem to like the idea of having naked slaves
in here - surely they were  used to seeing white flesh
as they were that colour themselves?? "

John laughed softly.  "Ah, sir, that's Americans for
you!  They're very prudish, at heart.  They're still a
young country, I suppose, and they just don't have the
sophistication we English have in these matters.
You've got to remember, sir, that we ruled two thirds
of the planet once, and we introduced the slave trade
- it was British merchants who saw the benefits of
shipping cotton and sugar from the USA to England,
then simple but gaudy cotton goods and simple
manufactured items to your ancestors here, and
finally, to complete the triangle, slaves from here to
the USA.  What we're proposing now...."

"Not yet, John!  Not on to business yet.  Tell me,
though, how such a young man was entrusted with such a
delicate negotiation...."

"Well, sir, I'm ambitious.  And a lot of the older men
in my company wouldn't even try it, as they feared
another failure would damage their careers."  John
smiled as he stroked my owner's dick gently, and went
on "But I think the real reason is that they were
afraid - they'd heard rumours about your hospitality,
sir, and perhaps they didn't want to take part in the
after dinner entertainment..."  He laughed out loud a
little now, before continuing "Or, there again,
perhaps they were worried... Worried that you might
find them too attractive, and 'invited' them to stay
here permanently....?"

My owner roared with laughter.  "So aren't you
terrified that I might simply tell the guards to take
you away, collar you, and burn my ownership mark into
your butt and your arm, and throw you into my slave
barn?  If I did that, no one could tell that you were
not a slave - you do not have the proper black skin of
a free man, after all."

Did John show just a little more concern?  He kept his
tone light, but  I sensed he was worried. "Oh no, sir
- you've got the power to do that, of course.  But I'm
more valuable to you working away to get our project
off the ground than I would be as a slave - if all
goes as it should, I'll make you millions, whereas if
you enslave me, I'll just be worth a few hundred
thousand, at the most.  And I judged you to be too
good a businessman to want to pass up such large
profits..."

My owner roared with laughter.  "You are wise, John.
You think like a black man, and you fuck like  a black
man - I haven't seen a white man fuck a slave as well
as you do before!  We're going to get along well, I
can see that.  But take care, John - work well on this
project, and make sure it delivers the returns you are
promising.  You have a nice ass, and I could easily
have you branded and collared if the profits do not
materialise - in spite of your sophistication, you are
just a white man, and you could easily be turned into
a slave like Steve here.  In our country there is a
very fine line for a man with a white skin between
freedom, and being a slave."

They seemed to mostly forget about me then as they
started to talk business, and I listened with some
interest to what was going on.  John's company was a
huge supermarket group, and they'd come up with the
idea of my owner's plantation growing asparagus,
strawberries, and other luxury high-value crops,
rather than the cotton and sugar cane and stuff we did
now.  The clever thing, the thing that really made it
profitable, was that the planes that flew in new
slaves form the USA could then fly on to England
loaded with the fresh fruit and vegetables, and from
there back to the USA loaded with British biscuits,
pork pies, preserves, haggis, beer, whiskey and other
British food products favoured by Americans.  This way
they'd save a fortune on having to fly empty slave
planes straight back to the USA, and with a triangular
trade, as had happened centuries before, there would
be benefits for everyone.  And, what's more, John
explained to my owner, with both men almost roaring
with laughter - all the produce could perfectly
legitimately be described as "entirely gown by hand
without using machines, so conserving the earth's
resources" - this would appeal hugely to fucking
stupid "ethical" shoppers who would be prepared to pay
very high prices for it, without even considering how
you could produce tons of this stuff without
mechanical assistance!

Although both men carried on drinking, I noticed that
John was an astute business man as he never quite
emptied his glass, and so remained much more sober
than my owner.  In the early hours of the morning,
too, he showed absolutely no hesitation in fucking me
again, as I lay on my back holding my ankles so that
he could demonstrate, for my owner's amusement, the
many ways that he could "control" me with the way he
used his dick on my ass.

As he was dressing and preparing to go home, and I was
standing against the wall dog tired as it was so late
and the weight of my collar hung heavy, John came over
and ran his hands lightly over my body, pausing every
now and then to feel some particular feature like my
nips, or the solid ridges of muscle on my belly, or my
dick.  He was holding that in the palm of his hand,
and idly 'skinned me back.  "I must complement you,
sir, on this slave", he remarked to my owner. "He was
an excellent fuck, and he's beautifully hung."

"Yes, John.  And you're not so bad yourself - I might
yet change my mind and have you enslaved..."

Both men laughed and John went on "But you know, when
I first saw him,  I thought he might not be so good -
first impressions count, and the beauty of this dick
is really concealed when he's not erect as his 'skin
is so prominent.   I went to the gym in the capital
two days ago, and all the bath slaves there are cut."

"Wasn't it rather bold of you to go there...?"

"Oh yes, that!  Most of the members seemed to be
outraged that a white guy should be using the
facilities, and I heard a lot of them muttering on
about a white guys' sweat staining the apparatus, and
crap like that.  Pure prejudice, of course.  And some
of them even tried to make me fetch them towels in the
sauna, as they thought I was a slave with my white
skin, and when I told them to fetch it themselves, and
to get one for me at the same time, they just said
things like 'fucking dirty whiteys oughtn't to be
allowed in here with decent folk'.  Anyway, I expect
they'll change their views slowly, and see that skin
colour isn't important, one day.... But the point of
all this is that the slaves there had all been
'skinned, and they looked so much better.  Now I know
Steve here is erect most of the time, but when he's
not, his head is concealed, and that seems to be such
a pity.  I'm just a little surprised, sir, that you
put him on as an entertainment for your guests when
some of the best parts of him are not always on show"

My owner nodded, but didn't say anything, and John
continued dressing then left, and  I was returned to
the slave barn.

Of course all of us slaves soon started to suffer from
our owner's new strategy:  growing cotton and stuff
was hard, but fruit and vegetables was infinitely
worse.  For one thing, we got four crops a year now,
so four lots of hoeing, four lots of digging, and so
on. And it all needed picking, too - I lost count of
the number of days I spent crawling on m hands and
knees across the strawberry and asparagus fields,
selecting and picking the fruit.  What made it
particularly awful, though, was that we were not
allowed to piss now as we worked - you still couldn't
stop as your coffle moved across the field so you had
to hold it in until the midday break, as they didn't
want the fruit and vegetables "contaminated".  And it
was, of course ,absolutely forbidden to eat any of the
fruit, as it was our owner's property and we would be
reducing his profits - at midday, and in the evening,
the guards came along and smelled our breath, and if
there was the slightest suggestion of a hint of fruit
or vegetables, we were caned.  Given the blandness of
our normal diet, this was a particularly harsh
requirement - surely just one or two strawberries per
slave would not have made that much difference

Surprisingly I was taken out again and cleaned as
usual for a studding only the next night after the
visit of the white Englishman - usually my owner
didn't stud me on two successive days.  Everything
looked normal when I was taken into the dining room -
my owner and some of his "regulars" were around the
table as usual, and as I stood there waiting for the
bitch to be brought in, they were all engaged in
animated discussion, involving a lot of hand waving
and laughter.

Finally my owner banged the table and said something,
and it looked as if they were having a vote, and there
was a lot more laughter.  He clapped his hands as
usual and they brought in the studding bench and I
stood there waiting to see which bitch it would be
tonight, but instead the big brutal guard came over
and pushed me towards it.   Oh well, so I was just
going to get fucked - I was used to that by now and I
supposed my owner's friends had been voting about
which one was going first, or something.

The guard pushed me down on my back and clipped my
collar to the bench so I could not move, but then it
was different - he pulled out a strap and tightened it
around my belly, and two more fixed my thighs securely
to the bench's legs.  This was going to be some weird
fuck, I thought - presumably they were going just to
use my throat.

My owner came and stood between my legs and his
friends clustered around, and he said something to
them, and then switched into English.  "I'm proud of
you as a stud, Steve.  But something my guest said
last night set me thinking, and the more I thought
about it, the more I realised he was right - as a
stud, you're often on display here for some time
before you are used, and I think we all miss out by
not getting to see you properly.  I've called a number
of people in the city today, and everyone agrees that
the proper 'look' for a stud is to be sleek and
exposed, so we're just going to 'clip' you - get rid
of that unsightly 'skin so that we can see you
better."

I was so horrified that I forgot all the rules of
slave behaviour and blurted out "No, master,
please...."

"So, Steve, it's as I suspected all these years.  You
have not yet acclimatised fully to being a slave.  You
know it is forbidden to speak unless asked a question,
and yet here, in front of my friends, you shame me!  I
do wonder if I have done the right thing by breeding
from you - although you have a magnificent body,
perhaps I should have selected a slave with less
spirit.  A slave has no need of courage.  But still,
it is perhaps too late now.  But let us get started."

He picked up my dick, and I tried to struggle to break
free, but it was useless as the straps bit into my
belly and legs.   My master stared along my body, and
said quietly as he looked at me "You deserve to be
punished for your display tonight, Steve.  I had
intended to give you an injection to lessen the pain,
but perhaps I will just do it as we are now - I have
done this before, and whilst I may not be as quick and
efficient as those doctors who routinely circumcise
babies, the principle is the same..."

I watched in horror as the guard gave him a small
envelope, which said "Sterile" on it, and my master
tore it open to get out a scalpel, which glittered in
the lights.    I began to scream as he made the first
incision.

End Of Part Four