Date: Wed, 9 Nov 2005 10:54:13 -0800 (PST) From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com> Subject: Steve's First Job, Part Four Steve's First Job by Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com Read all of Pete's stories at Groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories Part 4 Steve: Hey, buddy, don't worry about me and my sex life. I'm getting on all right with Inga, the Scandinavian girl I told you about. And it's proper fucking, too - not up the ass! I'm starting to worry about you, Steve - are you sure you're not trying too hard at all of this? When you write about having to totally dominate and control those eight poor guys - yes, Steve, that's what they are, guys, just like you and me, not, as you keep trying to tell me, "slaves". Slaves are men, Steve, men with feelings, needs, and as you mentioned, wives and families - I really get worried! Look, I'm coming back home next weekend to introduce Inga to my parents. Please don't do anything foolish before then. Let's sit down and talk about it. Stu. Stu: Hey, I know we've known each other for a long time, but I resent you telling me that I might "do something foolish". This is my job, Stu, and I have to do it well to prove to dad that I'm a capable, competent guy, not some high school kid filling shelves at the local market. And your fucking liberal shit all the time is starting to piss me off - they're slaves, Stu - S - L - A - V - E - S, not men. Jon told me that they forfeited their right to be treated as men on two counts: firstly, they came down here and invaded us, trampling over States' rights and everything, in defiance of the Constitution. They should have known that was wrong, and I don't care if they were just "obeying orders" which is the excuse some folk make for them - you aren't required to obey orders that cause a civil war and where you're fighting your fellow countrymen. And it's particularly bad for number four - that's what's inked on the big blond guy from Arkansas - as he might have actually had to invade his home town: even a big dumb Arkansas boy could surely see that was wrong. All that ought to be obvious to you, too, but Jon's second point isn't so clear unless you've been in the service too: these guys were all tough, hardened fighting troops - and they allowed themselves to be captured! I know some of the "actions", as they call them, were pretty bloody but that's no excuse - if they were fighting, they should have fought on to the end and not surrender and end up in a prison camp. A man who gives up like that forfeits any right to be treated like a man - he's a wimp, and he deserves to be ordered around by real men. So let's hear no more of it, OK? I understand your family have always opposed slavery, and that's probably tainted you - but as I said in an earlier note, what else are we supposed to do with all these northern soldiers anyway? We can hardly send them "back" as it's our country, Stu - how could number four ever go back to Arkansas, when the last time he was going to be going there it was to rape and pillage and plunder? Surely even you can see that giving them good, healthy work, like on our drays, is better for them than to be kept confined in a prison camp for the rest of their lives? Anyway, we need the labour: with all the infrastructure they destroyed, it's going to cost billions and billions and take years to really get things back together properly. And whilst we're doing it, we may as well do it properly - put into place all that stuff they talked about for ages to protect the environment. It's really much better, you know, to deliver around town by a dray, rather than a gasoline truck - all that stopping and starting is bad for engines, and even with converters and everything they still pollute and use oil. But the biggest saving of all is that these guys aren't going to breed - that's really what's going to help save the planet. They've all got at least one kid already, and being the kind of men they are, I expect they'd all have ended up with at least two, if not three, or four - it's the kind of thing soldiers like to brag about, to prove how virile they are. They're never going back to their families, Stu, and never going to be allowed to breed any more, and that's a huge saving for planet earth: at least eight, if not sixteen or even twenty four, fewer mouths to feed. And then you forget how much stuff these slaves would consume over their lifetime: automobiles, clothes, houses, fancy food grown all over the place, vacations, all that stuff: and instead of that, they'll just live simply in the barn here, and not use all those resources! Eight slaves in one small space, eating slave chow, just tread lightly on the earth, Stu. Anyway, I must go: I've got to go and get them up, for another day's training. Steve. Steve: As usual, you're trying to justify yourself. All this "ecology" rubbish - I didn't see you being so "ecologically" minded at school. Come off it - I guess I have to accept that, rightly or wrongly, probably wrongly, slaves are a fact of life. But to have you spouting all this stuff to try and justify it, is ridiculous. Stu. Stu: Ecological? Of course I was! It was you who came to school in that old gas guzzler that was all your folks would buy you. If you remember, I always came in my trap. And your folks use washers and dryers, and at our place the laundry is done by hand by the slaves. And in the summer they pull the big "punkah" things to provide a nice breeze, and we only turn the aircon on when it's really hot. Not using gas and electricity, Stu - that's real ecology. Look, you're my oldest friend - I don't want this to come between us. Can we just agree to differ, and say that, as you point out, rightly or wrongly, we have slaves. You can say "wrongly" and I can say "rightly". We can agree to differ on this, can't we, just as you actually believe in all that jesus and god rubbish your dad spouts, whereas I lump it all together with the tooth fairy and Santa Claus? We used to debate that and we didn't really fall out over it, did we? So what's different about slaves? Look, if it makes you any happier, you can believe I'll be thrown down into the fiery furnace and burn for all eternity for my "sins", if it at least means that I can get a bit of peace right now, here on earth! Steve. Steve: Oh, you always knew how to throw yourself about and argue to absurdity. It's probably what I like about you. I knew I'm not going to change your mind about this slavery stuff, any more than I ever managed to convince you about the love of Jesus (or, as you said, about the holy ghost, which you said ought to come out at Hallowe'en!). So I'll just remember you in my prayers, and ask for mercy for you.... So let's move on. Tell me what happened next, then - in spite of being horrified by it, I'm curiously interested! Stu. Stu: As long as you don't expect me to stand there silently as you and your family pray, you can pray for me all you like! That's more like it - the good old pragmatic Stu I know and love. Well, where we? Oh yes, over breakfast Jon told me that it was time to start taking control of the slaves' sex, so when we'd finished we went over to the barn and shouted for them all to wake up. We were at the point now where I could "trust" them to be out of their sleeping cage all together, and I usually had them kneel in a long line in the way I've told you about as it makes going along with the feeder so much faster and easier. After I'd fed them I turned to them and before giving the order to allow them to get to their feet to go out to the exercise machines, I said to them "Right - do any of you want to jerk off?" They all looked vaguely shocked, and then looked at each other, and one or two mumbled "No, sir.". So I went on "This may be your last chance for some time. The rules are these: if you want to have sex, sex of any kind, with each other, or even with your own hands, you must in future ask my permission. You must ask my permission on each and every occasion you want to have sex - and, as I said, that includes jerking off. I will not always give that permission, especially on days when I have already offered you the chance to do it. For example, there will be no permission tonight, so that if you are in need of jerking off, you'd better do it now. If I ever find any of you have disobeyed this simple order an have had sex without permission, you will be punished, punished severely." You'd have thought that that would have been clear enough, wouldn't you - I've reproduced my words exactly as I said them, as far as I can tell. I mean, even the meanest intelligence would know that he wasn't allowed to jerk off that night now, wouldn't he? But even so, none of them wanted to jerk off then - they were all lined up still, and some of them were even semi-erect, so it would have been easy for them; but no, none of them did. They were just on the exercise machines today, and as a further way of getting them used to my domination and control, I was careful to rub the sun oil into them myself - they've mostly still got white asses and so on from wearing shorts, even though most of their torsos are nicely tanned, and the exercise machines are placed so that for most of the day they're in full sunlight to help with getting them evenly coloured all over. We don't want them to come to harm, of course, as these are expensive assets, or even to be in pain or discomfort or else they can't proceed with the exercise programme, so we're careful to make sure they're liberally covered in sun protection. Up until today I've generally allowed them to rub it in to themselves, but Jon pointed out that having me do it would increase their sense of reliance on me, whilst at the same time giving me an opportunity of handling their bodies. He explained that a good drayman is always concerned about his slaves' general well being and good health, so it's not a bad idea to run your hands over them every day just to make sure there's no bruising, or sores, or anything like that. I'd already started doing this, running my finger around under their collars after morning feeding every day, and I know they appreciated this little attention from me as it enabled me to give them salve for the sores that inevitably form on the newly-collared until their skin toughens properly - these heavy metal collars do chafe, however carefully they're smoothed and fitted (and actually it's kind of sensual, running your finger in-between the tight collar and the slave's skin - you can feel his veins pumping, and the little movements of his Adam's apple as you go past it). When they were lined up in front of the exercise machines, therefore, and had the big tub of sun cream open, they were expecting to be told to help themselves as previously. Instead, I took a big dollop on my hand, told the first slave to clasp his hands behind his neck, and began to rub it into his ass. You need to be thorough about something like this as the sun down here can be treacherous, especially towards noon, and so I needed to massage it quite deeply into the crack down his butt - but as my fingers slid down there, forcing his butt cheeks apart, the slave became restive and even dared to whisper "No, please.....". I had to give him a hard slap on the butt (and I'd forgotten that this hurts me as much as it hurts him - the bare palm on a good muscular butt isn't always a good idea!) and tell him to keep silent, but this seemed to do the trick - when I moved around and went to do his balls, he hardly made any complaint at all. It was good to feel his dick, too - there's something really nice about rubbing oil into a guy's dick, I think, and I was rewarded by him throwing a wood as I stroked him. I could tell he was embarrassed, though, as he almost shuffled his feet as I did this. The other slaves were watching, of course - although I'd told them to line up and assume "slave rest", I could see them watching me out of the corner of their eyes as they pretended to be looking to the front, and down - I made a note to correct that, of course, as a slave needs to obey at all times and not exercise free will like that. I almost had problems with number two - he's the older one, the one who was a sergeant - when I came to do him. He was the first of the three un-cut slaves I have and he's very hairy - doing his butt had been difficult anyway, but when I'd done his dick and then went to skin him back, he did say "No, sir, it's OK....". Well, I had to slap him as a mark of displeasure for his speaking out of turn, of course, and my hand was already stinging so I didn't do it on his butt this time, but on his face. He looked really startled, and for a moment I thought he might even strike back, but fortunately for him (and for me - if he'd done it, I'd have had to have had him gelded, and that would have been a real failure on my part) he managed to control his temper. So I went back and squeezed the end of his dick again to make his head pop out, and he shuffled his feet again and I sensed he was about to say something. I pre-empted this by saying "Easy, boy.... I'll just grease up your dick head so that if you spring a real boner today you won't get sunburn.... Think how painful that would be....." And gently massaged some of the cream into him. I could feel his body tensing as I ran my fingers over his dick head - un-cut guys are SO sensitive there, I find - and it was quite interesting for me, too to see how different in texture the head of an un-cut guys is: it's not just the fact that it's moist and shiny when it pops out, but the skin seems to be softer and finer somehow than on us un-cut guys. It was true what Jon had said - after I'd finished them all, I did feel they were so much more "mine", and I know from their reactions that this unexpected attention from my hands on the parts of their bodies that previously they'd thought to be "private" had furthered their understanding that I was now totally in control of them. Mind you, it all takes time - massaging eight butts and eight dicks isn't something you can do in a couple of minutes, and it was eating into exercise time, time they needed to get their bodies back to that perfect state they'd been in as soldiers, before they were locked up in the internment camp. I know you go on about how it's not right that these soldiers had been made into slaves, Stu, but even you'll agree, I think, that having these men working for me, and exercising properly again, was better for them than being locked away in that miserable camp? That evening I'd told dad I wasn't going home as I needed to observe the slaves, and so I ate with Jon and then he and I just lay on his bed generally just fooling around a bit, and talking. He really is a mine of information about the treatment and management of slaves, and I'm beginning to realise that dad was right not to let me go to college and insist I work here at the depot - a couple of hours with Jon, as well as being sexually exciting, teaches you more about slaves than any number of the lectures you'd get in the extra sessions now being added into all those "Personnel" and "Human Resources" modules. As Jon says, most of those college professors have never actually driven a coffle of slaves, let alone had the guts to properly discipline them, and you can tell how unrealistic their view of the world is that they have made slave management part of "human resources" in liberal studies! He almost snorted as he said this, so clear is he that slaves are slaves, and not humans. Still, as we kissed and played with each others bodies, I did begin to wonder why he wouldn't let me fuck him, or even jerk off. But then, after a couple of hours, by about ten p.m., I found out. Jon told me to dress and we went over to the security lodge, where Jon got the guard to re-play the surveillance tapes from the slave barn, and then to zoom down on to the cage with my slaves in it. We fast forwarded through it, watching them settle down into the straw after I'd left, and then shuffle and move around to get themselves as comfortable as possible for sleep - I've told you that the cages are deliberately on the small size, so that they only just have enough space and really can't avoid being in very close contact with their fellows, to increase "bonding" and to emphasise to them that things like "privacy" is not something that's now part of their lives. It was almost amusing, really, to see how, one by one, they managed to find a little bit more space, then half-turn over so they could jerk off and allow their cum to spurt directly down into the straw, rather than over the other slaves. "Apart form the fact that they're disobeying your direct order from this morning, they've got a lot to learn about proper bonding as a team", Jon commented. "These slaves ought at the very least to be jerking each other off - I mean, wouldn't you rather have even that minimal kind of sex with your buddies? But then, allowing the cum into the straw- it's pretty disgusting! I really don't understand why they all don't do what me and my buddies used to do in the service when we didn't want our sheets all stiff and hard - you can't use toilet tissue in the barracks, after all, or even a dirty T or your jock - you just catch it in your other hand, and lick it up. I guess most of them have been repressed as kids, and have been told that eating cum is somehow 'wrong'. Still, it looks as if most of them have jerked off - and we don't want to have to punish them all as it will just take too long - so let's just make examples of a couple of them." I decided that the ex-sergeant, number two, would be a sensible choice to be made an example of as the other slaves tended to follow his lead, and Jon, who volunteered his help, said that he quite fancied the young blond southerner, number four. We went over to the slave barn where we roused them all. I told them that we'd observed them jerking off against my express orders that morning ,and that therefore they were to be punished, and unlocked the cage and made two and four come out. I made them drag two of the punishment horses over to where the others could see, and then ordered them bend over so that they were lying on the top plate, and fastened the straps to hold their wrists and ankles in position. It's harder than you think to use a punishment cane properly - you need a proper swing, of course, to get your full power behind it. But you also want a fair degree of accuracy as you want each stroke to hit just an inch or so way from the previous one, as this maximises the pain for the slave and at the same time reduces the possibility of serious damage to the underlying tissue. It's fantastic, though, as you do it, as you see the big red mark across the skin come up almost as soon as you've struck. And you can tell the slave has been really hurt by the way that, even though he's securely strapped down, his body still tries to jerk forward as the blow lands, and the way he then vainly tries to shuffle around to give himself some slight easement, even though with secured ankles this is futile. There's the sound, too, of course - I did number two first, and the ex-sergeant tried as hard as he could to remain silent. My first stroke produced only a loud kind of grunt, but by the fourth on his butt he was screaming out in shock and desperation as it landed. I gave him six on the butt - three neat parallel lines on each cheek, as it's hard to get one stroke to cover both cheeks properly so I do each one separately - and then as a finale, I decided to give him two on each of his big thighs. This REALLY hurts - you probably can't imagine a cane stroke across the butt anyway, and to tell you the truth neither can I, except that I've seen the slave's reaction to it. But strokes on the back of the thigh are something else - two was really howling when I'd finished. Sad to relate, that number four was a real wimp! I mean, he knew he was guilty as he'd been ordered not to jerk off, and had. But instead of taking his punishment properly, he lay there crying out and begging to be spared, as he was "a southerner, like us"! Well, I had to lay a stroke on him right there and then, before the punishment began properly, as I needed his full attention as I reminded him that he was no longer a proper southerner, and certainly not like us! He'd forfeited all those rights when he became part of the north's invasion army, and he was, I reminded him, a slave with no rights at all, except those I chose to give him. Then when I gave him the same strokes as I had to two, he screamed and sobbed and howled all the time. We weren't finished with them yet, though, as Jon had advised me that I needed to reinforce these slaves' sense of being under my total dominance an control by using them sexually. So we left then strapped to the horses, and I stroked the palm of my hand gently over two's butt, feeling the warmth radiating from my handiwork. He tried to shuffle and move around as my hands explored his body, and as my finger probed down his butt crack he moaned gently "No, please, no....". But it was so exciting - feeling his warm moistness - and when my finger touched his pucker and his efforts to escape redoubled, it was just so dammed erotic that even if I hadn't been inclined to do so, I would now have pressed on anyway. I scratched gently at his hole, and he was murmuring "no, no, no...." all the time, and when I started to push my finger in, it got louder and louder. To tell you the truth, Stu, I was all mixed up - I was really roused by the sight of two's big hairy muscular butt, but at the same time I was dead scared: I mean, I'd never actually fucked a guy before, and my only experience of it at all was having Jon fuck me! It was jolly good, really, that Jon and I had been together like this as at least I knew that it was going to be difficult - in some of those porn DVDs you see the guy's dick slam right into the ass, but that must be because the guy taking it is so used to it: for most of us you really have to work away trying to get your dick in, as even if it's really rigid, there's so much resistance that it bends and needs to be "coaxed". And, of course, I was a bit embarrassed! Not about the size of my dick, as you know I'm pretty well hung, but because I was going to have to drop my shorts in front of all those watching slaves and let them see me pumping away at two. Look, it's not as if I'm fat or anything, you know that - we always worked out together. But I'm kind of skinny, at least compared to those big strong muscular guys. And I'm so much younger than them, too - I think older guys, even guys in their early twenties, kind of look down on men of 18. And then there's always the risk of failure - suppose, by some terrible chance, I just lost my erection? Or if I didn't manage to cum? Anyway, it needed to be done, and acting on Stu's advice, I went around to the front of two and dropped my shorts and just fingered my dick a little to get it properly hard, then asked him if he wanted to suck on it to lube it up with his spit. "Fuck you! I'm no cocksucker!", he snarled, and turned his head to one side, away from me. I deliberately didn't let myself get upset by this and instead of ordering further punishment for his insolence, I decided a little humiliation might work best, so I gently ran my fingers through his cropped hair as he lay helpless in front of me, and whispered "Well, two, 'fuck you' isn't a very nice thing to say to your master, especially when it's you who's going to get fucked!". With that, I went to go back to his ass, but it's not a very dignified thing to do with your shorts down around your ankles, and as I shuffled along I felt a real flush of embarrassment creeping its way up my neck at the thought of the slaves seeing me like that. I soon discovered, too, that it's not a good idea to try to fuck a guy without any kind of lube or stretching, either! It's not that I was worried about hurting two, as he deserved it for the way he hadn't responded properly to me a moment ago. But it actually hurts you - without any lube, you just can't get your dick to even try to slide in past that sphincter, which anyway is clamped tight closed and trying to stop you from getting in. So I was embarrassed some more as I had to stand back and spit on my own hands to slime up my dick a bit before resuming my assault on him. And all the time he was bucking around and trying to get free, and shouting and cursing - I began to wish I'd tightened the belly strap on the horse so that he was more restrained, as being held there as a "buckaroo" made it even harder for me to force myself into him. At one point I thought I was going to fail dismally and that I just couldn't get my dick head in past his defences, and I began to really flush up with shame, and I could feel sweat soaking my uniform shirt and doing that kind of awful "cold trickling" down my ribs from my pits. I knew that if I failed on this I'd never make it as a drayman - if the slaves saw that I wasn't capable of taking two now, how on earth would I ever establish my proper authority over them? Once that thought had come to me, though, it was as if I was somehow possessed - I was determined that I wasn't going to have to go back to dad and tell him I'd flunked it - and my dick stiffened, and I just thrust on. I reached down and held my dick to stop it "buckling" in the middle, and then, almost miraculously, my dick head slipped in! There was a most satisfying yell from two - I don't really know whether it was pain, or rage, or both, and, frankly, I didn't care. And now I knew I had him, as once in past his defences, there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop me going all the way. He was bucking around and twisting his body as best he could against the restraints, and somehow this only seemed to make it even more exciting for me, and, indeed, if he'd just lain there still and passive, it wouldn't have been half as much fun! I began to rock my hips backwards and forwards, pulling my dick in and out of him, at first slowly, and then with increasing vigour so that my body made a kind of "slapping" noise as it slammed into his. He was shouting out now almost in time with my action, and at the back of my mind I thought that at some point I'd need to discipline him sharply, as a slave ought not to use language like that about his master's actions - and I don't care if he was in the Marines, and that sort of language was perhaps common in the barracks room. I suddenly found myself enjoying it hugely - I'd forgotten all the anguish I'd gone through a few minutes ago, I didn't care if the slaves thought my butt was skinny compared to theirs (they saw it in action, forcing my dick in and out of their leader, after all, and that must count for something), and the sensations flowing through me were just indescribable. It wasn't only that exquisite feeling in my dick that always comes when you're in action, but the fact that my whole body was engaged in dominating, controlling and utterly subduing this big, tough, proud ex-marine. At eighteen, I was totally in control of a virile, strong male, a man who was completely unable to resist whatever I chose to do to him, however much he disliked it. It was all too much: so totally, amazingly, completely a turn-on, that very quickly - all too quickly, as far as I was concerned (but evidently not for the slave, who was still shouting and screaming) - I felt my balls begin to contract, and that fantastic sensation as my cum shot down my dick and deep up into the slave. I couldn't help it - it's almost automatic - I thrust myself really hard right into him one last time, my back arching as if it was determined to push my dick in as far as possible. And two's screams and shouts of protest were almost drowned out with my own cry of complete triumph. Unfortunately I couldn't really enjoy the delicious "after sex" sensation - I'd have liked to throw my body along two's broad, sweaty back and just lie there, feeling him under me - but "duty" called and instead I pulled out of him, and stood up, looking over at the caged slaves who seemed almost frozen with shock at what had happened. One small advantage of feeding the slaves the low residue diet from the feeder is that their turds are small, and hard, and so the inside of two's ass was relatively clean, but even so I could smell that characteristic smell of shit drifting up to me from my dick, which was rapidly detumescing. Clutching at my shorts I went back to two's head and as he lay there relatively immobile, and I wiped my dick through his hair to clean it a bit more. And then I pulled my shorts up and just stood there - two had stopped making all the dreadful noise now, and I grabbed his chin, sticking my fingers hard into the side of his face, to make him turn towards me. I was gratified to see that there were tears rolling down his cheeks, and these can't have been from the undoubted physical pain I'd caused him, as a strong ex-marine like that would never show such a sign of weakness. No, these were tears of shame, tears that signified that he was beginning to understand that he was no longer a free agent, no longer one who could swagger around with that supreme confidence that the physically powerful and beautiful have: he was a slave, and I was in total control of him. I stared at him, and said, loud enough so that everyone could hear, "You're a good fuck, boy! I'm looking forward to using your ass again, when the mood takes me." He remained silent, but I could see from the look in his eyes that I still had some way to go in properly taming him. I enjoyed watching Jon fuck four then - he's the youngest of the slaves, the big blond "farm boy" from Alabama, who'd tried to tell me he was "one of us". Jon's a real cocksman, a true artist, and he fucked four with all the skill and determination that his long experience in controlling slaves had given him. Like two, four at first cried and shouted, but after about ten minutes he was just panting and moaning in rhythm with Jon's movements in and out of him. When Jon had finished I undid the bindings holding two to the horse, and told him he could stand up. I was almost expecting trouble, and had my hand hovering over my prod, just in case, but two seemed somehow shattered, and just stood there trying to conceal the remains of his tears from the other slaves. I hope he appreciated that I gave him a couple of minutes to compose himself, before I opened the cage door and told him to enter. I did feel sorry for him, actually: there was a whiff of shit as he went past me from where I'd cleaned my dick on his cropped hair, and I knew he was going to be in for a tough time that night as he tried to find a space in the tiny cage without the others complaining - I could at least go back with Jon and shower properly - and that promised even more fun! Steve. Steve: I can't believe it! You and that Jon raped two guys. And, what's more, you even sound proud of what you've done. Stu Stu: Don't be so fucking ridiculous! It can't have been rape - rape is what guys do to women, and other men. Try to get it in your head, Stu, that these are slaves. Let me spell it out to you again: S - L - A - V - E - S. You can't rape a slave, as he's not a woman, or a man! What we were doing was training two and four - training them to be good slaves. You have to understand that it's in their own best interests - until they properly accept that their lives have changed irrevocably, they aren't going to be happy and are always going to be fretting and worrying and trying to evade work and even to escape. And that would all be disastrous for them - at the very least, constant whipping, and for escaping, gelding or even death. It's kinder to get it all over with, to show them that they're just like animals, totally under their master's control - they'll be happy for it. Of course the fact that this aspect of the training is a huge turn on and a real fun thing for me to do is just a bonus! I think you ought to remember the lines from that old Dylan song from last century that we both enjoyed when we were growing up... I can't get exactly how it goes, but wasn't there something in there about "....and don't criticise what you don't understand...."? I always liked that concept, and I think, Stu, if you and I are going to continue to be friends, that you'd better lay off making really rather unpleasant allegations about the way I'm treating these slaves. Let me remind you about the basic facts, old buddy: I've got to prove myself to dad. Therefore I want to be not just a good drayman, but the best drayman in the depot. Therefore I need a good set of dray slaves - no, not just good ones, but the best. And the only way you get good slaves is firstly to break them, and then to train them to your will. I've got no interest, no motivation, for treating them badly - far from it: I want them to think of me as a good master, one they're glad to have, and one whom they obey implicitly as they know that I'm looking out for their interests, and am treating them right. A good master has the respect and trust of his slaves, Jon says - you can get obedient slaves just by repeated harsh physical punishment whenever they fail to obey; but if you want good slaves, slaves who go the extra mile for you, that only comes when they truly know you're the best master they're ever likely to have. There's just no percentage in it for me treating them badly! So let's cut it out, shall we - I'll continue to write and tell you about my life, and you can tell me about your progress with Inga, your forays into the academic world, and all the other boring, repetitive crap that fills your life. See - it hurts, doesn't it, when I deliberately use offensive language? So no more of it, OK? Steve. Steve: I don't want not to be friends with you, Steve. But it's difficult... The church, and Inga, are so opposed to what you're doing, and every time Inga reads one of your messages, she's all upset and shouts and screams at me for being your buddy! She's starting to blame me for what you do. Stu. Stu: Two things: Firstly, training Inga sounds to me a bit like training a slave: get your dick in there, and show her who's boss. And secondly, if she's reading your mail, get another user-id! Steve. Steve: OK, you win! And what makes you think I haven't got my dick in her already? I think you're lonely, with only those slaves and blue-collar types who are the other draymen for company. So you'd better carry on writing to me, to let it all out. Stu. End Of Part Four.