Date: Tue, 13 Dec 2011 00:22:22 -0800 (PST)
From: Christian Debus <servus4u@ymail.com>
Subject: "Father and Son"   Gay Male/Authoritarian and Gay Male/Interracial

'FATHER AND SON'
A Short Story

This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of
eighteen years

Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris)

An archive of my stories can be found at
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories

"The characters and ideas contained in this story are the writer's and
shouldn't be used without permission. Please, respect the integrity of this
story and don't rewrite."

Luther had told me I'd be impressed with Darnell's Slave Emporium and he
isn't wrong. He'd told me everything about the building is tasteful and my
dealings would be handled with the utmost discretion and privacy. The
Emporium's understated street fa...de hides the fact that it is a clearing
house for whitey slaves and the opaqueness of its frosted glass windows
shield its interior from the curious eyed of the casual passer-by in the
street. I am impressed and my confidence grows.

Personally, I'd always considered the slave trade as sordid and those who
worked in it as my social inferiors.

It isn't that I am opposed to slavery. Not at all! Such a thought never
enters my head. It's just that I have always viewed the 'pedlars of human
flesh' as boorish and uncouth. Well, that is how they always appear to me
in their shonky, television advertising.  But then, I don't know any
slavers personally and my contact with them has been very minimal.  Mainly,
it has been limited to the municipal slave markets which I consider to be
smelly, unsavoury places and I seldom venture into them.

I really hate the malodorous squalor of these markets. And I agree with my
good friend Luther Thomas that the municipal slave-markets leave much to be
desired. Usually they have poor quality stock; rejects that the upmarket
slave boutiques refuse to handle. And they stink to high heaven!

There is something about the whitey's metabolism that offends my sense of
smell.  Should I be successful in buying a slave today, then I will ensure
that he keeps himself clean and his body odour- free.

I am in the market for a domestic slave and acting on the advice given to
me by my good friend Luther - he'd recently purchased two slaves from here,
one for himself and one as a Christmas present for his nephew, Max - I have
come to Darnell's Slave Emporium to peruse their stock.

Written on the outside of the building is a sign which tells me that
Darnell's are purveyors of the finest slaves and inviting me to inspect
their stock at my leisure. However, I do see that I am too early and the
hours for viewing the slaves are between 10.00 AM and 3.00 PM.  As it is
only 8.30 AM, I decide to continue on to my office and to return later
during an extended lunch break.

As I turn to walk away, the door opens and I am pleasantly greeted by a
young, white slave of impeccable appearance. He falls to his knees and
presses his forehead to the ground as a mark of his respect to me as a
Black Superior.

I order him to his feet. I would prefer to look into the slave's face as I
speak rather than at his upturned ass.

"Stand up, slave!"

"Sir, thank you. Can I be of assistance to you Sir?

"I doubt it boy! I have come to inspect and perhaps to buy a slave. But I
see that I am too early and that the slaves aren't available for inspection
until 10.00 AM."

"Sir! Please come in and allow me to fetch my master. I am sure my master
will want to speak to you about your needs, Sir!"

I scrutinise the slave and I like what I see. He is stark naked- this is
after all standard practice for all whitey slaves - and he is a delight to
the eyes. He stands at about six feet tall and weighs approximately eleven
to twelve stones and his body is muscular without it being excessively
so. He moves with an easy grace and as he does so, the muscles of his
glabrous body ripple and flex in a most delightful way. He possesses a
flawlessly smooth, ivory skin, an angular face with an aquiline nose and
lustrous grey-green eyes. When he smiles - and he does so often - his full
red lips part to show the pearly whiteness of his teeth. Unusually he has
shoulder length jet-black hair tied back into a ponytail.  I am surprised
by this; most slave owners of my acquaintance have the heads of their
slaves closely cropped. But I'm not opposed to it. Somehow his hair style
suits the slave. And I estimate his age at somewhere between the early to
mid-twenties.

I remember Luther telling me how he was greeted by his new slave, Ben on
his arrival at the emporium and how he'd been instantly smitten by the
slave to the extent that he knew immediately that he wanted to own him. I
can't say this slave has a similar effect upon me but it is obvious he has
been especially chosen to serve as a 'meet and greet' slave for the
emporium's owners. And I have to admit; he performs the task admirably. He
treats me with respectful deference and is unfailingly polite and I can't
fault him. If he is a sample of the stock offered by Darnell's Slave
Emporium, then I am impressed.

Of course I'm not aware that the slave's actions are being monitored on
CCTV which will be reviewed by his master at the end of the day and should
he be found wanting then he will be whipped and returned to the pens for
sale at the next scheduled auction.

The slave is canny enough to realise that being the cheerful 'face' for the
emporium gives him an opportunity to impress any potential clients - much
as Ben had done with Luther.  If he ingratiates himself with them then,
just possibly, he could be sold by private negotiation.  Better this than
face the trauma of sale by auction.

Despite his efforts, I have no interest in the slave. It is my intention to
return later when the slaves are available for inspection and I turn to
leave.

"SIR! PLEASE allow me to fetch my master to talk to you. Please Sir!"

There is a note of urgency in the slave's voice. It is as though he is
pleading with me to stay and talk to his master. Nevertheless, I disregard
him and I'm totally unprepared for what happens next.

The slave falls to his knees and begins to plead.

"Sir, please talk to my Master? Please. My master will be angry when he
learns that I have allowed you to leave before he has a chance to greet
you. Sir, he will punish me severely for my dereliction of duty."

I detect the note of fear in the slave's voice as he desperately pleads
with me.  My first impulse is to ignore him. After all I'm not concerned
whether his master punishes him. If he offends his master then, of course,
he must be punished but that will be his master's decision and it is unfair
of the slave to try and involve me. Momentarily, I experience a flash of
anger at the slave's presumption in seeking to attach blame to me for any
potential chastisement he will receive. However, I'm not an unkind person -
even to a whitey slave - and I agree to speak to his master.

The slave is obviously relieved and to my embarrassment he drops to his
knees and kisses my feet as he thanks me most profusely. Once more I order
him to his feet and instruct him to fetch his master.  He hurries off and
returns within a couple of minutes with Richard Darnell, the proprietor of
the Emporium. I offer my hand in greeting and introduce myself.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Cleavon Sonntag. And you must be
Richard Darnell?  You come highly recommended, Mr Darnell. One of my work
colleagues speaks glowingly of you and the quality of your livestock. It is
at his suggestion that I am here."

"And who might that be, Mr Sonntag?"

"Luther Thomas. I believe he did business with you some months ago - around
Christmas time."

"Ah yes! I remember Luther. In fact, he made two purchases from me. One was
a young Australasian slave he bought as a present for his nephew and the
other -if my memory serves me correctly -was for his own use.  But I recall
both purchases. They were prime young whiteys; truly magnificent slaves. I
wonder, have you heard how both slaves fared?

"Yes indeed, I do know Mr Darnell. In fact, it was after I'd visited
Luther's home and saw the slave - I think his name is Ben - when I decided
I should follow suit and acquire a slave for my use. Ben is a delightful
slave -happy, courteous, loyal and steadfast in his resolve to do all
within his power to please his Master. And those are the qualities that I'm
looking for in my purchase."

"Yes, I remember Ben. He was here for several months before I sold him to
Luther. He served as our door slave and I didn't have one complaint about
him. Quite the contrary, we received many compliments on his pleasant
demeanour and we had many offers to buy him. But I had given Luther first
right of refusal. So I take it Luther is happy with his new slave?"

"He's very happy, Mr Darnell. He told me that Ben - unlike his older slave,
Tim required the minimum of training. He hardly needed to cane or whip Ben
who proved a willing pupil. Why, Luther told me the other day that Ben
bends over to please him."

"As he should, Mr Sonntag.  As he should! But tell me.... does Luther still
have his older slave?"

"Yes he does. Luther is very attached to his slave Tim but he did confide
in me recently that there are insufficient duties for both Tim and Ben and
that he will have to get rid of Tim to make way for Ben.  So I wouldn't be
surprised if you have a visit from him soon to arrange Tim's sale."

"I'm always happy to oblige and should Luther wish it then I'll happily
handle the sale of his slave.  There's always a demand for well-trained,
docile slaves to act as a 'house whitey'. But what of the other slave - the
Christmas present to Luther's nephew?  How did he fare?"

"From what I understand, he wasn't as easy to train as Ben. I gather there
was some emotional baggage with that boy and it had to be beaten out of
him. I heard from Luther that the slave had to be regularly caned or
whipped to get him to toe the line. But the last I heard, he has buckled
down and is now quite happy in service to his young Master, Max.
Presently, he serves Luther's nephew as his body slave at College."

"Ah! So the slave is sampling college life. I wonder what subjects he's
studying. From what I remember about the slave he's eminently suited for
extra-curricular activities. I should think his Master assigns lots of
homework to him. And who could blame him? That slave is superb. But tell
me. How can I be of assistance to you, Mr Sonntag? "

"Perhaps, if I tell you a little about myself it might help, Mr Darnell."

"Please do! But let's not be so formal, Mr Sonntag. Call me Richard."

"Thank you Richard and my name is Cleavon by the way."

"Well Cleavon! Tell me something of your background. What are your
requirements and what type of a slave are you looking to purchase?"

"Richard, really there's not much to tell. I'm a widower and live with my
teenaged son, Du-Shaunt on a small holding on the outskirts of
town. However, the house is large - too large for me to maintain - and I
now find I have to travel extensively with my work.  This means that my son
is left alone and this worries me. I thought if we have a slave in the
household, then he could take care of Du-Shaunt while I'm away. And of
course the slave will need to keep house and maintain the grounds. So
basically, there it is. Do you have a suitable slave in stock?"

"And how old is Du-Shaunt?"

"He's eighteen and quite involved in his college work. That's the other
reason why I need a slave.  During my absences, I don't want Du-Shaunt
interrupting his studies or skipping meals."

"Ah! Du-Shaunt is quite the young adult and well able to control and manage
a house slave in your absence.  But your concern is understandable,
Cleavon. It does you credit. Please continue."

"In fairness to Du-Shaunt, I want to spend all my available free time with
him and not be tied down with tiresome house chores and an endless routine
of gardening and grounds keeping. I need a slave to relieve me of these
burdens. I have discussed this with Du-Shaunt and he enthusiastically
supports the idea to such an extent that I have promised to let him help me
to make my final choice.  That's why I'm here; to do some preliminary
scouting before Du-Shaunt and I make our final selection."

"Cleavon, I'm sure we'll find the ideal slave for you. I always tell my
clients there's a slave to suit all requirements. But tell me more about
your property. How large is it? And how big is the house?"

"Well Richard, as I said the grounds are extensive and the house has five
bedrooms, three bathrooms and large formal and informal living areas.  As
you can imagine Richard, all this is beyond me. I find all my spare time is
spent with house work and outdoor maintenance. Oh! I forgot to mention the
swimming -pool, the spa and sauna and the barbeque area."

"That all sounds very impressive, Cleavon. With all that to care for you
certainly do need a suitable slave to assist you?"

"Well not so much to assist me, Richard. I'm looking for a slave who can do
all the work around the house and grounds and leave me free for my work and
to allow me to spend all my leisure time with Du-Shaunt."

"Well, we have any number of slaves capable of meeting your
requirements. In fact, our pens have just been replenished with a shipment
of new stock. Would you like to inspect them, Cleavon?"

"Of course, Richard! That's the purpose of my visit. To see if I can find a
slave to suit my needs."

"What exactly do you have in mind, Cleavon? Do you have any particular type
of slave in mind?"

"Not really, Richard! I've kept an open mind and thought I'd see what you
have on offer. But I have to admit I was quite taken with Luther's two
purchases.... Ben and the Australasian slave. If my memory serves me
correctly, I think his name was Kurt. Do you have anything like those two
boys in stock?"

"I'm sure we do, Cleavon. But to be honest, most of our current stock is
fresh off the trucks just last evening and I haven't had time to inventory
them as yet.  But other than them, we do have a few exotics - although they
are locals and not imports like the slave, Kurt. I'm sure we can find you a
slave that will meet with your approval."

"Great! I look forward to inspecting them."

"In that case, let me take you over to our holding pens and you can inspect
the slaves in the pens at your leisure. Should any catch you eye then I can
have them removed from the pens and taken to one of our inspection salons
for closer scrutiny. But I must warn you.  As most of them have just
arrived, they haven't yet been processed so you might find them a little on
the rough side."

"What do you mean, by not being processed, Richard?"

"Well we haven't as yet cleaned them up after their trip from
interstate. Consequently they are malodorous. They came to us in slave
transporters and I believe the trip took two days and one night. So as you
can imagine, after being crammed tightly against one another for that
period of time, they're .... How can I describe them ....? I suppose there
is no other way of putting this delicately ..... they're pretty shitty and
on the nose."

I suppose to be forewarned is to be forearmed and Richard had done the
correct in preparing me.  But as we exit the calm, air-conditioned luxury
of the main building and cross the internal courtyard to the holding pens,
my nose detects the distinctive slave odour of unwashed bodies, excrement,
urine and vomit - and crinkles in disgust. I am reminded of the municipal
slave pens that I find so distasteful.

I find the slaves' stink to be off-putting and I am tempted to call a halt
to my inspection. However, Richard has been kind enough to allow me to
peruse his livestock before the official inspection hours and it would be
discourteous of me to walk away now. And really it isn't his fault; if I'd
come later in the day, I don't doubt that his stock would be clean and
sweet-smelling.

And as if to emphasise this point, I watch as a group of ten, heavily
chained slaves are whip driven out of the holding pens and across the yard
to the ablution block. Richard instructs the overseers to halt the slaves
so that I can look at them.

At first glance these slaves are a sorry looking lot. They are young, adult
males and of course all are as naked as the day their mothers gave birth to
them.  I see confusion and fear written on their faces and their wild-eyed
expressions are those of trapped animals. I wonder about their backgrounds
and about the reasons they are now slaves. Are they court sentenced slaves
or they are 'harvested' stock gathered up by slavers raiding their remote
communities and carrying them off into captivity?

At the time of the "Great Reversal" which saw the ultimate triumph of
blacks over the Caucasian race, many thousands of whiteys chose not to live
under our benign dictatorship and deserted the cities they had once
dominated. They retreated into the remote, unpopulated, heavily forested
and arid areas of the planet and set up small, self-contained communities
where they now live free from Black Domination. Here they live at
subsistence level s maintaining herds of cattle and goats and eking out
just enough crops to feed their families.

Of course, the "Reversal" took place some one hundred and fifty years ago
and the former 'unified' - and I use the word advisedly - white society has
fragmented even further into what can loosely be called a state of
tribalism.

I have read media reports of how these remote white tribes are constantly
at war with one another over land disputes and the stealing of one
another's females and livestock. It occurs to me that nothing much has
changed in the white psyche. The whitey remains competitive and warlike by
nature as always.

And in recent years these remote communities have become rich, "harvesting
fields" for white slaves.

Our cities are still the principal recruiting grounds for most of our white
slaves. Our zero tolerance of bad behaviour among our white subjects
ensures that the courts are a continuing supply source of slaves to meet
our affluent society's ever growing demand for domestic servants. These
urban whiteys are eagerly sort after.  Considered to be tame, these urban
slaves settle readily into their lives of servitude and are easy to
train. Consequently, they fetch high prices at auction.

But the wild whitey slave - those harvested in the remote areas - is a very
different animal.  He is unused to contact with the black man and unused to
our ways. Indeed, for many, their first sighting of a black man is usually
when he is captured by them. They remain resentful almost to the point of
rebelliousness and must be trained with an iron fist. Such a wild slave is
difficult to domesticate and in the main he is used for heavy duty work on
our farms, in our factories, mines and quarries. And they are used to a
large extent in our construction industries.

The market for this latter type of slave is a growing one and in recent
years many enterprising black adventurers conduct slave-raiding expeditions
into these remote white areas.  It is a high risk enterprise; these white
areas are wild, lawless zones where the black man is seen as a predatory
enemy. But the returns are great and many slavers are prepared to risk
their safety in the interest of a quick profit. Unfortunately, many a black
slaver has paid the ultimate cost with his life.

Far more adept are our Arab brethren. They have a thousand years' history
of slave taking and this makes them far more successful than the Black
slaver.

The Arab slavers are cunning and possess a stealth that allows them to
surround a whitey village in the pre-dawn darkness without detection. The
unsuspecting whiteys, slumbering peacefully in their homes, are taken by
surprise and within minutes they are stripped naked and securely fastened
into a coffle.

Then they begin their long journey into slavery. The absence of roads in
the white areas mean the new slaves must be driven, on foot and under the
whips of their captors, to distant distribution centres where they are
'sold on' to the wholesalers who then sell them to the city merchants like
Richard Darnell.

I am curious about the origin of these ten slaves and ask Richard if they
are tame, urban slaves or newly taken wild ones.  I suspect the latter and
Richard confirms that they are. They certainly have an air of wildness
about them.

In the main they are young- I estimate the oldest to be no more than
mid-thirty at the most - and all have long, shoulder length hair and are
heavily bearded. Their chests, bellies and limbs have a covering of body
hair and this is in sharp contrast to our domestic slaves who all have
cropped heads and smooth, hairless bodies; we even routinely remove a
slave's pubes for hygienic reasons.

Personally, I'd always preferred a slave with a glabrous body but something
about these ten slaves fascinates me. Their body hair adds 'something' to
their allure and I am fascinated by it. It's true that their body hair
gives them a primitive, untamed look but it also hints at their bodily
strength and adds to their masculine physicality. I quite like it.

All ten have superbly well-developed bodies as you would expect from those
who must work hard to survive and they are of a uniform build and
height. But that is where their uniformity ends for each has a different
hair colouring. This disparity of hair colour in the whitey has always
intrigued me. I accept the conventional wisdom of this as another example
of the inherent 'weaknesses' in the Caucasian races. It is evidence of the
fragmentation - and I would add the degeneration - of the white man in his
evolution.

I recall one lesson at school when a wise teacher likened the evolution of
the human race to that of a mighty tree. I recall vividly that he told his
students the strong trunk of this 'evolutionary tree' is the superior black
race whose extensive roots are firmly planted in the rich nurturing soil of
Mother Africa and the spreading, primary branches represent our brethren
the Arabs and other coloured races. The tangle of weak, spindly growth at
the end of these strong branches is synonymous with the fragmentation and
multiplicity of the white races.

This vision of the 'tree of evolution' has stayed with me. And as I look
upon these ten slaves I see the living proof of it. At one end of the
colour spectrum are the blonds while at the opposite end are those with
black hair. The hair colouring of the other slaves varies between these two
extremes.  One individual even has bright red hair, milky white skin and a
face and shoulders covered in freckles.

I know such a slave isn't suited to outdoor labour - his tender skin would
frizzle in the sun's intensity - and he will be sold for indoor duties. And
I know some buyers would see his red hair and freckles as a
novelty. However, I don't!

But one slave does interest me. He is the oldest of the ten and I guess him
to be in his mid-thirties.  What is it that attracts me to him? Certainly
he is an impressive slave with a magnificent physique and a prominent
musculature. He has a thatch of unruly, blond hair with bangs that hang
down over his forehead and a matching beard. His strong, handsome features
are dominated by his noble nose and full red lips. And his eyes are the
rich azure colour of a sparkling sea. His chest and limbs all have a light
dusting of hair the same colour as that on his head and he has a delightful
treasure trail of slightly darker hair trailing down over his ribbed belly
to his pubes; the thick golden bush does nothing to hide his prodigious
genitalia. I notice that he is uncircumcised and smile inwardly at the
thought that he is blissfully unaware that he is soon to lose his
prepuce. In our society no slave is allowed to retain his foreskin and our
laws prescribe that all newly enslaved whiteys must be circumcised.

The slave has broad shoulders and his back tapers down to a narrow, trim
waist that flares out into the full, rounded curves of his muscular
buttocks.  If there is a fault with the slave it is that the deep tan of
his body is broken by the lighter coloured tan of his ass and
midriff. Quite obviously, he was an outdoor worker - most probably a
peasant farmer - and worked semi-naked.  I dislike this break between the
colour of his upper torso and his muscular legs but I consider this is a
minor fault and not irredeemable. Working fully naked in the outdoors would
soon correct this anomaly in his overall appearance.

But then I notice the slave's touching concern for a younger slave who is
chained next to him. At first, I am puzzled by this; the notion that slaves
have emotional feelings is something I've never considered.  Momentarily, I
feel sympathy for the slaves but then I tell myself that I am moving into
unfamiliar territory. As a black superior, I should only ever view a white
slave as I would any other domestic animal.

The younger slave is obviously distressed and I can see that he is
crying. Touchingly, the older slave takes him into a tight embrace and this
attracts the attention of the overseers who use their whips to separate the
two slaves. Richard tells me such displays of affection between slaves are
actively discouraged.

The older slave reacts angrily and lunges at his tormentors only to be
restrained by his chains. Such defiance isn't to be tolerated and the whips
fall repeatedly on his unprotected body until he falls to his knees in
submission.

It is then that I see the striking resemblance between the two slaves. They
are as alike as two peas in a pod. Surely they are brothers?  My curiosity
is aroused and I ask Richard if this could be so.

"It's quite possible that the two are related, Cleavon. After all, if they
are from the same village then it is highly probable. Let's ask them, shall
we?"

"Slave," Richard addresses the older slave, "are you two related in any
way?"

The slave glares at Richard with hate-filled eyes and maintains a sullen
silence. However, it is to be his last act of rebellion and I'm sure he
doesn't notice Richard's slight nod of the head to his overseers. Reacting
quickly to Richard's unspoken instruction, they lay into the younger slave
and whip him to his knees.

"STOP IT! STOP IT!" The older slave pleads with Richard. "He's my son!
Please stop?"

To say I am amazed is an understatement. It hardly seems possible that
these two slaves are father and son. The older slave seems too young to
have sired such a well-developed son. I estimate that the father is roughly
twice the age of the son. So if the father is aged in his mid-thirties then
the son would be aged seventeen or eighteen.  But I have to say the father
is very young looking and would pass as his son's older brother.  I suppose
these primitive whites in their remote communities do start to procreate at
a much earlier age than we do.

"Tell me boy! You were taken together?  Is that correct?"

"YES!" The older slave's answer is curt and lacks respect and this angers
Richard. Viciously, he delivers two stinging slaps; the first to the right
side and the second to the left side of the slave's face with such force
that the slave staggers under its impact.

"SLAVE!  I own you and you will address me as Master until such time as you
are sold to a new Master. Do you understand me? Defy me and your son will
be punished in your place. Do you understand me?"

"Yes...." The slave hesitates, but then accepts the inevitable,
"....... Master."

"Then answer me boy! Were you taken together and tell me about your
background."

I listen as the slave tells us about his capture and enslavement. He'd been
a member of a small community of white subsistence farmers in a semi-arid
area. Recently, the community had harvested their crops and as was their
custom they'd marked the occasion with a day and night of feasting and
dancing. They'd also indulged heavily in a heady, intoxicating brew of
fermented barley and had fallen into a drunken stupor unaware that their
village had been marked as a target by Arab slavers.

Too late, they awoke to find themselves under attack and in their drunken
state they were no match for the Arabs. Within the hour, the villagers were
stripped naked and chained into two, segregated coffles; one for the adult
males and the other for the women and children and as they were driven into
their new captivity, their village was torched.

The slave relays to us a graphic story of the long march overland to a far
distant distribution centre.  He tells us of the heat, the insects, the
hunger and thirst and of the brutality of their new Arab masters. He tells
us of the heavy chains that weighed them down and of the savage whips that
kept them moving.

 I listen with growing sympathy as he speaks of the dehumanisation of his
family and fellow villagers and of their relegation to the level of
animals. He tells of the shame they felt in their new nakedness and of the
lack of privacy that forced them defecate and urinate in front of each
other.

But then he breaks down and weeps as he tells us of his pain at being
separated from his wife, younger son and daughter. The last he saw of them
was on their arrival at the distribution centre where they were separated
as he and his son were placed in the holding pens for adult, male slaves.

Tearfully, he tells us.

"My son is all I have left of my old life and I love him. Please don't
separate us, Master."

I have to admit, I found his story to be heart wrenching; his pain and
suffering are all too evident.  This is an aspect of slavery I am only
vaguely aware of and I've never bothered myself with it. And why would I?
In our society we have enthusiastically embraced slavery as an integral
part of our culture. We are surrounded by our slaves. They are ever present
yet we don't really see them. They live side by side with us and yet we
ignore their pain and deny them their emotions.

And we never consider how we come by our slaves. That is a subject we never
discuss. Slaves appear in our auction-houses - we take that for granted -
and we never ask how they arrived there. Perhaps we find that question as
too confronting and choose to ignore it.  It is much like the meat we buy
in our well-stocked supermarkets. As we dine on our roast dinners and tuck
into our king sized steaks do we consider the fattening pens and the
abattoirs? Of course we don't!

These two slaves intrigue me and I want to inspect them. The fact that they
are father and son fascinates me. Could it be that I, as a father with a
son of a similar age to the young slave standing dejectedly with his
father, feel sympathy for their plight?

And as though he is reading my mind the father falls to his knees before
Richard and begs.

"Please Master let me stay with my son. Please Master don't separate us."

The son takes his cue from his father and falling to his knees, he adds his
pleas to those of his father.

"Please Master! Let me stay with my dad. Please Master! Please......."

It is at this moment that I decide I want these two slaves. I tell myself
that I have enough work for two slaves; the house and its extensive grounds
would keep both slaves gainfully employed.  I'd come to the market this
morning to buy one slave. Now I am to buy two - a father and son pairing.

But first I need to scrutinise them further. But their filth covered bodies
repulse me and they will need to be cleaned up before I could touch them.

I ask Richard's permission to examine them in the more salubrious
surroundings of an inspection salon. He hesitates.

"Are you sure about this, Cleavon? Remember they are wild, untamed slaves
and I think you will have your work cut out to break them. Let me show you
some of our tame whiteys. I would strongly recommend it. I'm sure one of
them will suit your needs better than these two."

Richard is right. The father and son are 'unbroken and untested' and it
will take much effort on my part to turn them into the docile, obedient
slaves that I require them to be.  They present me with a challenge but it
is one that I want to meet. For some unknown reason, I am attracted to both
the father and the son and I know they will sorely test my patience as I
break their spirits and bend them to my will. I promise myself that I will
domesticate them and that I will have my own son, Du-Shaunt to assist me.

And the irony of the situation doesn't escape me. The thought of these two
slaves - father and son - serving me and my own son - excites me. My mind
is made up. I want these two slaves.

"Richard, these two boys interest me. I know they are new to slavery and
will try my patience but there is something about them that challenges
me. Richard, I need look no further. I want these two slaves."

Both father and son have been listening to our conversation and now they
kneel at my feet and beg me to buy them. As the father kisses my feet, his
tears darken the leather of my shoes.

"Please Sir!" the father begs. "Buy us and keep us together please Sir. You
won't be sorry! We'll both serve you faithfully, Sir!"

"Very well, Cleavon," Richard sighs, "I can see you have made up your
mind. I'll have these two boys cleaned up and taken to an inspection room
for you. But I'm sorry! Their preparation will be superficial; just a
hosing and a scrubbing down with soap to remove the travel grime and
filth. There isn't time to groom them or to cut their hair, to shave their
beards and to remove their body hair."

"Their body hair doesn't concern me at all, Richard. In fact, I will allow
both slaves to retain it. I think it gives them an exotic look."

I look at down at both slaves crouching at my feet. With their foreheads
pressed to the ground and their asses elevated, I watch the nervous
quivering of their powerful back muscles.

I wonder - how would I react if it were Du-Shaunt and I who were kneeling
naked at the feet of a whitey master? Would I - like this father - beg not
to be separated from my son? The answer is plainly obvious.

 Yes, I would! I would beg with all my heart and with every fibre of my
being. I would humble myself at his feet and tearfully plead... just as
this father is doing.

I love my son, Du-Shaunt that much!

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