Date: Mon, 13 Jun 2005 21:56:38 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Labourer, Part 29

THE LABOURER  by Pete Brown.  petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part 29

My father recommended his lawyer to me, the one who
had fought my case up to the supreme court, and he
found time to see me that morning.  It seemed funny to
be driving again, rather than sitting in the back of
an open truck, and I'd had to borrow money from my dad
for the parking garage and such like.  We had a free
and frank discussion, and he advised me to lodge a
claim against Rob and Riker, Morgan and Swaine for the
loss of dignity and human rights during the time I was
no longer indentured and was being treated as a slave.
 "With the customary tripling of the damages to make
them punitive, you ought to be a reasonably wealthy
young man", he told me.  "And matters are coming to a
head - once news of the withdrawal of their licence
became known, the creditors circled and there is
already a bankruptcy proceedings under way.  Still,
your rank high in the list of creditors, second only
to the government's taxes, so you will almost
certainly get one hundred cents on the dollar."

I left his office feeling reasonably happy, but when I
went to the stores to buy new clothes, I started to
have problems:  firstly, I had to pay cash, as I did
not yet have my credit cards restored, and that caused
a few raised eyebrows as the designer shops I favoured
found it hard to cope with that.  And of course when I
stripped off to try stuff on, the sales assistants at
once saw my tanned, body with the whip and cane marks
still on it, and as they looked closer, noticed the
tattoo on the back of my neck.  I was actually refused
service in one place, as they simply didn't believe I
was not a slave!  "In any case", the manager told me,
"Even if what you say is true, we choose not to serve
customers here with tattoos:    we are a gentlemen's
establishment, and our customers are not the sort of
men who would disfigure their bodies willingly."

That night I explained to my father what had gone on,
and he just shrugged.  "You could have laser surgery
and have it mostly removed,  I guess", he suggested.

"No, dad, I won't!  I hate prejudice, and most of the
slaves I know are one hell of a lot finer than some of
the free men around.  I'll keep it, and fight it out."

"Oh Steven, that's so typical of you - always squaring
up for a fight!  Still, that's what makes you a man, I
suppose.  Now, tell me, what are your plans for Craig,
though?  He's been working away like a proper slave
all day, but you can't keep him at that - there just
isn't enough work to do around here."

"I don't know, dad.   And I'm worried - it is
important to keep him working hard, as he'll get bored
otherwise.  And when he's bored, he'll get into
mischief - and he does have that criminal record of
petty crime... I'd hate that to happen to him again."

"You're right - and you need to be careful, too - as
the owner of a slave, you're now responsible for his
actions!  It's a big potential liability, and if Craig
does something stupid like rob a store, or even rape a
jogger, the courts will hold you to be at fault as
much as him."

I wandered out of the house, thinking about this, and
found Craig working away, clearing a blocked drain at
the back of the garage block.  He was on his hands and
knees, and the tunic had fallen forward so his butt
was delightfully exposed, and I was rewarded with
glimpses of his dick and balls swinging between his
thighs as he worked away.  I considered dropping my
pants and throwing myself on him and fucking him
again, as the sight of his big body like that was so
enticing, but thought better of it as we had not yet
fully resolved the forced fuck of the night before.
Instead, I called to him, and he got to his feet, his
smile broadening into a big grin as he saw me.

I rushed up to him and threw my arms around him, in
spite of the fact that his tunic was soaked in sweat
and it might spoil my new clothes.  His smell was
simply intoxicating - that male scent that only comes
for ma man who's been doing hard manual labour all day
- and as I kissed him, big beads of his sweat wiped
across my face and I tasted the salty tang of him on
my lips.  One advantage of having a guy work in just a
tunic is that as you hug him and kiss him you can
fondle his dick and feel his butt so much more easily,
and I naturally did this as we carried on hugging.

Then I pulled away.  "Hey, you've really been working
- I can see the difference the moment I came around
the house. Well done - you've really been slaving
away."  I hadn't meant to use that term - it's just a
figure of speech, isn't it?

"Yes, sir.."

"Craig, we're buddies, remember?  I'm Steve.."

He looked awkward for a moment, then said quietly
"Look, Steve, it's hard for me.  One minute you say
we're buddies, the next minute you're reminding me
that you own me, that I'm your personal property, your
slave.  Then you fuck me on a horse, just as you would
a slave..."

"No, that's not true, I...."

"No, hear me out, please.  I reckon it will be easier
for us both if outside the bedroom you treat me as a
slave - when I'm working, that sort of stuff.  But
when we're alone together at night, we're buddies.
That way it's easy enough to know who's in charge.
Otherwise we'll just both be confused."

I thought for a moment, and although I never really
credited Craig with much common sense, I could see
that what he was saying was a good idea.  "OK, then.
So you're a slave now, then?"

"Yes, sir."  He dropped into the subservient position,
but  I saw him smiling as he did so. "But let me
remind you, sir, that later on we'll be buddies.  And
as buddies we have some unfinished business form last
night.  Last night I was confused, and let you fuck me
as a slave.  Tonight, as buddies, you'd better have
that ass of yours ready to get reamed..... Sir."

I didn't exactly remember him "letting" me fuck him,
but I smiled too.  "Well slave, get your ass into the
house and get showered.  You stink like a slave now,
and I don't want to have that body wrapped around me
smelling like that.... Run along - and  I do mean run
- as I'm getting horny.  And I want to see that body
of yours in motion...."

Well, for the next few days it was fun.  It worked,
and we had no more quarrels - I had to let him fuck me
that first night, of course, and after that we settled
back into our old nightly routine of mostly just
fooling around:  but now there was that added spice,
as some sort of barrier had been broken and we knew
that each of us could fuck the other when we wanted
to.  But after a bout a week of our new life together,
things got difficult.

I had more than enough to do -  seeing the lawyers,
opening a bank account, getting a new driver's licence
and a passport, shopping, going to the showrooms and
test driving a few cars... After so long "out of the
world"  it was actually quite tiring for me, and at
night all I wanted to do was just to relax, then lie
there in Craig's arms.  But there just wasn't enough
work to do on our property for a tough, hard working
guy like Craig:  the pool sparkled, the windows shone,
the grass was manicured, the cars gleamed under their
coats of wax, but basically there just wasn't enough
for him to do.  He was bored, and a bored slave is a
problem for his owner, as I soon found out as Craig
was always bursting with energy and wanted to "play",
rather than just relax.

A vacation seemed like a good idea, and I spent a day
picking out a great place on St Thomas for a week
away, but then I found that the airlines wouldn't fly
a slave out of the country, and even if we went by
boat, Craig would have to be locked in a transit cage
for the duration of the voyage.  That wouldn't be too
bad, I suppose, but when I called to change my
reservation and said it was a double room as I was
bringing my slave, the exclusive place told me rather
haughtily that they had free men to serve their
guests, and that slaves and pets were not allowed on
the premises!  So that was that - I thought of going
somewhere in the USA, but the thrill of taking Craig
somewhere exotic had now gone, and I dropped the idea.

I bought a comprehensive "professional" set of workout
equipment that we put in the garage, and had Craig
work out on it - that was quite good, as it was
something we could do together in the evenings and it
helped to keep me fit, but I soon realised that I was
condemning Craig to be rather like a hamster running
futilely on a wheel when I gave him a big schedule of
reps in the mornings as I set out on my business,
making him stay in that garage all day.  So in the
third week, after I'd thought about it for a long
time, I hired him out to Rooney.

The truck came and picked him up every morning, and
delivered him back every evening, and this seemed a
great solution form every point of view:  Craig was
kept fully occupied, his body stayed in great shape,
he was as exhausted as I was at night so was happy
just to sit quietly, then fool around a bit in bed
before sleeping;  and, of course, Rooney paid me rent
for him!  Mind you, there were a few snags - if he'd
been caned or tawsed particularly hard during the day
he'd moan and cry out if I pressed myself against him
too hard in bed:  that wasn't a problem when I'd been
a slave, too, as our skins were both tender, but now I
found having to remember to be gentle with Craig
sometimes was just the tiniest bit irksome.  I kept
telling him that if he wasn't such a lazy fucker he
wouldn't be caned so often and it would be easier for
me.

My father organised a "welcome back" party for the
family, and it took a lot of persuasion for my
brothers and their wives to clear space in their
diaries to fly in simultaneously  for the weekend.
The first evening my brothers were strangely subdued,
and the conversation around the dinner table did not
really flow.  Craig had been kept back from Rooney's
that day so that he was not too tired and could act as
a waiter, although he didn't like it one little bit,
even though I'd bought him a new tunic for the
occasion, one that came almost half way down his
thighs so that he actually wasn't exposed at all!
When my sisters in law left dad, me and my brothers at
the table and dad passed around the port, Bill even
went so far as to put his hand up the back of the
tunic and caressed Craig's butt, and it was only that
I threw Craig a strong warning glance across the room
that he was prevented from actually grabbing hold of
Bill's arm and stopping him.

"Nice slave you've got there, Steve", Bill remarked
casually as we drank another glass of port. "I suppose
your experience has given you quite an eye for picking
out a good piece of man flesh."

"Yes", Mike added. "I'd like my dick down the throat
of that one.  I brought my training collar and the
cuffs with me, shall I go and fetch them, and we could
have a bit of sport right now..."

My mind flashed back to the way I'd felt as my
brother's dick raped my throat, and for a moment I was
very tempted - the idea of having Craig helpless, on
his knees, as I pulled him down onto my dick was very
appealing.  I mean, it wouldn't be breaking our
agreement, as we weren't alone in the bedroom an so I
could use him just as  a slave... But my father rather
spoiled it as he said "Now you boys, I want none of
that tonight, not with your wives in the house!  I'm
not really in favour of these old habits of separating
men from women, so let's go and join them for coffee."


Even so, I was really aroused by the thought of it,
and when Craig started to suck at my dick that night,
I put my hands around his head and pushed him further
down that he liked.  He began to splutter, and when I
held him firm, he had to really exert himself to get
up.  "Hey, Steve... What's that all about?", he asked,
wiping his eyes that had started to run as my dick had
almost made him gag.

"Oh, nothing... Just something  I thought about,
that's all."  I smiled, but decided that I'd make sure
Mike left that collar and those cuffs behind when he
went back to New York - this is a   game I'd like to
teach Craig to play, even if I had to coerce his
participation a little! Well, I mean, you can't go
with the same guy every night and not want to do new
things, can you?

The next morning I decided Craig should stay home as I
might need some diversion from my brothers and sisters
in law during the day, and after breakfast I mooched
around a bit, watching Craig work, then calling him
away to go and work out with me in the garage.  We
ended with a five mile run around the local roads, and
when we got back, found that my brothers had gone off
somewhere with dad, and my sisters in law were sitting
around the pool.  One job Joe still had was to clean
the pool every morning, and Craig and I stood there
watching his tanned, slender body as he ran the
sweeper up and down.  My sisters in law were evidently
enjoying the spectacle, too, as Joe's dick was being
compared with the pool guy who did the pool in Bel
Air!

It was a hot morning, and Craig was sweating after the
run, so I told him he could jump in and cool off.
Without a moment's hesitation he dropped his shorts
(yes, I allowed him shorts when we went running), ran
the length of the pool, his dick flying up and down as
he did so, and executed a perfect dive from the far
end, to thrash down the full length back towards me.
My sisters in law changed their conversation from
discussing Joe's dick to talking about Craig, as
they'd wondered whether his dick was on the same
heroic scale as the rest of him, and one confided in
the other that it was a pity that he wasn't made to
wear a "proper" servant's tunic, so that they'd
already have seen him.

The water looked so inviting, that I went and sat next
to my sisters in law and took off my running shoes,
then pulled my T over my head, and dropped my shorts
to go and join Craig.  Both women instantly started to
laugh, and to protest - all though not all that
seriously, I thought.  "Hey, Steve.... That's hardly
proper in front of your sisters in law..."

"Well it was  OK  when  you were last here,
Thanksgiving a few years ago... You liked to get a
good look at me then, and I haven't changed.  Well, I
may have lost a little muscle tone... But not where it
matters most.... I remember you said that I was hung
just like Mike and Bill..."

"Yes, but you were a slave then.  It was OK for you to
be naked as a slave, but you're our brother in law
again... Put that dick of yours away, and go and put
some Speedos on.  Or better still, some decent swim
shorts, that will keep that thing concealed!"  Both
women laughed again, but it was another one of those
conversations where I didn't really know if they ere
serious or not - were they joking about slaves and
free men, or did it really matter?

The only remaining scenes from this time concern Rob.
His indenture was processed rapidly by the courts, as
these matters are always expedited:  there's none of
those endless delays, adjournments, depositions, and
appeals you get in a lot of cases - with indenture
it's mostly clear cut, open and shut, no appeal.  So
it was only a couple of weeks later that I was reading
the paper and saw that the next public auction of
indentured servants was to take place the following
Wednesday.

The auction was being held at City Hall, and by now I
had my new BMW coupe so it was easy to drop in and see
what kind of price Rob fetched.  The servant in the
parking garage seemed impressed to be parking my new
machine, and I patted his rather pleasing butt as he
took my keys off me, and went up in the elevator to
the public exhibition space.

It's obviously important not to have to waste a lot of
time in examining unsuitable servants, so it was the
practice now to display them nearly naked:  both men
and women were lined up in the large cool room wearing
only a small kilt around their waists for modesty
(many parents did after all bring their children to
these inspection days, if they were looking for
nannies or other domestic servants).  It wasn't so bad
for the men, but the way that their hands were cuffed
behind their backs and then the cuffed wrists were
hiked high up and attached to their collars with short
chains did tend to make it more comfortable to stand
with the chest out and shoulders back, which tended to
give great prominence to the breasts.  I bought a
catalogue in case there happened to be anything that
took my particular interest, and saw that each servant
had his or her auction number written in large black
"magic marker" letters on the belly, and these cross
referenced neatly to the information in the catalogue.
 For each servant you got the age, degree of
education, length of indenture, height, weight, chest,
waist, and hip measurements, and for the men, the
length of dick both flaccid and erect.  A few brief
lines also gave the nature of the crime for which they
had been indentured, presumably because you would not
wish to employ a sex fiend as a domestic servant, for
example.   If you didn't wish to attend the auction,
you could simply leave a maximum bid in a box on the
page of the catalogue, and hand the catalogue back to
one of the auctioneer's servants who would bid on your
behalf.

I looked at some of the stock available, and several
of the more muscular, well-toned men were potentially
interesting.  Regrettably, though, many of them were
spoiled by intrusive tattoos on the arms and bodies,
and when I accessed the catalogue I saw that these men
were often there because of persistent minor offences
in gangs as kids, or for drug related crimes - it must
be the habit of these people to tattoo themselves as
some sort of "badge".  Most of the men were in their
late teens or early twenties, as the system had by now
mostly eliminated older criminals from society -
justice was now swift and certain, and older, wiser
heads knew it was simply not sensible to continue
committing crimes, or failing to pay parking fines, or
whatever.  It was therefore unusual to see an older
man on display, and it was only when I stopped to take
a closer look that I realised an older guy in front of
me was Rob!

They'd cropped his long hair that used to flop so
seemingly artlessly across his forehead, giving him a
perpetual boyish look - although that was a triumph of
his hairdresser's skill with cutting, mostly.  But the
real reason I did not instantly recognise him was that
his one eye was almost closed with a big bruise around
it, and his nose seemed to be all puffed up and
swollen, as were his lips.  The marks of a severe
caning were all over his chest and even the front of
his thighs - he must have been most disobedient, and
required severe taming, I guessed.  I stood there
staring at him, hardly believing my own eyes for a
moment, as in addition to these obvious marks of a
severe beating, he was so clearly out of shape:  I
remember him of course as a jock like me, and then,
later, at Rooney's, I could see that his waist was
thickening and he was starting to grow a little pot
belly.  But now he looked positively fat, his pecs
starting to look more like breasts, and there was a
layer of flab around his middle.  His one good eye
swivelled towards me, and he gasped "Steve.... Help
me.... Please....  Get me out of here.... Please,
Steve."

I looked at the number of his belly and in the
catalogue saw he was indentured for ten years.  It
described him as college educated, and his crimes were
described as "non violent transgressions of the civil
codes relating to the exercise of a professional's
duty to his clients".

Look, I couldn't resist it:  I reached up under his
kilt, and felt for his balls - he'd been shaved, as I
expected, and the low-hanging pair that I remembered
felt agreeably silky and warm in my hand.  Rob moaned
"No.... Please.... " as I handled him, and one of the
auctioneer's salesmen, seeing my interest, rushed over
and without even asking me, whipped off Rob's kilt -
it was attached with Velcro, and came away quite
easily as the salesman tugged at it.  Standing naked
he didn't look quite so out of shape, but he was not
in good overall condition, I thought.

"A very nice specimen, if I may say so, sir...", the
man began his spiel. "As you can see, very well hung.
A little on the fat side, perhaps, but a few weeks of
starving him, some rigorous exercise..."

"But perhaps he's not easy to tame... Those marks on
him..."

"Oh yes.  Some of the guards at the auction house just
wanted to play with him, but he objected very
violently and so he suffered some minor damage.  But
nothing that in a week or so won't cure naturally - no
bones were broken, and I'm sure that when they caned
him they didn't do any permanent damage and there will
be no permanent marking."

"Is he a virgin?"

"Well sir, that's impossible to warrant, I'm afraid.
Men these days.... You know....  But you are of course
most welcome to inspect him."

As he said this he handed me a rubber glove from his
pocket, and Rob watched, horrified, as I pulled it on.
 He went to speak, and at once the salesman prodded
him with a prod that must have been set at very low
power, as Rob only doubled up and groaned, rather than
being felled to the floor by it.

"Turn around and bend over!", the salesman ordered
him, resting the tip of the prod against Rob's naked
skin.  Looking pleadingly at me, Rob did so, as he saw
I remained impassive.

"Once again, sir, I think you'll see that the
over-large buttocks are merely a layer of fat....",
the salesman added, and I nodded.  He helped me prise
Rob's butt cheeks apart as he stood there, bent over,
and I thrust a finger none too gently up Rob's ass,
causing him to grunt and try to take a step forward to
escape.  This merely resulted in the salesman giving
him another painful prod.

"What do you think, sir?", the salesman asked me as I
peeled the glove off and dropped it into a litter bin.

"Very tight.  If he has been fucked, it isn't recent",
I replied.  "Tell me, is he fertile?  I've got a woman
servant who ought to be bred."

"He's sired two children, sir.  But, strangely, when
we were doing the pre-sale tests, his sperm count is
way down.  But it can only be a temporary thing - as I
said, the kids..."

I smiled inwardly, knowing Rob would be hearing this,
and knowing he would be remembering how his two boys
were fathered.

Whilst he was still bent double I walked away, and
heard Rob call out "Please,  Steve, don't abandon
me....", before he screamed as the salesman now used
his prod on slightly higher power to control him.

I kept myself concealed at the actual auction as I
didn't want to give Rob any hope - he would feel
completely destroyed if he did not see my face in the
audience, I knew.  But as he was brought up onto the
stage and stood there looking ill at ease under the
lights, I hid behind a pillar to call out "Before I
bid, let's see him shoot!".

Several other potential customers shouted out their
agreement, as it wasn't all that usual to have an
older guy on the block, and it had been a slow morning
and a little amusement was in order.  The auctioneer
therefore pulled away Rob's kilt, so that he was again
entirely naked, and he was of course unable to even
try to shield himself from the audience's gaze with
his hands still tightly cuffed in the small of his
back.  At a nod from the auctioneer a young servant
(clad himself only in one of the tiny kilts) came on,
knelt in front of Rob, and began to jerk him off.

It was amusing to see Rob utterly humiliated like
this, especially as he couldn't help groaning as the
young servant finally brought him to climax, and then
he had to stand there with his last few drools of cum
hanging down from his dick as the bidding began.

I'd made sure that the bid I'd submitted via one of
the servants was sufficient to cover anything that was
likely to arise from the floor, and so Rob did not see
that it was me who now owned his contract, and did not
yet  know that it was me who had arranged for him to
be shipped off to Rooney's  Contracts to be put to
work.

Well pleased with my morning so far, I next went to
visit Karen.  Following the near bankruptcy of her
father and the indenture of Rob, she was in very much
reduced circumstances - her own trust fund could
barely afford the six bedroom four and a half bath
house in one of the executive suburbs, and when she
answered the door herself (a far cry from the days
when servants were everywhere), she at first looked
annoyed to see me.

"What do you want?".  The hostility was clear in her
voice.

"To see my sons", I answered boldly, and was rewarded
by a look that flashed across her face that told me
she had been no completely innocent dupe to the way
that Rob had impregnated her.  She invited me in then,
and as we sat in her elegant living room, I wasted no
time in putting my proposition to her.

"We both know, of course, that I could get a court to
order a DNA test and we could then easily determine
whether the boys are mine, Craig's, or one of each.
What it would certainly reveal to the world is that
they are not Rob's, and that you were  impregnated by
slaves.  I assume you don't want that, as I assume
it's not the sort of thing that the 'ladies who lunch'
do!   But tell me, Karen, why did you ever go along
with it, and not just abort them when you discovered
you were pregnant?  Rob must have tricked you
initially...."

"My father wanted heirs, and was always complaining
and threatening to reduce my allowance.  I suspected
Rob was incapable - he was fun in bed, but I got hints
about his infertility, and, indeed, when the boys were
born I had the tests done and knew he wasn't the
father.  But my father was happy... So who cares?"

"Well, they've got a good genetic inheritance anyway -
you're pretty good looking, Craig and I are certainly
real men, and although Craig was never educated, he's
no slouch mentally either.  But it's important they're
properly brought up, and I will in future play a more
active role now that Rob's not around -  boys need a
father..."

"No you will not!  I'm not having you and that slave
around here..."

"I think you will, Karen.  Rumour has it that you're a
little strapped for cash - isn't that Mercedes in the
drive over a year old, rather than being this year's
model?   I'd expect to contribute towards the boys'
upkeep, of course.... Contribute lavishly, indeed, to
make sure they grow up in proper style...."

She nodded slowly, a smile forming on her bright
scarlet lips.  "We should have an agreement, Steve.  A
proper agreement.  With you agreeing to pay a fixed
sum monthly, plus additional payments for new cars and
so on, all inflation adjusted, of course..."

"Quite.  I have one here, anticipating that we might
have a meeting of minds...."

She read the agreement that I'd had my lawyers draw up
with the kind of intense scrutiny that only the
daughter of a lawyer would bring to it.  Then at the
end we had a small skirmish about the starting amount
per month, and as I had anticipated, I gave her twenty
five percent more - she felt she'd won, but I had of
course started at twenty five percent below the sum I
was prepared to pay.  Finally, as she screwed the top
back on her gold fountain pen after we had both
signed, she sat back and looked at me and asked "But
why do I have to divorce Rob, as it says in there?  A
lady needs a husband, to ward off the predatory men...
But perhaps you no longer understand that..?"

"Oh I do, Karen!  I do remember the effort it was to
chase women - but as you yourself know, a wedding band
is no hindrance, it's just the outward show.  I always
found married women a push over!  Still, I need you to
divorce Rob as it's part of my plan for him."

She shrugged, said "I'll see my lawyer tomorrow, and
send you the bill, of course...."

"That won't be necessary.  My own lawyers have drawn
up your petition to the Courts....".  This time she
signed the document almost without reading it - so
typical of Karen, as no money was involved.

This was turning into a busy day, as I drove back to
my lawyers with Karen's divorce petition.  They
assured me that it would go through "on the nod" as
there was no financial settlement to argue over, and
it was almost the norm for ten year indentures to end
in divorce, and the courts were broadly sympathetic to
the free party, and that, furthermore, they had a
judge lined up that very afternoon - she'd agreed to
expedite the case, in exchange for a substantial
donation to her favourite charity  (which just
happened to be the political party in which she had
ambitions!).

I was in court the following morning to hear for
myself the details of Rob's permanent indenture
hearing, or enslavement as we might as well call it!
He had no right to be heard himself, of course, as an
indentured servant. And unlike the time when I had
appeared in that very same Court, there was no longer
even any need for the servant to be brought in - it
was deemed to be unnecessarily wasteful of the
indenture owner's asset, as the servant himself could
play no part in the proceedings, and so the rules had
been changed about a year before.  There was a young
newly-graduated lawyer, still wet behind the ears,
appointed to represent the servant's rights, and he
began "Your honour, we move that this permanent
indenture order be quashed.  The servant has been
sentenced to ten years indenture for his crimes, and
that is sufficient."

My lawyer, confident and elegant in his expensive
clothes, rose to his feet.  "If it please the Court...
We contend that the servant Rob should be permanently
indentured in his own best interests.  The Court can
order this, as the indenture period is ten years."

"How can it be in his best interests? " the young guy
whined, clearly irritating the judge with his
interruption.  "He has a wife and family to go back
to. And in such cases the precedent is to keep the
family together."

"Your honour", my guy cut in, "This is untrue.  The
servant is divorced,  with custody of the children
being given solely to the mother, with no visitation
rights."  He handed the judge a copy of the divorce
decree, the judge gave it a cursory scan, nodded, and
my guy went on "Consequently we contend that at the
end of the ten year indenture period the servant Rob
would be without family or friends, without money, and
destitute.  There is a high probability that he would
therefore re-offend, and be a danger to society,
resulting in a further period of indenture.  It would
be in his best interests to be permanently indentured
to his current owner from the outset, so that he could
be reconciled to his new status in life from the
start, and would not have the misery of a period of
uncertainty when he was in his early forties."

The young lawyer went to interrupt, but the judge
banged her gavel and said "So ordered.  The indenture
period is increased to life.  Next case!".

I wondered how much the donation to her favourite
charity had cost me!

End Of Part 29