Date: Sat, 5 Aug 2006 23:28:18 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Falsely Enslaved, Part Eleven

FALSELY ENSLAVED

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part  Eleven

Sam and I had that kind of ongoing niggling argument
as we got up in the morning.  He kept telling me I was
wrong and that I should turn the ex-cop into the
police;  and I kept saying how I was determined to
make him suffer, as he had me. And I added that it
wasn't the same for Sam, as although Sam had been one
of the falsely enslaved, he was, after all, a real
slave.  But he went on and on about the risk to me,
and in the end I got fed up and lost my temper.
"Listen, you are a slave, remember?  And you know what
slaves do?  They keep themselves quiet unless their
owners ask them a direct question.  So I'm fed up with
listening to your views about what I should do to the
ex-cop, and I want to hear no more!", I snapped.

Sam got up from the breakfast table very calmly and
quietly, and stood there, head bowed, hands clasped
behind his back.  "Sir, yes, sir." He muttered
quietly.

"Sam, there's no need to be like that...."

"Sir, yes, sir."

It made me even more cross, actually, but there wasn't
anything I could do about it.  But, as so often when
you know you've gone too far, it had the effect of
dragging me back a bit, and I went into my study and
put through another call to Stu.  We chatted about
when he was going to comer on the visit we'd discussed
before, and then I asked "Can I ask you a question -
purely theoretical, of course... Suppose the ex-cop in
 whom I have an interest were persuaded to come
south..... So that he was here, in the south's
jurisdiction.... Could he be prosecuted then?"

"Well I suppose so, Steve.  The offences are so grave
that the statute of limitations  doesn't apply.  But I
guess the courts would take a look at the 'persuasion'
that was used to get him down here.  Anything the
police did, for example, might be regarded as
entrapment and then he couldn't be prosecuted as he'd
been brought here against his will, the courts would
think.  Of course if it wasn't the cops... If a girl
friend persuaded him to come down here to visit her
parents or something, that might be different.  But
any deliberate act to set up something to lure him
down here, or any attempt to coerce him into coming,
then it would be no good and he'd be off, Scot free."

I was silent for a few moments, and Stu added "Steve,
be careful!  The courts take a dim view of people
meddling in matters like this.... I wouldn't advise
you to set up an elaborate entrapment.....  If you did
and the courts found out, then it would be a huge
fine, or a prison term.  And I suppose you know that
anything more than that, like strong coercion, and you
might even be looking at enslavement."

I thanked Stu and rang off, and saw Sam hovering by
the study door.  His silly attitude of a few minutes
earlier had seemed to have evaporated, too, as he
seemed really worried.  "Steve, we've got to be
careful.... You heard what Stu said.... If you were
enslaved, we'd both be sold, you as  the slave, and me
a a chattel you couldn't then own, and we'd never see
each other again....."

I liked the "we" again, and I put my arm around Sam's
shoulders to try to reassure him.  "Well it's too
late, isn't it?  I did abduct him - you can't get more
coercive than that - and so if I am found, then it's
slavery again for me, a real one this time."

"So I'd' better help you,  and make sure it all works
properly...."

I kissed him, lightly.  "Thanks, Sam.  We can do this,
you know.  And we may as well get started:  the sooner
he looks like a proper slave, the safer we'll be as no
one will listen to him if he tries to complain or
anything.  So why don't you and the gardener go and
clean him up a bit - wash him properly - inside and
out, as I need to take his cherry - crop his hair,
trim his pits and pubs, shave his balls and ass, that
sort of stuff....  But leave his body hair:  after
having Brett smooth, I fancy a bit of a change and I
liked what I saw with that rug on his chest and
belly...."

Sam gave a big grin "Ah, so I can grow mine again, can
I, if you like a hairy chest...?"

"I like hair, yes, like mine.  But you've got nigga
sandpaper, not proper hair, and I don't like that.  So
keep using the razor....."

"Oh well, it was worth asking.  But  I don't need the
gardener to help, I can do all that myself."

"No, Sam, he was a cop, remember?  And cops have some
sort of combat training, for when they catch criminals
who put up a fight...."

"...and you always forget that I was a marine, and we
have REAL combat training!  A cop's no match for me,
especially one who's let his body go, as that one
has...."

"All the same, Sam, take the gardener with you.  I
don't doubt you can overcome him, and in other
circumstances it might be really erotic to watch you
two fight it out.  But I can't risk damage to him, and
if he fought back you might well end up breaking his
arm or something. And then we'd have to call in the
vet, and before he's been 'broken', he'd tell the vet
stuff...."

"...unless we put him and his broken arm into a deep
pit on the place, and pushed all the soil back on top
of him."

"Sam, that may well be what you did in the marines
with 'unfortunate' prisoners, but I want revenge, you
know!  If I'd only wanted to kill him, I could have
shot him in Boston.  No,  I want him whole, undamaged,
and 'broken' as a slave, as I was.  So take the
gardener along, even if he just stands and watches,
OK?"

"Makes sense, boss!" Sam snapped, and bounded out.

I did  some paperwork, although my mind wasn't really
on it.   Then I had my morning coffee, and was sitting
in my study when there was a respectful knock on the
door and Sam came in - he must be trying for some
effect, I knew, as of course he never normally knocked
anywhere in the house.  They had him outside, and I
agreed with Sam that they should hold him there for
some minutes, as that would increase whatever
feelings of dread or terror he was experiencing.

When the did bring him in and stood him in front of
me, all three were wearing standard slave shorts.  Sam
and the gardener stood slightly behind the ex-cop, and
he stood there looking vaguely defiant.  "Now, you
need to let me go", he blustered.  "This has gone far
enough - but if you let me go, and give me five
hundred, I'll forget all about it...."

I smiled.  "You're a slave, boy.  I captured you, just
as you and your buddy did some years ago to me.  The
only difference is that you sold me to the slaver Jed,
and I'm in a position to be able to carry out your
further enslavement myself, here.  You've met Sam and
my gardener, and you can see they're big, tough guys:
any trouble from you, and I will order them to punish
you.  Now, I want to get a better look at what I've
acquired now you've been cleaned up and trimmed a bit:
lose those shorts."

"I'm a free man... Yo can't do this to me...."

"You were a free man.  You're a slave now  My slave."
As I said this, I nodded to Sam, and Sam neatly and
suddenly pulled the slave shorts down.  The ex-cop at
once pulled his hands in front of his dick and balls,
and shouted "Hey....."

"Put your hands to your sides, and spread your legs a
little as I want to gauge how your balls hang."

"Fuck you!", he spat, so I nodded at Sam again, who
grabbed his arm, and as the ex-cop wondered what on
earth was happening, delivered two hard slaps to the
guy's butt.  Sam let him go then, and the ex-cop
rubbed his hand gingerly over his butt.

"See - You did move your hands, and I can see you
properly now.  But we could have avoided that
punishment, mild though it was.  Let me warn you that
as a slave in my household I expect total obedience
from you, and anything less will result in punishment
- much, much harsher punishments than you have just
received.  Now, put your hands behind your neck, as I
want to inspect you."

Seeing Sam and the gardener standing there so close to
him, the ex-cop reluctantly obeyed.  I then got up
from my chair and began the standard kind of external
physical exam any owner is used to - running my hands
over his shoulders, back, butt and thighs;  then
moving around the front to feel his neck muscles,
tease his nips (which were agreeably large to begin
with, and instantly stiffened as I touched them),
probe his ribs, and finally 'weigh' his balls in my
hand, and stroke his dick to erection.  As I did this
last, vital part of the inspection, he shuffled around
and pleaded "No, please....", in a low voice.  Sam,
hearing this, instantly grabbed his biceps again,
pressing his strong fingers in so that the ex-cop knew
Sam was ready for more if necessary.

He was, perhaps surprisingly, not circumcised.  As a
general rule I like slaves to be cut (as do most
owners, of course, which is why Brett had had Sam and
me done), but I did wonder about this one - I was, you
may recall, looking to make a 'statement' when I show
a slave in public, and perhaps I ought to be
considering  and uncut slave for his novelty value at
least.  He didn't have one of those 'skins that hung
right beyond the end of his dick when he wasn't
aroused anyway, and in its flaccid state it covered
the head, but did not extend much further.  I decided
to consider having just a small length trimmed off so
the tip of his dick, and piss slit, were always
exposed, and resolved to ask Sam about it that night.

I went back over some of the territory I had already
covered, taking a fold of the skin around his waist
and belly between my thumb and forefinger.  I looked
at him and said quietly "We call this free man fat.
Only free men abuse their bodies by not exercising and
eating too much so that they lay down this - you're
not particularly bad, but after a few weeks here
you'll be much trimmer and we'll restore that flat
belly I bet you had at school.  I imagine you were
quite a jock, weren't you?"

He nodded, and I added "The correct response is "Sir,
yes, sir."

"So, quite a jock, and one for the ladies, I suppose -
that uniform, the power of being a cop..."

"You could say that..."  I nodded to Sam, and he
slapped the ex-cop four times now.

"You'd better improve your powers of learning!  It's
'Sir, yes, sir' if you don't want to be punished.
Anyway, one thing you will discover is that you may
once more get to be a real jock, as we'll exercise
you, and I have in mind a role for you that needs lots
and lots of hard physical work.  But as for the
ladies... Well, I don't allow that in my slaves,
unless I choose to use you as a stud for the breeding
fees.  It's preferable, I find, for make slaves to
have sex with their fellows."

"Sir, I'm not a fag....."

A nod from me, and Sam slapped his butt twice more,
the sound ricocheting around the room.  "Listen, you
fucking slave, I'm not interested in your views.  I
don't care whether you're a fag or not, and I don't
need you telling me anyway.  If I say you are going to
have sex with your fellow slaves, like Sam here, then
you will.  In fact, you're going to get your first
introduction to your new way of living shortly, as I'm
a fairly traditionally minded owner and I believe that
slaves should experience the control their owner has
over them by taking his dick as soon as possible."

He went to say something, and stopped.  "Good, you're
learning!  See how easy it is:  there's no point in
giving me your views on whether you want me to rape
you or not, as I'm not interested in them.  You're
learning to speak only when spoken to, and also that I
have the power, I have the control, and I can do what
I like with you and there's nothing, nothing at all,
that you can do about it."

I turned to Sam and said "Take him out and put him on
the horse in the living room, and I'll be with you
shortly."

"Sir, please....", he began, and I nodded to Sam to
let him speak.  "Please, sir, you can't be serious,
about fucking me.... You don't even know my name....."

"What's your name got to do with it?  You're a slave,
my property.  But you're wrong, anyway:  I do know
your name:  it's Spike."

"No, sir, I'm...."

This time I nodded to Sam to slap him again, and I
added "Slaves get given new names, and you're Spike
from now on.  It helps you to adjust to your new
status, actually, to put your old name behind you."
And before he could say anything more, I motioned for
Sam to take him out.

I judged it would be better to allow him to "stew" on
the horse for half an hour or so, lying there, knowing
his ass was totally exposed, and worrying about what
was going to happen to him.  But I got impatient,
eager to move on, and strode out of my study a little
before the time was up.  Sam and the gardener, both
still in their slave shorts, were almost "guarding"
the horse with Spike strapped down to it, and I
sauntered over and ran my hands over his butt,
commenting to him about how hot and angry his ass
felt, and how that's what happened to a punished
slave.  "Sam runs the place", I told Spike as he lay
there,  his head twisting around to try to see what I
was doing.  "I give him wide discretion to make things
happen, and to ensure standards are obeyed.  He likes
to spank, and, as you have found out, when a man like
Sam does it, it hurts.  I would advise you against
making him so cross that he needs to take a cane to
you, or, even worse, a whip!"

I stopped stroking his butt and ran my finger along
his ass crack, letting the tip of my finger come to
rest on his pucker, and scratching at it gently.  He
was flexing his legs and shuffling his feet slightly,
and it was clear he was hating all this.

"So, Spike, has another man been up this pucker of
yours, or am I the first?"

"So, sir... You would be the first.... But please,
sir....."

"I'm not interested, Spike!  I consider it essential
to your training that you learn the complete control I
have over you.  So now, let's get started."

He carried on watching me as I casually removed my
clothes, handing them to Sam who neatly folded them.
I deliberately kept myself turned towards him as I did
so, as I wanted him to see that I was absolutely
unashamed of my body, and so that he could observe the
size of my dick.  In fact I stroked it to a full
erection, not that much effort was required as I was
really aroused, and stood tight by his head letting it
wave and bob gently.  "Now, Spike, look at this...
Your first sight of your owner's dick!   I think a
slave should pay homage to his owner and would want to
kiss his owner's dick in appreciation.  Would you like
to do that, Spike?"

"Sir, no, sir!"

"Normally, Spike, the only acceptable answer to an
owner's question is 'Sir, yes, sir' and 'no' is not a
word that ought to exist in the slave's mind.  On this
occasion you are being particularly foolish -   as you
will observe, my dick is dry and when it is inserted
into your ass, there will be a great deal of very
uncomfortable pain for you.  If you were to kiss it,
and then worship it by licking it and suckling it, you
could cover it in your saliva, and thus help lubricate
it....  You should know that it is totally inevitable
that my dick is going into your ass, so a sensible
person would take whatever steps he could to minimise
the problem."

I carried on waving my dick around near his face, and
I watched him as the thoughts raced through his brain.
 Finally, hesitantly and tentatively, he moved his
head as far as he could towards my dick, and kind of
pursed his lips.  I moved closer to him and put my
hand on his cropped hair, and pushed my dick at him.
"Good boy, good Spike....", I crooned, as he oh so
gingerly at first kissed the tip of my dick, then put
his tongue out and gingerly licked at it, and finally,
as I continued to hold his head as a further way of
signalling to him my "control" over him, he took it
into his mouth - well, the first couple of inches, at
least, before he gagged.  Still there was time to
train him more in the fine art of cocksucking  later,
if  I decided to use him more regularly for sex.

You can't delay these things indefinitely, of course,
and so I pulled out of his mouth and went behind him.
I spread his cheeks and bend down to spit at his
pucker - well, you do need some lube, don't you?
Never mind about the slave you're fucking, I think it
hurts you if you go in without any at all.

He was so tight, so incredibly tight, that I had a
real problem to get in at all, and I hand to use my
hand to "stiffen" my dick and really force it in.
Spike was thrashing around a fair bit, as you'd
expect, and I never think that's a bad thing, as it
adds to my excitement and enjoyment.    H e was
screaming and begging and pleading, of course, and I
had no intention of punishing him for breaking
silence:  he was in pain, I'm sure, but it's no bad
thing to let a slave express himself at a time of
great trauma like this.   Once I was in, though, I was
gentle in pushing forward very, very slowly until I
was as deep as I could go.  I leant forward and rested
my hands on his shoulders, shoulders that were heaving
with his sobs, and whispered "There, there.... I'm
right in you now, Spike!  Can you feel how your
owner's dick has possessed you? Feel this....."

I moved around slightly, and went on "...and that is
your owner's pubes rubbing against your tender ass....
Feel it, Spike, experience it, and remember who owns
you, who controls you now....."

He seemed a bit calmer, so I began to fuck him
properly - not really hard, not with great slams, but
with short, even, slow strokes.  I was enjoying it,
really enjoying it, and I could have gone on for ages
as he was so tight that the sensation on my entire
dick shaft, let alone the head, was fantastic.    It's
not enough to bring me off, though - I find I need a
lot of hard fucking to do that, and I didn't want to
risk tearing Spike's ass by doing it that way.  So I
pulled out, pressed my thighs against his so he knew I
was still there (and enjoying the feel of his sweaty
skin against mine), and gave my dick about eight
really hard wanks with my hand pressing extra tight:
I felt myself going over the edge, and my cum shot in
a lovely long white streak along Spike's back.    I
leant forward once more and whispered into his ear
"Feel your owner's cum on your skin, Spike!  If I
train you as a sex slave, you'll learn to crave my
cum, to want it smeared over you, or pumped down your
throat....."

He moaned faintly, and I went over to the cloakroom to
wash my dick - even though Sam and the gardener had
cleaned him out inside, my dick was of course covered
in sweat, spit and cum, and I don't like dressing
without first cleaning it.  I came back and sprawled
on the couch, my legs apart, and my fingers toying
with my dick and balls as you do when you've just had
sex.  "Right, Spike - now you've lost your virginity,
we can move on.  Sam is, as I told you, in charge
here, so it only seems fair that he should test you
out next...."

I forgave him as he cried out "No, please, sir,
no....", a cry that redoubled as Sam shed his shorts
and stood there by Spike's face.  Sam wasn't as gentle
as me when he went in, but  I whispered to him to
remind him about not wanting to tear Spike's
sphincter, and he was a lot less vigorous than normal.
 Still, I always enjoy watching Sam at work, as his
hairless body, glistening with sweat, makes such an
agreeable sight as it pistons in and out:  and
especially when there's a white guy underneath him,
making such a contrast with Sam's really dark nigga
skin.

Even though I knew the gardener didn't particularly
like being a top, I next commanded him to fuck Spike,
as I wanted the man to really understand that his life
was changing.    Mind you, watching the gardener you'd
never know he didn't like it - he worked with vigour
and enthusiasm, and I made a mental note to perhaps
invite him to join Sam and me one night, as he had
really powerful buttocks from all the bending and
carrying he did, and they were nicely hairy.

Finally, though, we couldn't delay the part of the
morning I'd not been looking forward to.  As Spike lay
there,  cum now slowly leaking out of him and
trickling gradually down the inside of his thighs, Sam
went and fetched the branding iron.  Unlike the rather
ritualistic way that I'd been branded, with the iron
heated in the fire, this was going to be  a simple
affair:  I'd borrowed this iron from Dave again, and
he told me that as his business picked up and he had
more slaves, he had less and less time to "play" with
fire and this electric one was superior.  "It's so
controllable, Steve", he'd told me as he handed it
over.  "Plug it in to warm it up for at least five
minutes, then it's thermostatically controlled so it's
always at optimum temperature.    Then pressing it
into the slave's flesh for exactly sixty seconds will
ensure a sharp, clear brand.... That's technology for
you...."

So I did as he'd said, but I still had a most uneasy
feeling as I brought the glowing red "S" towards
Spike's butt, and it took a real effort of will to
press it home:  it was all too easy to remember the
total agony I had been in when I was branded.  But it
has to be done, doesn't it?  And I'm not one to shirk
an owner's duties - and I don't think it's something
I can reasonably ask another slave to do for me, even
Sam.

We let the gardener take Spike back out to the barn,
reminding him to chain him up properly even though he
appeared to be in so many difficulties that there was
no chance of him running off.  Sam and I then sat
there and I told Sam I wanted him to take charge of
Spike's training, just as he had with Brett.  "We need
to get the fat off him, Sam, and get those legs and
butt built up - at the same time stretching his lung
capacity."

"So you're going to use him as a pony, then?"

"Well I suppose so - we hardly need any additional
slaves to work the grounds, and he's not suitable fur
use around the house as he's too big - can you imagine
a big hunk like that trying to serve our supper?"

Sam laughed, but said "But it is a problem, Steve -
Brett doesn't get enough exercise as it is, and I have
to make him do 'training' runs rather than real work.
Another pony will make that worse."

"So we could sell Brett, I suppose:  he's a proper
slave, after all, and I've got the owner's
documentation and everything."

Sam nodded, and I went on "I've got a SIN for Spike -
a little trick Dave told me about finding a slave
who's died in an accident, or something:  most owners
don't bother to register it, but are happy to 'sell
on' the documentation.  So here's Spike's number - and
that's why he's called Spike, as that was the
registered name on the documents.  If the farrier
comes when I'm busy, I want them tattooed on his butt,
above the brand, and just below his jaw on the left
hand side, so that they're visible even if I let him
wear shorts.  And the farrier is to cinch him, as we
were, but I've decided to have a proper collar on him,
not the 'invisible' ones like you and Brett have.  But
make sure it doesn't chafe - our farrier is pretty
good, but those heavy iron collars can have
manufacturing faults."

Sam nodded, and snuggled his body against mine.  We
smiled at each other, and he reached out and took my
dick in his hand.  "You're still all sweaty, Steve....
Shall we do something about it...."

"I don't really want to fuck again this morning, Sam."

"You idiot!  I mean shall we run down to the lake, and
go for  a swim before lunch?"

As it so happens, I didn't get much time to devote to
the training and "fitting" of Spike in the next couple
of weeks, as I had a series of disturbing calls from
my mother, telling me how "difficult" dad was getting.
 I called Jamie privately, and he sounded worried,
too, adding that he thought at least part of the
problem was that dad was worried about money, and the
rate a which their savings were disappearing as their
pitiful pension rises were not keeping up with the
price inflation - especially in energy prices, to keep
the house warm.  Winter was approaching, and Jamie
thought it was praying on dad's mind.

"I reckon the solution is for mom and dad to come and
live down here", I told Jamie.  "I can pick up the
bills easily, and with a few slaves around he place,
mom needn't do all the cleaning and cooking and
laundry...."

"Dad would never agree to it, Steve, you know that!
All that stuff all his life about being an
abolitionist."

"Yes, but look how he changed from being a liberal to
ultra conservative, when it was one of his sons who
was fucking another guy!  And I take it you haven't
told him that you're not going to marry, and produce
the grandchildren...."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because, little brother,  I do have some experience
with the way men react when there's a dick shafting
them, and I can tell that you really like it!"

"So I might marry, and have a few male friends as a
hobby - a lot of men do that."

"I'll do a deal with you, Jamie:   persuade mom and
dad to come and live down here, and you can come too:
you can work for me as something or other, and life
will be a lot easier for you -  marry a 'southern
belle' to give mom and dad grandkids,  and she'll
almost expect you to be fucking a slave on the side!"

I heard a silence, and then Jamie said "Would you give
me Brett?"

"What?"

"Brett - your pony - he and I used to be really good
buddies.  He taught me a lot, and I think I owe it to
him to try to make life a bit easier for him.  He was
the president of my frat, you know...."

"You're wasting your time.  He's a trained pony now, a
properly trained pony.  He isn't your old buddy...."

"Well let me be the judge of that.  Now, do you want
dad persuaded, or not?"

I agreed, as it kind of solved a problem for me - if
Jamie had Brett as his pony, then once Spike was
trained, he could be my pony and Sam's fears of  him
not having enough to do would be obviated.

One day I must ask Jamie what pressure he put on dad
to get him to agree to move south.  Dad clearly didn't
want to, and would hardly talk about it to me at all
on the phone, and mom wasn't much better:  I suggested
 I rent a house for them until they knew what they
wanted, and she replied that she was sure that
anything I chose would be fine!  I mean, it's hard
enough searching for a house for oneself, isn't it?
Trying to find one for someone else is almost
impossible.   But as luck would have it there was what
 I thought was a very suitable property:  close to the
centre of the town, so mom and dad could walk in to
shop, or go to the library; four bedrooms and four
bathrooms so that there would be two guest rooms if
Jamie continued to live at home; a good-sized living
room, a big formal dining room, a small library, and a
study.  It was a charming Victorian wooden structure -
a lot of work in upkeep, I know, but with slave
painters it's not such a problem - with a shady porch
running along the front bordering the road, and with a
good glass structure along the back where mom could
potter and do plants and stuff even in the winter.
Best of all, there was a slave house at the side,
inconspicuous as these things should be, but with a
short passage connecting it to the main house so that
the slaves would always be on call.  Opening into the
lane at the end of the garden there was what had
formerly been a garage, but which would make an ideal
stable for Brett.

I negotiated a yearly lease, and set about acquiring
some slaves so that the place could be set in order
properly before mom and dad set out.  I had no
experience of this, of course:   what I was looking
for in a slave was totally different form mom and
dad's requirement.  As ever, Dave was amine of
information, and even went along with me to the dealer
in the next town to see what was available.  They have
a separate section for trained domestics, so there
wasn't even the excitement of taking a look at the
latest males they had.  Dave suggested, though, that I
first of all find a kind of  "major domo", as I
wouldn't want to be involved in running the house ,and
my parents' experience would be lacking because of
them not being used to dealing with slaves.

Dave questioned some of the stock  - interestingly,
displayed clothed - and finally recommended to me a
guy in his mid fifties who was called Hudson.  He'd
been in service for many years and was, Dave assured
me, "steady and respectful" and "could be trusted".  I
asked why, and Dave looked at me as if I was some sort
of idiot.  "How many major domos do you think are
needed around here?  Poor old Hudson is looking to be
sold off as a common field slave if you don't buy him,
and so the relatively cushy life you're offering him
will earn his eternal gratitude.  And you'll only ever
have to threaten him with selling him, and you'll have
his complete attention!"

We let Hudson - who was extraordinarily polite and
stood there instantly ready to offer advice if  I
asked for it - assist in the selection of the other
house slaves then:  two maids to clean and serve at
table (and who, as Dave pointed out, were potential
good breeding stock should I want to have them
studded), a cook (one of those huge, big, fat
'mammies' who were such a stereotype in last century's
films but where there is some justification as they do
make excellent cooks), and finally a gardener, and a
general "boy" to help out in other areas.  I perked up
when we were making these last choices, and selected a
twenty eight year old slender nigga as the gardener (
he had references from a previous owner attesting to
his gardening skills, but I also liked the look of his
body), and for the boy a sixteen year old half-breed,
as I thought his paler brown would make a nice change
from the rather solid black of the others.

I arranged with Jamie to take mom and dad for a couple
of days to New York and paid for them to see three
shows and all that sort of stuff, so that when they
arrived - by plane, as I wanted mom and dad's time to
begin pleasantly - all was ready in the house, with
all their furniture in place, and the china, linen and
glassware unpacked, and so on.

Mom thought it was delightful, and was almost crying
as I introduced her to the slaves and showed her
around.  Dad was kind of glaring, though, and we sat
down to a late lunch in the sparkling dining room in a
rather sombre mood.  But once the maids had begun
serving the rather delicious food, and Hudson had
offered dad a bottle of wine for his approval before
uncorking it and serving it, the atmosphere began to
change.  And, as dad said, it was so good to have mom
sitting around after lunch with him instead of always
being in the kitchen clearing away.  I couldn't help
saying "Dad, that's the beauty of slaves - all that
tedious stuff goes out of the window, as they do it!"


Dad was really impressed when Hudson asked him to
verify that all dad's clothes were properly arranged,
saying that he'd done it, but of course everything
could be changed, and that he would act as a valet to
dad as well as having his other duties.  Dad's clothes
would always be immaculate, as "befitted a gentleman
with a position to maintain in the town."

Dad soon discovered the town gentlemen's club, to
which he gained instant access once it was known he
was my father, as folks remembered the great
consideration I showed as a landlord to Dave.  Mom
quickly joined the ladies' sewing circle, the library
volunteers, the afternoon tea group, and numerous
other organisations that the ladies of the town,
relieved of all responsibility for the humdrum, were
able to indulge themselves in.  There were a number of
older folk in the town, and it was customary to have
weekly dinners in one or other house, and I think they
were pleased when everyone complimented them on their
selection and management of the slaves who were ale to
mount such a perfect dinner when it was their turn to
be host and hostess.

I had been concerned at first that they might not "fit
in" and dad would keep voicing his views about the
evils of slavery.  But it didn't seem to happen, and
Jamie had an explanation.  "You see, Steve, dad's a
gentleman, always has been.  And it would be impolite
for a gentleman to criticise his hosts, and I think he
thinks of himself as a guest here still.  There again,
he's now got the time to indulge himself as a
'gentleman', something he has never done before - and
maintaining that amazing elegance of dress, and all
the refinements of living, takes a lot of effort,
effort which he couldn't make, without the slaves."
I was nodding wisely as Jamie said all this, but
almost fell over in astonishment when he went on "Or
there again, it could just be because he's fucking one
of the maids - or perhaps both of them, by now!"

"What?"

"Didn't you know?  He and mom have a perfect marriage,
but the sex went out of it long ago.  So dad was
always frustrated, and he couldn't really do anything
about it at home, could he?  But now - well, the maids
are always in and out of the bedrooms and bathrooms,
and it seems one came into the bathroom shortly after
they arrived when dad was drying himself - and she's a
saucy little minx, and couldn't resist going down on
her knees and giving dad a blow job!  Well one thing
led to another.... I think mom knows, and finds it a
bit amusing that our sixty year old dad is fucking a
twenty year old nigga."

"Jamie - that's awful!  These niggas start dropping a
kid at the sight of sperm, even.... I don't want any
little half-breed half brothers or sisters....."

"No problem, Steve!  I've spoken to Hudson, and it's
all under control:  he makes sure that everything
'happens as it should' for the maids every month, and
if it doesn't, they're down to the vet for an
abortifacient the very next day.  Mind you, you could
just let them go ahead, I suppose - the piccaninnies
would be slaves, being born to slaves, wouldn't they?
And it's no worse dad 'studding' a nigga maid than
what you were made to do.  How many little half-breed
nephews and nieces do I have, Steve?"

I shrugged.  "It's not the thought of the half-breeds,
Jamie!  It's the thought of dad fucking the niggas -
he's too old...."

"You're never too old to fuck, they say.  It just
takes longer."

"Yes, but dad....  He was always going on and on at me
about my morals.  And now, well, it's not right."

"Oh Steve, you can be a bit of a prude sometimes.
There you are, banging the eyeballs out of Sam most
nights, and yet you object to dad having a bit of fun.
 Anyway, I'm not here to discuss dad - you said that
if I got them down here, you'd let me have Brett as my
pony..... And I've come to collect him."

End Of Part Eleven