Date: Wed, 27 Jan 2016 18:20:32 +0000 (UTC)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: PASSING - PART SEVENTEEN

PASSING

A story by Pete Brown  (petebrownuk@yahoo.com)

Part  Seventeen

       Dave's Punishment.  I do not take part. It costs!  Training squaddies

As Dave lay there thrashing his legs around as the sergeant had predicted
and making all sorts of unintelligible noises through the gag I saw the end
of the butt plug forcing his cheeks apart.  It looked huge, and the
sergeant saw my look of astonishment and horror.

"Your friend was really troublesome so we decided to teach him to respect
the orders of the police", he told me, laughing.  "Normally we do plug
slaves as they can get so nervous as we process them that they can lose
control of their bowels, and then there's a terrible mess - and smell!  But
this idiot kept thrashing around and complaining and swearing, so after
we'd forced the normal plug in, my men thought he would benefit from
finding out what it would be like for him if his new owner was a `big' man,
or if he liked to see his slaves being fucked by a big nigga.  So we took
it out and forced in the `nigga special', as we call it - all twelve thick
inches of it.  But don't worry - we're experts at this, and although it
took a long time and your friend was screaming and crying, there's no
permanent damage - his sphincter won't be torn or anything like that, just
stretched a lot!"  He looked at me and laughed again.  "Not a bad thing,
perhaps.  He seemed to be very tight, probably a virgin. And now you'll be
able to get in there much more easily."

"I don't...."

The sergeant shrugged.  "Oh yes, I forgot. You two just wank each other,
like school friends you said.  Still, as I say, you can go further now.  We
could take it out and let you go up him whilst he's still secured, if you
wanted..."

"No!"  Well I had wanted to fuck Dave as you know, but there was no way I
was going to do it here, with these men watching me.  But I did start to
wonder if there was any way I might be able to lure Dave on to a "horse"
when we were back at home.  It was probably the only way I was going to get
to fuck him.

It was the sergeant himself who was going to administer the caning, I then
realised.  He was a big man, and he stood there swishing the long, thin
Malacca cane through the air, making that characteristic "whooshing" noise.
Then without warning the next slice wasn't through the air - it landed on
Dave's bum!

I watched in astonishment as Dave's whole body spasmed as the cane struck,
and his unintelligible muttering and crying through the gag changed into a
howl of pure anguish.  And then I saw the bright red line across Dave's
white bum appear so suddenly.

The sergeant struck again, and again, and again. And he was an artist, I
realised - each cane stripe was parallel to the others, all neatly the same
distance apart.  It was reflexes that were making Dave thrash around now
each time the cane struck, I realised.  He no longer had control of his
body at all, and at some point he wasn't able to hold himself in and a
great stream of piss hit the floor.

The sergeant stopped for a moment and as if affirming the rightness of what
was going on said "See, that's why we plug them.  It's not so bad to get
the piss up, but a lot of the slaves I cane in here lose control of the
bowels too, and that's really vile.  It puts me off my stroke, I can tell
you", and with that he continued to swipe at Dave.

I watched in horror as Dave's bum turned red all over, then as the caning
continued it went sort of purple and ugly ridges began to appear in the
flesh.  And soon there was blood, too, where the cane had broken the skin.
Dave was no longer making any intelligible noises at all, just a prolonged,
desperate wailing.  And he'd stopped thrashing around, too - it was as if
he was resigned to taking it, or had simply run out of energy.

The sergeant stopped, and was breathing hard.  I could see patches of damp
in the pits of his shirt as he had been exerting such force with the cane.
"Has he had enough, do you think?"

"Yes, yes.  Yes of course.  He's raw, that blood... The colour..."

"Well I'm not finished.  He's only had 25 of the 30 he's due.  But if you
think he's had enough, do you want me to stop?"

"Oh yes, please.  Please."

The sergeant smiled at me now, a wicked sadistic smile.  "Very well then, I
will stop beating him.  But the punishment must be finished, so drop your
clothes, we'll plug you, and we'll put you on the horse and you can take
the last five strokes."

"No way..."

"I thought you said your friend had had enough!  Are you telling me he
hasn't?  That he can take five more?"

The bastard!  He had me There was no way I could strip in front of these
men, and no way they were going to put a huge butt plug in me, and no way I
was going to get caned.  But I had said Dave had had enough."

The sergeant laughed out loud now.  "That's what usually happens!  Friends,
lovers, dads and sons, brothers, cousins.... Everyone wants me to stop but
none of them will ever agree to take over", and he then simply laid in to
Dave again and I had to endure seeing five more terrible injuries to Dave's
bum.

When he had finished the sergeant looked at me again.  "Now, get your
friend out of here.  Fast.  Before I change my mind and decide to charge
you with being an accessory..."

"Accessory to what...?"

"Oh, well, you gave him permission to use your car, didn't you?  The charge
might not stick, but we'll hold you here in the cells.  We have 72 hours,
you know.  And a lot can happen to a man in 72 hours - not from us, of
course, but from the other prisoners.  They can be `encouraged' to deal
with a prisoner we don't like..."

I was going to argue with him but was now afraid, very afraid, of this
man's power.  I was used to making decisions, giving orders, and being rich
I usually got my way.  Now though I realised that this sergeant, a
"nothing", had all the power.  I was beginning to understand why there all
those stories and so on about living in a police state and how terrible it
can be. Power like that in the hands of thugs, with no effective checks -
I'd guessed the TV cameras were turned off in the room - was dreadful.

They let me go and fetch my car form the parking and bring it around to the
front, and when I got back they had released Dave's arms from the horse,
but he was still lying there, making sobbing noises.  I went over and undid
the straps holding the ball gag in place and got it out of his mouth, then
as affectionately as I could whispered "You'll be OK now.  I'll take you
home..."

The sergeant watched me then said casually "Take the butt plug out too,
sir."

It revolted me to even think about touching Dave's bloody, damaged bum, let
alone trying to get a butt plug out - especially as there had been all that
talk about men losing control of their bowels.  Even if I could make myself
do it, I might get covered in shit.  So I snapped "I'll leave it in.  We've
got about an hour's drive, and I don't want any accidents in my car..."

"Released prisoners are not allowed to remove property of the Essex
Constabulary.  The plug needs to stay here."

I was angry now. "Get your men to take it out then", I snapped.

"It is the responsibility of the prisoner to remove the Constabulary's
items.  So as it seems that as this one is in no fit state to do it, and in
the absence of any help from `friends', he will be taken back to the cells
until he is able to perform the task himself.  It may take a day or two,
and by then he may also be able to dress himself - the clothing that was
removed from him has been kept safe."

Thinking about how tight Dave's jeans always were I knew that they could
not now fit him without terrible pain, if the swelling wasn't so great that
they could fit him at all.  The thought of leaving Dave in this dreadful
place was terrible, but there didn't seem much else to be done.  Then I had
it.  "Sergeant, perhaps I could compensate the Constabulary for its
property, and the clothes are of no importance- they could be donated to
the homeless..."

When I saw the sergeant give that smile again and I knew I had been
outwitted one more.  "That will be 150 then, sir".

I was going to tell him to fuck off as although I am not very familiar with
the prices of strange sex items, I do know they couldn't possibly cost more
than 50.  But being kind of "trapped", and hating it, very, very
reluctantly I got out my wallet.  Fortunately I always carry lots of cash
in addition to my card, and so I was able to hand over the "ransom".

There was no way I could life Dave off the horse I soon realised - he was
incapable of standing, and he is, as I've said, a big muscular man. And
muscle weighs.  I needed help, and the sergeant was simply standing there,
smiling again, as were the two ordinary policemen.  I wasn't going to be
held to ransom again, so said calmly "I'd like to make a further donation
to the station's funds, specifically those that help officers.  I was
wondering if the two officers could help me with my friend, and could show
me the donations box on the way out."  As I said this I opened my wallet
and let them all see me counting six crisp 50s.

The sergeant nodded, told his men to pick Dave up, and held out his hand
saying that he would see that my generous donation reached the right
people!

As they got Dave to his feet I couldn't help but see he was erect - I'd say
"ragingly erect" as I know that some men do get that way when taking a
beating.  But the ring around Dave's cock was sort of preventing that, as
although his shaft was engorged with blood, the head was still mostly its
normal size, but looked an unhealthy shade of dark blue.  The ring was
almost sunk in to the flesh of his cock, and it must be hurting terribly.
But perhaps Dave didn't know, I thought, as he was in so much pain
elsewhere.

The sergeant saw me looking at it and for a moment I feared there'd be
another "request" for money, but he laughed again and told me that "We
don't charge for those rings.  They're like a little gift to released
prisoners from us.  A little reminder not to cross the Essex police."  I
felt like hitting him, but clenched my fists impotently.  "They're quite
easy to get on once you've subdued the prisoner, but an absolute bugger to
get off - especially if the prisoner is showing signs of enjoying his
punishment.  They enjoy it so much, many of them, that they have a
semi-erection for hours and hours, and there's no way the ring can slide
off..."

The two officers were holding Dave between them, his arms draped feebly
around their necks, and they tried to walk him out. But he had no power in
his legs, so they dragged him, his bare toes scraping across the floor.  As
they went past the sergeant he slapped Dave's bum with his open palm,
causing Dave to jerk, scream and cry again.  The sergeant looked at his
bloodstained palm and remarked "A good job, well done - this one will never
speed again, I can guarantee that."

Even with the biggest BMW there's surprisingly little room in the back so
Dave could not lie across the back seats.  But I remembered that one
feature of the model I had was that it was designed to mostly be driven by
chauffeurs, and owners might wish to sleep.  So after some fumbling with
the instructions from my phone, I managed to find the button that fully
reclined the passenger front set so it slid right back and down, making a
totally flat surface from the front to the rear as it kind of "dovetailed"
in to the rear seat.  Fortunately, as I did not dare risk disobeying the
rules, those clever Germans had also though about the problem of the
mandatory wearing of seat belts and it seemed that once the engine started
and the car felt someone lying down, special safety belts would emerge to
hold the body still.

Even so, getting Dave in, and to get him to lie on his belly, was difficult
and resulted in a lot of screams of agony, and I was glad that like all
BMWs the upholstery was leather as the blood would certainly spoil the
cloth stuff in cheaper cars.  Even so I did wonder if it would be possible
to obliterate all signs of the blood from the smooth, soft, pale cream
hide.

The journey back was terrible.  Dave was groaning and moaning all the time
and was not really capable of coherent speech so I couldn't talk to
him. And when I switched on the entertainment system to listen to a
favourite Mozart piano concerto, the noise from him completely spoiled it.
The music didn't blot out the sight of Dave, though - it was gut-wrenching
to see his bum, now deeply dark blue and purple, streaked with blood, and
with unsightly lines of ridges all across it.  If I could have managed to
stop in the heavy traffic I would have got the picnic blanket out of the
boot and covered him up, as I felt that the weight of it on his battered
bum could hardly make his suffering all that much worse and it would make
me feel a whole lot better.

I'd called ahead so as soon as I stopped the car Greg and Tim rushed out,
and when he saw the state of Dave, Greg went straight back inside to bring
out the niggas for their second "outing".  With lots of screaming and
howling they managed to get Dave out and carried him into that room where
he normally did all his little modifications to slaves, which was therefore
easy to clean of blood and stuff.  They laid Dave on a table, and Tim
fussed around his head, stroking him and trying to soothe him.  Dave was
hoist by his own petard a little now though as there were no painkilling
drugs there. He had told me he thought it was good for slaves to experience
the "discomfort" when they were `skinned and so on as it was a good
reminder to them of their new status, and so he had never applied for one
of the special certificate that allowed slave dealers and veterinarians to
buy strong anaesthetics for use in simple operations on slaves.  We could,
and did, give him some aspirin though, but it wasn't all that much use.

Tim had a bowl of warm water and was starting to stroke the blood off
Dave's bum, very carefully, and very gently.  I said that I thought there
should be some disinfectant in it, and with a rare show of defiance Tim
snapped at me "It's hurting enough, sir!  I'm trying to clean him up
first."

Greg was watching, then noticed the end of the butt plug as Dave squirmed
around trying to get comfortable.  He looked horrified, then went and put a
hand on the small of Dave's back as if to hold him steady (not really
helpful as Dave was so strong he could easily move, but perhaps it was
"comforting") then began to slowly, very slowly, "unscrew" the plug.  Greg
motioned to the niggas at one point and they held Dave's ankles and pulled
them wide apart to allow Greg to get a proper grip on it, and the cries and
shouts from Dave intensified.

It was disgusting - covered in shit, and really huge.  The niggas both had
erections, and as I have said they are both big, well-hung males, but the
plug dwarfed even them.  Greg looked sort of accusingly and muttered
towards me "He'll feel a bit better now. This could have been done earlier,
you know."  I didn't bother to reply as he was technically correct, but he
clearly had not appreciated how I felt at the time, which, as my slave, he
really ought to have.

I suppose I should have stayed and comforted Dave, but the next thing that
happened really turned me off.  They noticed the ring around Dave's cock,
behind the head, digging in to the cock flesh as he was amazingly still
semi-erect.  Greg and Tim were astonished, and Dave's new slave, Milo who
he had bought to replace the reception girl that had been here when I first
visited Dave came and looked over their shoulders.  "Like the secret police
in my country", he told them.  "All of us freedom fighters were ringed like
that if we were caught.  They thought it was funny."

I remembered than that Dave had told me that Milo was some sort of
mid-European illegal immigrant who supposedly had been escaping persecution
and who had been trying to get in to the country.  Like all illegals he had
got his wish to stay here - but as a slave, as the penalty for trying to
evade the border controls is, as you would expect, enslavement.  He was a
good looking man actually - about 28, I'd guess, and kind of thin without
being skinny.  He was very hairy, like a lot of those mid-Europeans, with a
good thatch on his pecs, a really nice trail across his belly, and arms and
legs with lots of his black hair.  Dave had not shaved his head or even
cropped it, so he had rather interesting short curly black hair.  As with
all Dave's slaves he wore only tiny shorts around the place, and when Dave
had first got him I felt certain he would have fucked his interesting
ass. And, I suppose, he still did when he fancied a change.

"It must be got off", Milo told us in his heavy, but somehow appealing,
accent.  "If us freedom fighters left our rings on and they cut into the
flesh like this you get the infection. And the more it's infected the
bigger it swells and the more difficult it is to get it off."

Well we could all see that, but how?

Without asking permission Milo told Greg to turn Dave over so he was
belly-up, pulling Dave along the table so his bum was over the edge.  Then
Milo began to squeeze Dave's cock head, making a kind of three-pronged vice
with his thumb and two fingers then pressing and almost pummelling at
Dave's inflamed skin.  Dave was moaning and groaning still from the
beating, and so I couldn't tell if this was hurting him too - although he
began to kick his legs and Milo rather curtly ordered Greg to sit astride
his belly and for Tim to grab his feet and hold them so Dave was
effectively immobilised.

It took a long time, with Dave's pronounced flange around his head really
having to be pushed and pummelled, but finally the thing was off.  Milo
looked pretty pleased with his efforts and told us "I have done many like
this for my fellows", and then ordered Tim to bathe Dave's cock to get the
blood off, and then to apply disinfectant.  "Man's cock no good if it
rots", he added.

I was determined to leave now though and told Greg to take charge of Tim,
Milo and the niggas until Dave recovered.  And, I added, he was to go and
see those "squaddies" and order them to wank off for him as the next time I
was there I would want to see them do it for me and they may as well
practice.  "And you know how I like it, Greg, the way I make you do it for
me.  I want to see them kneeling, feet together, knees apart so they are
totally exposed.  Bums on heels, nice straight backs.  Then a good vigorous
wank, and catch the cum with the other hand.  I'll let them do it
`naturally` the first time, but in future they'll need to learn to do it
properly with their `other' hands - it's more difficult for them, I know,
but more interesting to watch."

"No way, no way, sir... They won't do it.  Not in front of other blokes..."

"Well teach them.  Use the cane - you've seen here what it can do."

Greg looked doubtful, very doubtful, but I wanted to get out of the place
as the sight of Dave all battered like that was making me feel unwell, so I
left without pursuing the argument - not that I should need to argue with a
slave!

Curiously, although I had felt absolutely no sexual desire seeing Dave like
that, on the drive back to my flat I began to get hard, and the more I
thought about the beating I had seen and the way Dave's nipples and cock
had been tortured, and the dildo forced into him, it got harder and harder!
I felt I was leaking pre-cum, and it was actually uncomfortable as I had
well-tailored trousers that fit rather snugly.  So when I did get in and
saw Jason I took him - there and then, on one of the big sofas in the
living room!  I pulled his shorts down and threw him across the back of it,
pushed my trousers down and went straight in - well, I did take a bit of
care as I don't usually fuck Jason and I did not want to damage him.  And,
anyway, it's not particularly comfortable, is it, to take an ass without
any lube?

I ought to have got up the following morning and gone straight over to
Dave's, but I was looking at another deal and had to work with Jason to
give him details of what he was to do.  Then there was a lunch with an old
colleague, and somehow by early evening I was too tired and just wanted to
do something mindless like watch TV as Jason knelt there attentively in
case I wanted more sex.  The next day was crowded with "stuff", too, so it
was only on the third day that I got to go over to Leyton, and then I had
to spend the whole morning examining the operation at the S&D Outlet to
decide what changes I was going to make, so it was quite late before I
actually got to Dave's.

He was wearing one of his shirts, but was otherwise naked - it was rather
amusing to see his legs sticking out from under the tails, although it was
properly cut and the tails were long enough to hide his bum and his cock.
I assumed it was still too painful to wear even shorts.

"You've taken fucking long enough...." He began, rather aggressively.

"What did you expect?  A visitor to the sick bringing you a bunch of
grapes?  I have got other things to do, you know, and Greg was here to look
after things."

"Here I am, almost dying because of you, and you can't even be bothered..."

I was angry now.  "Because of me?  Who was the fucking idiot that drove my
car at 105 after drinking?  But who was it who saved you from becoming a
slave?  I think a bit of a `Thanks...' Might be appropriate!"

"Saved me from being a slave?  But allowed those coppers to fuck me, to
beat me, to..."

"Oh stop exaggerating.  They didn't fuck you.  It was only a dildo..."

"Only...?"  Dave was almost screaming now.  "Did you see the size of it?"

"Yes.  And a good thing, too.  You're always worrying about your tight ass,
never letting me..."

I thought he was about to hit me, and I needed to cool it.  So I lowered my
voice a bit and said calmly "Look, the next time you're so fucking stupid
as to get yourself enslaved be sure to call me in lots of time so I can
rescue you again.  If it hadn't been for them calling about my car, you'd
have been on the auction platform by now, and some big guy with a long fat
cock would have had it up you..."  I paused for effect and went on "Or,
perhaps, don't bother.  Get to be a slave, but make sure the auctioneers
send me the brochure.  Then I can come along and buy you, and it will cost
me a whole lot less than I had to pay in bribes to get you free.  And as my
slave, you wouldn't dare be so fucking ungrateful.  And you'd probably be
so glad that I'd saved you from other buyers that you'd kiss my cock in
gratitude, then slobbered all over it and beg me to use your ass!"

Dave's one of those guys who flies into a temper very quickly but for whom
it dissipates even faster.  Now that grin started to appear, and he gave a
little shrug.  But not a "thank you" or anything - still, it was a start.
"I was just going to look at those slaves you bought - I haven't felt like
it until now.  They're not getting very `broken', if you ask me, judging by
the noise from the holding area."

"I told Greg take care of it."

"Well let's go and see, shall we?"

As we went out into the corridor and then in through the door into the
holding area the noise started - shouting, swearing....  Eight men can make
a hell of a row.  They were all standing there and Dave snapped "Silence!",
and then, when it barely diminished "Fucking stop this noise.  If you want
to get fed today, that is...."

Well that seemed to do it, as I suppose they recognised there was no way
out and that they were totally reliant on us.  So I decided it was my turn,
and said calmly "Line up against the bars, stick your cocks out into the
corridor and wank."

Well, that did it!  The noise started immediately, although it now had a
very unpleasant homophobic tone to it!  These slaves evidently did not
appreciate that when an owner gives a perfectly reasonable order they were
required to obey, whatever they thought about it.

Greg whispered to me "It's to be expected, sir.  Squaddies like these,
they're all men, `real men', as they'd say.  All with wives and
girlfriends.  They think wanking's for kids, and queers...."

"And slaves, when ordered to, Greg..  And didn't I tell you to train them
as I was expecting to see them do it?"

"Ys, sir.  But it's not that simple.  They're free men..."

"No, Greg, they're slaves.  And even when they were free men, they were in
the Army, as were you.  And aren't you always telling me how soldiers are
disciplined, always obey the orders of their superior officers?  You're
always reminding me of that, and I sometimes think you're implying that I'm
not as good as one of your officers when I give you an order."

Greg stood there in silence, and I snapped "So answer me!"

"Sir, please.  Of course they obey orders.  But you can't expect them to
start doing things like wanking together.  They're a squad, a platoon, good
mates, good comrades, always looking out for each other..."

"You had charge of men like this didn't you, Greg?  You were a sergeant or
something?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well then, Greg, let me tell you what's going to happen next.  You're
going to take these slaves - ex-squaddies - and turn them into properly
obedient slaves.  You can make like a superior officer.  And then perhaps
you'll see how difficult it is sometimes for me, your `superior', to
control you.  Now, strip off."

"Sir?"

"You heard me.  Get naked.  And then I'm going to lock you in there with
them so you can all do this `bonding' thing you're always telling me about
as being the strength of the army.  You can train them, not only in obeying
orders, but in how to wank, in case they've forgotten as they're no longer
`kids'.  And when all nine of you are doing it properly in front of me, you
can get back to being my slave.  I think a little time back in the `army'
will make you realise how easy your life is with me."

He glared at me, and Dave and Tim, and the slaves in the cage who had heard
some of this, all went stonily silent.

"Do it!", I snapped.  "Or I'll use the goad and you'll be part of the stock
here, rather than part of the management!"

Still glaring, really very defiantly, Greg pulled his T up over his head,
and I felt a momentary twinge of regret on seeing his lovely flat belly and
delicious pecs - if it didn't work, if I'd gone too far, I might be losing
this as there was no way I could back down.  But then he dropped his shorts
and kicked them defiantly across the corridor.  Dave gestured and Milo took
Dave's keys and opened the door - Dave stood there with the goad, in case
the slaves tried to make a break for it - and Greg stepped in.

The cage was already rather crowded, as I've told you, but with Greg in
there as well here was no way that the men could prevent their bodies from
touching and even pressing against each other.  To see the contrast was
excitingly erotic, though: the eight much younger men, all kind of pale
around their loins, with their `fashionable' pubic bushes, and their
foreskins.  And Greg, bigger and more muscular than them, nicely tanned,
neatly clipped, and `skinned.  I was looking forward to my next visit.

After that I thought I ought to explain my plans properly to Dave and "ask"
his approval, so we spent the afternoon discussing how we were to operate
Dave's Slaves in the old S&D Outlet building.  We had already agreed "males
only" as you know, and we discussed continuing with the policy of using
some slaves as guards and trainers as Dave already did with the niggas.
Obviously it would have been simpler to restrict our stock to whiteys or
chinks or mexes, with all the slave helpers being niggas, as this was a
simple way of avoiding confusion.  But Dave wisely pointed out that there
was always a ready sale for niggas, as some owners liked to imagine
themselves back in the ante-bellum USA and boss around strings of niggas.
So we had to think of some other way of managing this.

We also agreed that we were going to be a full service kind of place,
offering the branding, tattooing, grooming and `skinning services as Dave
already did on a small scale.  Dave was keen to do a lot of this himself,
leaving me to be in charge of sales, but I pointed out that he was very
much the "managing partner' in this venture and that although I was always
ready to help with ales and especially with marketing ideas, I did have
other things to do as I intended to manage a number of financial deals too.
So some recruitment would be necessary.  And finally we got to talking
about the existing S&D staff, with whom I had not been impressed when I
last visited.  It was agreed that I would go and interview them all and
decide which to keep, before we did recruitment.

That seemed to be that, and I was about to go home when Dave asked me to
stay, as he wanted some company.  There didn't seem much point as I like a
good night's sleep, and having him moaning and groaning in bed, and unable
to move and do all the things we like, seemed to make it pointless.  But I
did say I'd stop for dinner, and Milo was sent out to the local takeaways
to bring some stuff back.

We were both pleasantly surprised when the meal was surprisingly tasty, and
Milo stood there grinning.  It seems he knew a bit about cooking and so had
spent time "modifying" the takeaways to make them more appetising and
interesting.  Mind you, he had bought a lot, and he and Tim stood there
watching us eat until Dave told them to sit down and get stuck in too.  Tim
was putting out another plate and I asked him why, and he said he was
saving some for Greg to take to him later.  "Absolutely not!", I told him.
"Greg is in with the slaves: he is a slave, remember - and until he has
them trained he will do as they do. And they only get slave chow."  I
looked at him and Milo and went on "It will anyway do him good to realise
what a cushy number he has - indeed, what all you slaves who work directly
for Dave and me have."


End Of Part Seventeen