Date: Thu, 22 Jan 2004 13:41:16 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: St: The Willing Slave, Parts 27&28

THE WILLING SLAVE, Part 27

By Pete Brown     petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

I simply didn't get time in the next three days to
sneak even a quick visit to the neighbour's place to
see Matt and Sam (or Blackie and Whitie, as I suppose
I should use their new slave names).  My owner kept me
so busy - as well as the normal round of calls we had
to go to and from the hospital so he could visit his
wife.  And in the evening I couldn't sneak out as I
didn't know that my owner wouldn't come down to my
room, requiring sex.

On the fourth day when we were at the hospital my
owner came out with his wife and she was carrying the
baby - my son!  I desperately wanted to rush over and
take my first look at the child, but I had to stand
patiently and obediently in the shafts, even though my
heart was almost bursting with the need to actually do
something.  I ran home, hearing my mistress all the
time calling to me to go slowly and to avoid the
potholes because there was now a baby on board, too,
and I pulled up at the front door and they got out and
went in.  Oh, no... I wasn't going to get to see the
little chap!  Other than to be punished, I was never
allowed in the main part of the house, and I didn't
suppose the baby would be coming out for some time.  I
was desperately disappointed, and almost trudged
around to the stables.  It's not right is it, not to
let a man see his son, an I think my owner could have
contrived in some way for me to be given a peak into
the bundle of clothes my mistress was carrying.  But
then the thought struck me that perhaps it was a
deliberate strategy - he wasn't ever going to
acknowledge again my part in the boy's conception.
An owner wouldn't normally show a new baby to his
pony, so why should he show me "his" child?  The more
I thought about it, the more I realised that this was
the way it had to be - he needed the kid to make his
father in law happy, and so the kid had to be "his"
and nothing at all to do with me.  I'd have to just
look on, and just know that it was me, not him, being
carried on into the future.

The next day I almost saw my child again, as my owner
and my mistress drove to the station to catch the
train to New York.  They told me they would be gone
for two days as they were going to do the rounds of my
mistress's family, showing off their new son.  I still
didn't get to see the kid, but at least I consoled
myself with the thought that now I'd have plenty of
time to go and see Matt and Sam - and, for a change, I
could even spend the whole night with them.  That
cheered me up a bit, as I desperately missed Matt, and
I knew that if we were all together, Sam's expertise
in bed would keep us all busy!

We arrived in plenty of time for the train, and I was
waiting outside the station just to make sure that it
was running on time in case my owner wanted me to take
them somewhere else if it was very late, when I saw
the trap belonging to next door coming down the road.
It wasn't Matt pulling it, as the pony's gait was
quite different.  It pulled up at the station
entrance, and Darren got out, accompanied by the
owner, who shook his hand as if saying goodbye.  Then
I saw something that made my heart stop - running
along behind the trap were Matt and Sam, and they now
came forward, carrying the four suitcases that
presumably were Darren's.

They wore only their tiny black and white pouches,
their skin shone with the pony oil, and their rings
glinted in the sunlight.  Passers by stopped to stare
at the sight, as it was so remarkable to see slaves
ornamented like this in Scarsdale, and it wasn't the
fashion here to have near-nudity, either.  Then I saw
that they both still had bits in with the fastening
circling their heads, and they were shackled together,
right hand to left hand.  They had to walk side by
side, in step, as they couldn't move apart.

My owner came up at this point and said the train was
on time, and so I could leave.  He stood there
watching me and so I had to pull away and go up the
street towards home.  But then I did something I'd
never done before - I circled around the block, and
pulled up at the station again being careful to leave
the trap at the end of the line, so that my owner
wouldn't see it even if he came out.  I slunk into the
slave entrance, and joined the other slaves standing
around on the part of the platform reserved for us.
At the other end, I could see my owner, my mistress
and the baby, and Darren still talking to our next
door neighbour.  I'd thought that Matt and Sam would
be in the slave area, but slaves are of course allowed
in the "free men" part if they're handling luggage,
and Matt and Sam had Darren's four big cases.

The train came in and all the passengers boarded,
then, as the conductor was shouting his traditional
"all aboard", Sam and Matt raced down the platform to
get into the slave compartment.  Matt saw me as I
stood there, but neither of us could do anything:  he
had to get on the train, and I had to just stand and
watch as I could not leave.  We couldn't even shout
anything to each other, as Matt was cruelly muted by
the bit, just as I had once been.

I trotted home and threw myself onto the bed, in
despair.  They'd taken Matt away from me.  He'd just
been sold, and his new owner was taking him off, who
knows to where.  I felt certain I'd never see him
again, and he was my friend, my confident, my lover.
This slavery was so cruel, tearing guys apart like
this.  It just wasn't fair - if we'd been two free men
we could have carried on seeing each other until one
or other  of us tired of it.  But Matt's owner, with
absolutely no interest in his needs, had just sold
him, and sold him to someone who cared not a fig about
him, and only wanted him as he was a "matching pair"
to a slave he already owned.  It's bad enough losing
out in the lottery and being a slave in the first
place, but why does the slavery system then have to
make us suffer for our entire lives?  I was a good
slave, a willing slave, who always worked hard and
tirelessly for my owner, and this was all the reward I
got: to lose the only thing I valued.  I had no
possessions, nothing, only the love of Matt, and now
the system took this away from me.

Later on I forced down a few mouthfuls of slave chow,
and went across our land, through the fence, and into
the slave barracks at our neighbour's.  The chief
slave was sitting there, and he at once said "Steve,
I'm so sorry... What can I say?  We're all going to
miss Matt... And I know you and he were together... So
you're worse off than any of us."

He put his arms around me and hugged me, and this was
the nicest thing that he could have done.  I
desperately needed some form of human contact, and
this guy showed me by this simple act that he
understood just how much I was hurting.

Several of the slaves gathered around and we talked
about how badly Matt had been treated - the ringing,
the shaving, making him go around almost naked, and
the final indignity of taking away his ability even to
speak.  We all thought his owner was uncaring and
unfeeling, and none of us could think of anything that
Matt might have done to deserve this, as he was such
an exemplary pony.  But then, as the chief slave said,
"That's slavery for you.  A slave doesn't have to do
anything, or not do anything - his owner decides his
fate, and his owner isn't concerned about the slave's
needs or his feelings.  There's nothing we can do
about it - that's the way of the world."

"It's not right, though, is it?", one of the young
gardeners said.  "We ought to be able to decide things
for ourselves.  We're just the same as the owners,
aren't we?  We're men, even though we're slaves."

"Stop that!  I won't have such subversive talk in my
barracks!", the chief slave rapped.  "Any more talk
like that and I'll have you whipped as an example to
the others!"

I'd been thinking much the same thoughts myself, as
you know, and had been going to side with the young
guy, but kept quiet - I was a guest there, and didn't
want to upset the rules that the chief slave laid
down.  I was faintly shocked at myself for having
these thoughts, but now hearing them expressed
openly... Well, it somehow made them seem more
legitimate.  If anyone had dared to suggest how the
system might be changed, I know I would have joined
in.  But as it was, under the chief slave's stern
gaze, we all lapsed into silence, and just thought of
Matt.

Looking back on it, I'd seen two examples now of how
it's slaves themselves who could be just as bad as
owners:  Darren knew what it was like to have high
hopes for a happy life, and then to have them dashed
when he found out he had to "perform" with Sam.  But
when he "passed" and got to own slaves himself, what
did he do?  Was he kind and considerate?  - no, he
tore Sam away from being a sex slave, which he liked,
and turned him into a pony, and a disgracefully
ornamented pony, at that.  And he simply bought Matt
as it pleased him to do so, and then inflicted all the
humiliation on Matt, again because it pleased him.
The chief slave here was at fault, too:  if he hadn't
silenced the young gardener so viciously we might have
all talked and thought of something we could jointly
do to improve our lot.

As I sat there thinking about it, it appeared to me
that slaves themselves were almost the authors of our
own problems:  we were ten percent of the male
population, after all, and if we didn't accept what
the owners did to us, there wasn't a lot they could
do, was there?  Sure, they could punish one or two of
us, or even several hundred of us.  They could
castrate us, kill us, use our bodies for spare parts,
but, at the end of the day, they depended on us:
without us slaves, the world just wouldn't work.  If
only there was some way that we could get together,
perhaps even not work for a day, to show the owners
how much they needed us.  But I knew that couldn't be
- we weren't organised and couldn't organise, as we
couldn't travel, or use the phone, or anything.  And
even when two or three slaves wanted to talk about
things like this, the tools of the owners, like the
chief slave, would forbid it.

I was feeling pretty low, I can tell you, when one of
the ponies chipped in with "Well, at least he's got a
mate, that Sam."

Now I knew that Matt and I didn't have an exclusive
relationship, as on the nights when he didn't come
over to me he usually went to bed with another pony or
one of the gardeners, or sometimes even one of the
indoor slaves.  So I wasn't jealous or anything, and I
knew that his pony was probably one of those who
fucked Matt regularly, as I did.  But Sam?  And then
it became clear to me - Sam was visiting as Darren's
pony, so he'd be put in the slave barracks.  He'd soon
spot Matt as a fantastic body, and would sense that he
liked to be fucked - and Sam loved to fuck, as I
remembered.  So it was natural that the two of them
would have been fucking, wasn't it?

"Yes", the pony continued, "And chained together like
that now... They're going to have to fuck each other,
or find a third they both like as there's no way one
can avoid joining in if his mate's decided to play!"

Everyone laughed at this, and as the talk went on I
found out that in the few days he'd been there Sam had
worked his way through almost the entire barracks
before settling on Matt.  So it was a special bonus
when Darren had bought Matt and had had them chained
together permanently.  I suppose I should have been
glad that Matt would have such a fantastic lover as
Sam, and would probably be in for some interesting
times as the two of them visited places with Darren -
Matt would probably get to fuck some fantastic men, if
Sam was doing the choosing!  Still, I did miss him
dreadfully, and I sat there feeling really sad, with
my head and shoulders faintly bowed.

"Hey, come on...."  The pony had got up and come and
sat beside me.  He put his arm around my shoulders and
went on "I know you miss Matt terribly.  We were
close, too, but not as close as you and Matt.  He let
me fuck him, and we had great times, but he didn't
love me like he loved you.  Us ponies should stick
together, you know...  Do you have to go back, or can
you stay?.... Let's go and fuck, and see if we can
cheer ourselves up."

"No, yes, well, thanks, but....  Look, no, I don't
have to get back tonight.  And yes I'd like to fuck.
But you used to fuck Matt, and I used to fuck Matt...
And I don't take dick.  And I expect you don't...."

The pony squeezed me, put his head down to my ear, and
whispered "Not so loud.... Don't tell the others!
They all think I'm a real stud as I topped Matt and
always top all the other guys here as a stallion
should.  But actually I like a dick up my ass
occasionally... So let's go out to the stables and you
can show me if you're as good a stallion as I am...
I'm always willing to learn new tricks, you know, and
Matt was always teasing me by telling me about how
good you were.  Or was he teasing?  Was it true?  Come
on, and show me...."

We went out together, and there were laughs and shouts
of encouragement from the other guys.  And when we
finally disentangled ourselves from each other the
following morning, all he said was "Matt was right!"


EDITOR'S NOTE

There's a gap in Steve's manuscript here, as some of
the exercise books in which the story is written were
evidently lost or destroyed.  There have been attempts
to "fill in the gaps" by some authors over the years,
but modern scholars decry this practice.  There are
enough "clues" in the remaining books to give us an
idea as to what went on in the missing years, and how
Steve adjusted to his life with his son in the house.
So in this edition we are not using such "generated"
material and letting the reader imagine for himself
the "missing years".   We take up the story again when
Steve's son James - called Jamie by the vet and his
wife - is about three.

The narrative resumes....

I hated having to clean the pool when my mistress was
in the house, but she was insistent that it was done
twice a week and somehow there was never an occasion
when I wasn't busy serving my owner and she was out.
So one afternoon I went around to the pool area and
there she was, her book and drink to hand, watching
Jamie play in the pool.  The little tyke had swimming
shorts on, and was playing on one of those inflatable
plastic animals, floating around.

"Ma'am, sorry, ma'am, I'll come back", I said, and
turned to go.

"No, slave.  You can clean the pool.  It needs doing."

I knew by now that it wasn't acceptable to argue, or
to do anything other than pull off my T, then drop my
shorts, and start working.  I hated doing it with her
watching my naked body, but now it was doubly awful as
little Jamie was staring at me, too.

As I worked away he climbed out of the pool and went
across to his mother.  "Mommy, why does  Steve have
all that hair on top of his thingy?"

"That's normal, Jamie.  When you're a man, you'll have
hair there, too."

"And will my thingy go all black, like Steve's is,
mommy?"

"No, dear!  It certainly won't.  Steve's is only like
that because he's a slave whose owner decided it would
be nice to have him coloured like that.  And look at
his shoulders - all those patterns. And the writing
all over his back and his front - only slaves have
than, when their owners decide to have it done to
them.  You won't have that, as you're not a slave."

"Why is Steve a slave, mommy?"

"Because he lost out in the lottery, Jamie."

"Will that happen to me, mommy?  Please say it won't..
I don't want a black thingy, like Steve...."

"Don't be silly, Jamie.  Daddy and I have explained
all this to you.   You're not a slave and never will
be, as when you were a very little boy your number was
drawn in the lottery, and you were not picked."

As I worked away and listened to this, I remembered
how it was during the first year of my son's life.
>From the moment they knew my child was a boy, my owner
and my mistress had been worrying about the lottery,
and as his first birthday approached there was a
terrible tension in the house.  When the mail slave
delivered the mail the next week  I happened to be at
the front of the house, and my mistress tore open the
big official envelope as the slave handed it to her.
She scanned the words, then ran into the house,
shouting for joy!

Actually, I think she and my owner were pretty cruel -
they were so pleased that Jamie hadn't been picked
that they came running out to tell me!  I suppose
there was no one else around to share the good news
with, but, all the same, it's a bit insensitive, isn't
it, to be so thankful that your kid hasn't been
selected for a lifetime of slavery when you are
telling it to a slave?  Still, I was pleased for
Jamie, and although there's nothing wrong with being a
slave if you've got a good owner, my experiences had
taught me that just below the surface there lurked a
streak of callousness towards all slaves even in the
best owner.

There was one odd thing, too - the next day my owner
called me in to his surgery and filled a small phial
with my blood that he drew from my arm.  "We have to o
off and register Jamie as a free man tomorrow", he
told me.  "And of course they take blood samples from
him to match the DNA with his parents."

I saw at once why he wanted my blood, and supposed he
intended to substitute it in some way when they took
his blood sample at the citizens' registration centre
the following day.  In fact he was extremely nervous
as I took the three of them downtown, but he seemed
visibly more relaxed when they came out.  When we got
home, he even showed me Jamie's registration
certificate, naming him as the true son of my owner
and my mistress.

Anyway, my mistress's explanations of my black dick
and tattooed back weren't satisfying Jamie, as he went
on "If Steve is a slave and his owners decided to have
him coloured like that, why don't you and daddy have
him coloured more?"

"Because your father and I think it's very lower class
to have slaves marked like that - we prefer them to
have natural skin.  It's just like when we go visiting
in the poor parts of the city when mommy does her
charity work, and we see all those houses with bright
coloured pint and fake wood panelling - so very lower
class!  Proper people, like daddy and me, have cream
and white walls so that we can show off our artwork."

Jamie sat there saying nothing for a few moments,
thinking.  Then he said "But what about those red
stripes across Steve's bottom, mommy?  Are those lower
class, too?"

"No, dear.  Those marks are where your father had to
cane Steve yesterday, as he'd been very naughty.
You're a good boy, Jamie, so daddy has only had to
spank you once.  But when you get big slaves like
Steve who are naughty, daddy has to punish them, and
he uses a cane on Steve's bare bottom."

"Does daddy hurt Steve very much then?"

"Yes, dear.  That's the idea.  Steve has to be made to
know that he's naughty, just as you would have to, if
you were naughty.  So the cane hurts him very much,
and the striped marks are where it hit him."

I was flushing with embarrassment as she was saying
this, as my owner had indeed caned me the previous
day.  He still did this after every time I fucked him,
although, mercifully, he seemed to come to be
humiliated less and less often.

"Mommy, when daddy next canes Steve, can I watch?"

"Well, you'll have to ask your father, dear.  But  I
don't see why not."

Oh, no.  Surely she wasn't going to let a three-year
old watch me being caned?  For one thing, although my
beatings were less frequent, they were more and more
severe and I just couldn't stop myself crying out.
And I always got an erection when I was caned.  I
didn't want my son to see me like that!

But even as I thought about caning and being watched
and having an erection, my dick started to rise to the
sky!  Jamie saw it, of course, and instantly said
"Mommy!  Look at Steve's thingy!  It's getting bigger
and bigger, and standing up!"

"Yes, dear.  That's perfectly natural, and not
something to worry about.  And nice people don't talk
about it - just pretend it's not happening."

"But mommy, will mine do that, too?"

"Yes, dear, when you're a big man."

"Does daddy's?"

"Yes, dear, of course it does.  He's a big, strong
man.  But we don't talk about it, as I've said."

"But I've never seen daddy do it...."

"No, of course not, as daddy doesn't go around naked
like Steve.  It's all right for Steve to be like that
as he's only a slave, and slaves take all their
clothes off when they're working at things like
cleaning the pool, and so sometimes you'll see him
like that. But daddy is a proper man, as you will be
one day, and proper men don't go around naked.  So
let's talk about something else, shall we?"

I was flushing with embarrassment more and more, and
as I'd just finished using the mop on one side,
pretended I needed to go into the water to dive down
and clear the water inlet.  I lowered myself into the
water, then executed a neat "flip" dive and went right
down to the bottom.  When I surfaced, I stood there in
the deep water so that it was just above my nipples.
I planed the water off my face, and looked around.

Little Jamie floated up to me on his inflatable
animal, and said "Steve, will you teach me to dive
like that one day?"

Even though he was my son he was a free man, and I'd
learned from the moment he'd been able to talk to
address him properly, so I replied "Sir, yes, if your
mommy will let me, sir."

He swam across the pool and leaned on the side near my
mistress and shouted "Mommy, mommy... Steve can teach
me to dive like he can, if you'll let him, Can I,
please mommy, please?"

"Well, Jamie, I don't like you playing with the slave.
 Nice little boys don't."

"Oh mommy, please.  I want to be able to swim
properly, and dive, like daddy does, and he never has
time to teach me.  Why can't Steve do it?  Please,
mommy, please...."

She looked across at me, and almost without raising
her voice said "Can you swim as well as dive, slave?"
As usual, she never used my name when addressing me
directly.

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am.  I used to swim with my brothers
before I was enslaved, ma'am."

"I'm not interested in your life, slave.  A simple
answer will suffice!" As usual, she was criticising
me!

"Yes, ma'am.  I'm sorry, ma'am."

"Well then, if I'm here, you can teach the child to
swim properly.  But under no circumstances are you to
touch the child when I'm not here, is that
understood?"

Did she think I was some sort of pervert, to want to
interfere with a kid?  I liked men, not kids, and,
anyway, I wouldn't touch my own son, would I?

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am."

The next hour was one of the best in my life.  I
started to show little Jamie how to swim, walking up
and down the pool holding his head above the water and
encouraging him to make the right motions with his
hands and his feet.  It was true that my owner rarely
found time to play with Jamie as he had got
increasingly busy - as well as his practice, he now
went frequently into New York to sit on committees and
so on, and rarely had any spare time.  Even our
morning running session had been cut right back,
although he still tried to keep in shape a bit.

Jamie was laughing and really enjoying himself as we
exercised together, and I showed him how to swim
properly by doing a couple of lengths - I really
enjoyed it, as  wasn't usually allowed in the water to
swim, of course.  All the time I'd been growing up I'd
loved swimming, but now, doing it naked, it was extra
special as the water flowing past my dick and balls
produced a delicious sensation - I did wonder why my
brothers and I always wore swimming costumes when we
went to the lake near our house.

I remembered a game I used to play with my eldest
brother when I was a kid, and told Jamie that as he'd
done so well so far he could "ride the dolphin."

I asked him if he knew what dolphin was, and of course
he'd seen them on TV, so I lay on my stomach in the
water, paddling gently just to keep afloat, and told
him to hop across from his inflatable toy to sit
astride my back.  I felt his sturdy little body settle
across the small of my back, just above my ass, and
then I was off, racing sown the pool, making big
waves, and splashing a lot (but not enough to scare
him, of course!).  At the end I turned gently, then on
the way back I deliberately went lower in the water so
my head was only just above the surface and Jamie, now
gripping my back between his legs, got the water
almost over him.  Then I surfaced again, and so on.
By the end of four lengths he was shrieking with
laughter and fun, but I stopped, as I could see his
mother looking cross.

I dropped to the bottom of the pool, but shot up
underneath him before he sank, scooping him up in my
big strong arms and neatly flipping him out of the
water so that he was sitting on the pool edge.  I
looked up at him and whispered "Sir, that's riding the
dolphin, sir.  Did you like it, sir?"

He was giggling and laughing as he said "Yes, Steve.
Can we do it again?"

"Sir, not now, sir, as I've got to work.  But if your
mommy will let you, perhaps we can do it again next
time I'm cleaning g the pool."

He got up and ran over to my mistress, and I heard him
say "Mommy, did you see me on Steve's back?  It's not
at all scary when you're right up close to it, mommy.
Steve's all nice and warm, and feels lovely, mommy.
Can I ride him again next week?"

"Steve's your father's pony, Jamie.  He's meant to
pull the trap, not play games in the pool!  You'll
have to ask your father."

I hauled myself out of the water as she was speaking,
and stood there, planing the water off my body.  Jamie
came up to me and looked at me, and in that innocent
way that only children have asked "Do you like having
a big black thingy, Steve?  Did you mind, when your
owner had it done?"

I hated saying it, but his mother was listening and I
had to measure my words carefully.  I said as
cheerfully as I could "Sir, I'm a slave, sir.  A slave
doesn't mind anything his owner does to him, sir."

"So you don't mind daddy caning you?"

"Sir, if your daddy thinks I've been bad, then of
course he canes me.  Doesn't he punish you if you do
naughty things?"

"Yes, but he doesn't cane me."

"Well, perhaps he thinks I've been very naughty, sir."

I hated having to speak like this as I knew I was
innocent and was only caned to assuage my owner's own
feelings of guilt at having me fuck him.  But it was
impossible to explain this to a kid, wasn't it, and,
anyway, it wasn't fair to get him involved in things
between me and the man he thought of as his father.

My mistress got up from her chair now and came over
and took Jamie by the hand.  I could see her staring
at my dick and balls and my sculpted body, and I
wondered if she was comparing what she saw in front of
her with my owner.

"Come on Jamie, time to go in.  The slave's  got a lot
more work to do, and he'd better get on with it and
not stand there sunning himself, or else your father
will have to cane him again."

"Bye, Steve....", Jamie piped as his mother led him
away, and I waved at him and smiled.

My owner had told me that he and my mistress were
going to a big dinner in New York that night and that
I was to take them to the station at five o'clock,
After I'd finished the pool I changed into a fresh T
and shorts and went around to the front of the house
to wait for them, but they didn't appear for some
time.

When they did, they were very agitated and it seemed
from their conversation that the sitter, who'd been
hired to come and stay the night, had just called to
say she couldn't make it.  My owner and my mistress
were arguing about whether only one of them should go
to the dinner, and if so, which one.  It seemed to be
understood that getting anyone else to sit in and stay
the night at his point was impossible.

"Why don't we leave him with Steve?" My owner suddenly
said, as he saw me standing there.  I watched him at
the pool this afternoon playing with Jamie, and they
seemed to be getting on well together.  All he's got
to do is be in the house, after all, to make sure
there's no disaster like a fire... Jamie sleeps
through the night, and we can be back on the first
train in the morning."

"Are you mad?  Leave a kid with a big slave like that?
 He's not even been gelded, as you're too soft to do
it!"

"Oh don't be silly, my dear!  Slaves don't attack
kids.  And especially not Steve - he's been with us so
long, he's almost part of the family.  I think Jamie
will be safer with him than he would be if we left him
with some random sitter from the agency, if you ask
me!"

They went on arguing for some time, but my owner
seemed to prevail.  He and my mistress came over and
he said "We're going to entrust you with a very
special job tonight, Steve.  Take us to the station
now, then bring Jamie back - he'll have his pyjamas on
under his coat, and he's been put on his honour to go
straight to bed.  We want you to sit in the corridor
outside his door, in case of emergency.  We'll leave
you a special telephone number that you call if
there's any problem - just touch the big red button on
the phone and an operator will ask you who you are,
then will contact us.  Is that clear?"

I broke into a big grin  "Sir, yes, sir!"

"If you do anything wrong, slave - anything - you will
be castrated.  Is that clear also?" My mistress chimed
in.

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am."

As we rode to the station little Jamie was very
excited, and was chattering on to his parents about
being left with me.  "So I'm the master, and Steve has
to do what I say.  And if he's naughty, can I cane
him?"

My owner was laughing as he said "No, Jamie.  Steve
will be on his best behaviour, and he won't do
anything naughty so you're not to cane him.. .wait
until you're older, like daddy.  But you are in charge
- Steve's only a slave, and you're a free man - never
forget that."

We went onto the platform, and after the train had
left and were walking back to the trap, Jamie reached
up and put his little hand in mine.  I was thrilled to
be able to walk with my son's hand in my huge one,
just as if we were a proper father and son, but Jamie
seemed very sad.  I crouched down and looked at him.
"Sir, are you OK, sir?"

"Yes, Steve.  But mommy and daddy will come back,
won't they?"

"Sir, of course they will, sir.  First thing tomorrow
morning we'll come back to the station and collect
them.... If we can find it."

He looked at me in amazement.  "Find it, Steve?
You've been to the station hundreds of times."

"Yes, sir, buy your daddy always drives me.  I'm only
a slave, you know.  Can you drive me home in case we
get lost?"

He brightened immediately, forgetting that he was
missing his parents, and chirped "Of course I can,
Steve!  I'm a master.  Come on....."

He walked ahead of me down the platform, pulling me
along with his tiny hand and I had to bend double and
pretend to have difficulty in keeping up.  Then in the
trap, after I'd lifted him into the seat, I handed him
the whip.

"Sir, please guide me home, sir..."

He was laughing as he told me to pull out of the
station, and was still smiling when we got home.  I
put him on my shoulders and played "horsey" to carry
him up the stairs, and put him into his bed.

"Steve, read me a story.  I always get read a story
before I go to sleep."

My mood of happiness at putting my son to bed
vanished.  I couldn't read, of course, and I hated to
admit it to him.  I leafed through the pile of books
by his bed and picked one up, and pretended to read
it, improvising a story to the pictures.  But he
wasn't fooled.

"No, Steve!  You've got it upside down!  Here...."

Then, when I started again, I saw that he was word
perfect, as he'd had the same story read to him so
many times before.  So it became a game - I tried to
tell a story, and he constantly corrected me, pointing
out the words as he did so.  I knew some of the
alphabet, and some short words, of course, from my
training in being able to read a map, and as we played
on I was astonished to see that I could actually make
out more and more of the words!  Perhaps this reading
wasn't so hard, after all.


End Of Part 27

THE WILLING SLAVE, Part 28

By Pete Brown     petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Once I'd found out that I could start to read Jamie's
simple books, I tried to spend as much time with him
as possible and began to pick up more and more words.
I usually managed to race through all my yard work,
too, so that I had a few minutes to spend with him
most days - he was a sporty child, even at that very
young age, and loved to kick a ball around, or race up
and down the area, or swim in the pool.  I guess it
was my athletic heritage showing through.

My owner didn't have all that much time to play with
Jamie as he was now so very busy with his practice,
which was extremely popular, and his work in the City
And after their first use of me as a baby sitter, when
Jamie obviously came to no harm, his parents started
to use me more and more in the evening.  I began to
really relish those nights when his parents went to
the city so that I could "read" a bedtime story to
him, then tuck him up in bed.  I was really playing
the role of father, much more than the vet was.

On those nights I wasn't allowed to sleep in the
bedrooms, or even in the living area of the house, but
my owner and my mistress were very concerned about
things like fires breaking out, and wanted me to be
close to Jamie's room in case there was an emergency.
So I used to take a blanket from my bed in my own tiny
room, wrap myself in it, and stretch out on the floor
of the upstairs passage way.

Jamie and I continued to play games, too, when we
delivered his parents to the train station and
collected them - I always pretended that I needed to
be "driven", and he really enjoyed sitting there on
the trap, "controlling" me.

With all this going on, I seemed to need sex less and
less, and gradually I stopped going frequently to the
neighbours for casual sex with the ponies and
gardeners there.  The only problem was with my owner -
it was OK if I played with Jamie when he was in the
City, but if he happened to look out of his surgery
window and see Jamie and me having a romp, or a game
in the pool, it was almost certain that the next time
my mistress was away that he'd come to my room and I'd
have to fuck him.  And the consequence then was that
the following day he'd cane me brutally.  It was as if
he was competing for my attention in some way with
Jamie - or was it that he really hated seeing me
playing with my son?

Of course as the cooler weather came and we started to
use our capes again to protect us from the rain and
snow, I couldn't resist the opportunities they
afforded for casual sex with other ponies in Scarsdale
as we waited at the mall or the station.  Well, it
wasn't "serious" was it? Just a warm, sweaty body
pressed close to you under the thick heavy cape, then
that excited fumbling in each others' shorts to feel
the other guy's cock, followed by a bit of mutual
jerking off - that's about all you could do.  Some of
the guys knew I was a fairly aggressive top, though,
and seemed to make a beeline for me if we were waiting
around - they wanted me to fuck them, and would push
their shorts right down, then back onto my dick so I
was almost forced to fuck them.  As I said, none of it
was serious - it was just the games us ponies played
in the Autumn and Winter to pass the time.  And, of
course, it was good for us - even in the heavy capes
you could get really chilled standing around for long
periods, and when you're like that you can't run, can
you?  But if you'd just had a good shoot, and
especially a fuck, your heart was racing, your blood
was flowing freely, and you were ready to work
properly as soon as your owner appeared.

I think Jamie really liked me.  I don't know what he
thought of me as - he always called my owner "daddy"
and my mistress "mommy" and me "Steve", and he heard
my mistress always referring to me as "slave".  But I
wasn't sure he really understood what that meant in
our house.   It must have seemed to him that a "slave"
was someone who had a lot of time for him, more than
his daddy did, and perhaps he thought that all boys of
his age had a "slave" as an occasional companion.

He liked it best of all in the Summer, when we would
play in the pool if I was around.  His mother always
insisted on watching, and she always managed to make
some disparaging remark about my dick.  Little Jamie
was a bright kid and heard all of this, and one day,
as I stripped off to do the pool cleaning before
playing with him, he stood in front of my mistress and
pushed his swimming shorts to he floor.

"Jamie!  Put your shorts back on, at once."

"But mom, Steve always does the pool without shorts
on, and it's nice...."

"Jamie, do as you're told!  Steve is a slave, and as
I've told you many times before, slaves do jobs like
cleaning the pool naked.  But free men, and you're a
free man, Jamie, do not appear without their clothes
on in a public place.  Suppose one of my friend was to
come and visit, and saw you standing there like that?"

"But mommy, she'd see Steve.... "

"And as I've told you, Steve is a slave and
everything's different for him.  Now, if you don't do
as you're told, you'll go straight indoors and spend
the rest of the afternoon in your room."

The lad bent down to pull up his shorts, and as he did
so he carried on chattering.  "If everything is
different for Steve, is that why he doesn't eat dinner
with us?"

"Yes, dear.  The slave eats special slave food.
You've seen it in that big sack in the garage."

"And is that why we don't take Steve to the movies
when you take me, and why he isn't allowed in the
house to watch TV?"

"Yes, dear.  Slaves don't do any of those things.
Slaves work for us, eat slave food, and go to bed when
they've finished work."

Jamie came over to me, looked up, and said "Steve, I'm
sorry - you'd really like TV.  And the movie we saw
last week when you took us there in the trap was
fantastic...."

I just grinned at him, and gave a little shrug.

"Did you ever watch TV, Steve? "

"Yes, sir.  When I was your age I lived at home with
my parents and my brothers.  And I went to the movies
with them, and watched TV, sir."

"When did you stop?"

"Sir, when I went away to be a slave, at sixteen.  I
went off to a special training school, and from then
on I was a slave, and as your mommy's told you, sir,
slaves don't watch TV or go to the movies."

"OK - but they do play 'ride the dolphin', don't they?
 So get in the water, as I want to ride!"

"Sir, I'm sorry, sir, but I haven't finished my work.
I've got to clean the pool first, or your mommy will
be cross with me, sir."

I was astonished when he stamped his foot, and
sounding quite like my mistress, snapped "Don't argue
with me, slave!  I've given you a simple order, now do
it!  Get into the water and do it now!"

His mother overheard this outburst, and came over to
us.   "Jamie - don't speak to the slave like that."

"Mommy, why not?  You do.  And you're always telling
me that a slave is supposed to work for us, and I want
Steve to work for me and giver me a dolphin ride.
Slaves are supposed to do what free men tell them to,
aren't they?"

My mistress clearly didn't know what to say!  Jamie
was a clever, bright lad, and he'd picked up on all
the "slave" stuff around him.  It is interesting,
isn't it, how the very young in our country get to
understand that they can be in charge of big grown
slaves?   We all stood there for a moment, and I felt
that I had to do something - I was worried that my
mistress might forbid Jamie ever to see me again.  So
I bent my head humbly and said "Ma'am, permission to
speak, ma'am?"

"Yes, slave."

"Ma'am, can I have permission, please, ma'am, to clean
the pool later?  I could do it this evening if
necessary, ma'am.  If you allowed that, ma'am, I could
give young master Jamie a dolphin ride now, ma'am."

"I'll want to see the pool sparkling tomorrow morning,
slave.  You can clean it whenever you have time.  Now,
do as Master Jamie commands, and give him a ride on
that muscled back of yours."

So we frolicked around, and as usual I swam strongly
up and down with Jamie on my back, shouting and
laughing.

After all my unhappiness with losing Matt and my
problems with my owner, life seemed to be looking up
for me.  I got to play with my son, tuck him up in bed
some nights, and to really be part of his life.
When he entered grade school I was there on his first
day, as I carried my mistress and him there, and I
even saw a few tears in my mistress's eyes as she came
back to the trap after leaving Jamie there on that
first day - not many fathers get to see that, and my
owner certainly didn't: as usual, he was too busy
working.

When his parents were spending the night in New York a
week later, I was as usual told to baby sit", and I
went to read him a bedtime story as usual.  But Jamie
didn't want to go to bed - he was sitting at the desk
in his room, bent over papers.

"No, Steve, I don't want to go to bed yet.  I've got
to practice my writing, as my teacher says it's very
bad.  Look...."

He showed me the paper in front of him, which seemed
to be covered in illegible scrawl to me.  The lad was
obviously upset, as he told me that all the other boys
in his class were much better at writing than he was,
and they laughed at him when they saw his work.

"Steve, will you help me?  Don't read to me tonight -
teach me to write, so I can be like the others!"

I hated having to tell him I couldn't, as I had no
idea how to write.  Bu I knelt down beside him as he
sat at the desk, and as he formed the letters I
pointed out to him where they didn't look the same as
the ones in our story books.  I got so adsorbed in it
that I forgot that I couldn't write, and even took the
ball point off him once or twice to form a letter and
show him how to do it.  If anyone had looked in it
must have seemed a very strange sight - the small boy
at his desk, bent over in concentration, and the huge
slave kneeling at his side, equally focussed on the
task.

I made him stop after a while as he seemed dead tired,
and picked him up and carried him to the bed, pulled
back the covers, and dropped him down.  We always
played a game where I then pretended to fall on top of
him, obviously stopping myself on my hands before I
touched him.  Tonight was no exception, and as we were
laughing at him being "saved" from me again, he put
his arms around my neck and whispered "Steve, you're
nice.  I like you.  I wish you weren't a slave. I wish
you could come and sleep in my room."

As gently as I could I unwrapped his arms from around
me, sort of "snuggled" him into the bed, and said
"That's nice, Jamie.  But I am a slave, and I always
will be.  And big grown men don't sleep in boys'
rooms.  Your daddy doesn't sleep in here, does he?"

"No, Steve.  But daddy's got mommy.  I wish I had
someone to sleep with, Steve.  And you haven't got
anybody, either.

I almost had to choke back the tears as I suddenly
thought of Matt again. And, I suppose, I was touched
by his childish innocence.

"You're right, Jamie.  But one day, you'll have
someone to sleep with, too, when you're grown up.  It
will be something to look forward to."

Do you think I'll ever have a brother to sleep with
me, as you did, Steve?"

"Jamie, I don't know.  You'll have to ask your mommy
and daddy that."


I was very conscious that I was calling him "Jamie"
now, not "Sir", but he was close to sleep and he
seemed to be lonely and need a bit of comfort.

"When I'm grown up, Steve, will you sleep with me
then?"

"Yes, Jamie.  When you're a big man too, we could do
that."  It wasn't true of course, as when he would be
fully grown I'd be an old man.  But young kids don't
always need the truth, do they?  They need comfort and
reassurance.

He turned over and gave a little sigh, and I could see
his eyes close.  So I tiptoed out and assumed my
"guard" position in the passage.  I'd only been saying
those things to make him feel needed and comfortable,
of course, but many years later in very different
circumstances I'd remember them.

Rather than just dozing in the passage, I sneaked back
into Jamie's room and brought out the paper and ball
point, and the practice sheet he'd been using.  I
worked away, and found that I could print letters
quite easily - it was hard, at first, to remember all
the shapes, and which letter was which, but by the
time I finally fell asleep I'd made a good start at
writing.

Another change in our routine had been occasioned by
Jamie going to grade school - his parents weren't back
form New York early enough to make sure he was up,
washed, dressed and breakfasted, so I'd been told what
to do, and was now in charge of all these
preparations.

That morning it was Jamie who shook me awake, telling
me that I was a lazy slave to be sleeping when he was
already up!  I followed him into the bathroom and
watched as he took his pyjamas off and got into the
shower.  "Wash me,  Steve, like mommy does", he said.

Well, his parent s hadn't said anything about that,
but he was my son, after all, and lots of fathers bath
their kids, don't they?  So I took a wash cloth and
rubbed him all over, then turned off the water and
wrapped him in one of the big fluffy towels.

"Now you've got to shower, Steve", he said.  "I know
daddy always wants his pony to look good."

"Sir, no, sir... I'm not allowed to use this bathroom.
 And I can shower when I get back."

"Steve, you're a slave.  And I order you to shower.
Else I'll tell daddy you were a bad slave."

Oh, fuck me!  I didn't want him saying things like
that, or his mother would leap to instant wrong
conclusions.  And I did need to shower.  So I pulled
off my T, dropped my shorts, and got under the water.
Jamie stood there wrapped in his towel, watching me.
He'd seen me naked often enough at the pool, but
somehow it seemed different here in the house.

I turned around to face away from him to wash my dick
and balls, but he piped up "No, Steve!  You've got to
show me you're washing your thingy properly.  Mommy
and daddy always make me face them so they can see I
do it properly."

Well, I hated doing it.  I'm not body shy of course,
as I've showered so many times with other slaves.  But
somehow being told to do it by a kid, and having him
watch as I soaped my dick and then my balls, made me
feel just as if I was a child again.  I sluiced the
soap off me as quickly as I could, then planed the
water off my body, and got out of the shower, still
wet.

Jamie had started to get dressed now, and looked at
me.  "Where's your towel, Steve?"

"Sir, slaves don't usually use towels.  We stand
around like this until we get dry."

He carried on watching me, until I was just dry enough
to pull on my T and shorts again.

"Come on, master Jamie... Hurry up and finish getting
dressed, else we'll be late for school", I told him.
"And hurry up and collect your school books together,
whilst I get your breakfast!"

In the kitchen I got the milk out of the refrigerator
and the cereal he ate from the cupboard, and put them
on the table.  He sat there, spooning it down, then
asked for toast.  Well, they hadn't told me about
that, but I remembered all those years ago how my mom
used to make toast in the toaster, so I did that
(although I burned my fingers on it, which made Jamie
laugh as I jumped around cursing myself!).

"Have some toast,  Steve", he said to me as he
laboured away putting jelly on his piece.

"Sir, no, sir.  Slaves don't eat toast, sir.  You know
your mommy told you that I only eat slave food."

"Have you had your breakfast already, Steve?  No - I
woke you up, didn't I?  And then you helped me in the
shower.  When are you going to have your breakfast,
Steve?"

"Sir, when I've taken you to school, and collected
your mommy and daddy from the station and brought them
home, sir."

"But aren't you hungry?"  Actually,  I was.  It takes
a lot out of you to do all the hard physical work I
do, and you need regular feeding.

"Sir, it's OK, sir."

"No. I want to see you eat slave food.  If you don't,
I won't eat my breakfast.  And I'll tell mommy that I
was hungry all morning."

I shrugged and smiled.  "See if I care, sir!"

"Well, if I'm hungry, I'll tell my daddy it was your
fault, and he'll cane you again."  I didn't think that
was likely as I knew that my owner only caned me for
one reason - to assuage his guilt and reassert his
sense of ownership after he'd had sex with me.  But I
didn't like the way this conversation was going -  a
young boy like Jamie shouldn't be discussing caning
with me.

"Oh, no, please don't do that, sir, I'm terrified of
the cane, sir, please don't tell on me, sir...." As I
said this I pantomimed trembling with fear, and
wringing my hands as if I was begging him.  Jamie
started to laugh as he saw I was making fun of it.
But I was hungry, so I went out to my room, grabbed a
handful of slave chow, and came back into the kitchen.

I stood there, picking bits of it out of my hand and
eating them, as Jamie watched.  Well, as kids are, he
was consumed with curiosity and interest, and demanded
a piece to try for himself, so he could see what it
tasted like, but he soon spat it out.  He told me to
sit by the side of him as he finished his cereal and
toast, and kept pushing bits of slave chow towards me
so that I ate with him.  When I think of it now, it
seems strange that I was eating breakfast like this
with my son, although we were both eating such
different things.


EDITOR'S NOTE

The notebooks that contains Steve's story are a
strange mixture - some are written "all of a piece",
looking back and describing things that happened.  And
some are almost like a diary, noting down particular
incidents as they occurred.  What appears in most
published versions, including this one, is our best
attempt to piece together  a coherent whole from these
notebooks.  Steve's work is not dated, and the only
sure way of getting the correct chronological order
for the work is by looking at the handwriting - as
those who bought the illustrated edition with the
facsimile reproductions of some pages will know,
Steve's writing goes from a childish scrawl to a very
fair cursive script.  It seems certain that he
couldn't write before Jamie went to grade school, and
he learned in the incident just described.  But he
improved rapidly, and evidently decided to write this
story in the long evenings when his owner did not
require him.

Whilst they are interesting to scholars, many of the
"diary" fragments are just that, recalling specific
sports days he observed at Jamie's school from a
distance as he waited at the edge of the trap parking
area, family outings" such as visits to the Christmas
lights in downtown Scarsdale where he pulled he whole
family, and so on.  They tell us little of Steve's
feelings as he watched Jamie grow up, and most
editions, this one included, omit them.  It's also
clear that Steve coached Jamie in sports - Jamie is a
fine swimmer, and athlete.  The diary entries have
fragments of description such as "Raced Jamie in the
pool and he did seven lengths for the first time", and
"Jamie is in the school cross-country next month - we
practised in the woods."

Steve was evidently taking a fuller role in Jamie's
development that any conventional father would
normally be able to do.  Other than his work as a pony
he had none of the pressures that take so many men's
time and prevent them from enjoying their children's
upbringing.  And as a considerable athlete himself, he
could help Jamie develop his own physique and skills.

In this edition we take up the story again when Jamie
is almost thirteen.

I'm really proud of Jamie - he came top in the sports
day track and field events again for his year. And he
likes it, too - he never seems to mind working really
hard when we practice together, and now that he's gone
through puberty, his body is changing from that
typical "lad's" physique to one that's closer to a
man's.  If he goes on like this, I think he'll become
the school's football star when he's a bit older.

Mind you, the transition from boy to man isn't going
easily: about six months ago his parents were out in
New York and I was sleeping in the passage outside his
room as I always did - even though there was now no
real need, old habit s die hard - when I heard him cry
out in the middle of the night.  I got to my feet, and
opened his door.  Jamie was lying in bed, looking
really scared.

"Sir, what's the matter, sir?  Shall I turn the light
on?"

"Steve, something's happened, I'm all.... Well.....
Kind of wet...."

I snapped the light on, and saw Jamie lifting up the
bed clothes.

"Uggh... and there's this disgusting smell...", he
continued.

I went over, and saw that his pyjamas and the bed were
covered in what was evidently cum.

"Sir, don't worry, sir.... It's perfectly OK.  You've
just had a dream - a special kind of dream that guys
get at about your age, sir."

"But Steve, I'm soaked through... And it's all
slimy..."

"Sir, don't worry.  It's perfectly natural.  It
happens to all guys, sir.  Hasn't your dad told you
about it?  About what happens as you get older, and
your hair starts to grow, sir?"

" No, Steve."

Oh shit, I thought.  What was I supposed to do now?
Perhaps he'd go to sleep if I tried to give him a
simple explanation.

"Look, the stuff that's all over you is called cum.
As you mature, part of growing up is that you start to
produce cum.   And sometimes it just overflows, as it
has now.  It's perfectly natural, perfectly normal, it
happens to all guys, and it's just part of growing
up."

I might have known, though, that this wouldn't stop
him - he'd always been inquisitive.

"So you produce this cum stuff, do you, Steve?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

"And how often do you 'overflow' with it?"

Oh shit!  What was I suppose to say?  I decided
honesty was the best policy.

"Sir, never, sir."

"So why am I overflowing, and you never do, Steve?"

"Sir, well...  You have to be old enough to be able to
produce cum.  Your body changes as it gets older -
you've seen the new hair around your dick, sir, as you
commented to me about it when you were showering the
other day.  Well, that's all part of it. And when you
first start to produce cum, you don't know it's
happening until, well, one day, it just sort of
'overflows', usually when you're sleeping and having
sexy thoughts.  It's called a 'wet dream', and I bet a
lot of the guys in your class will have them, too.
But guys don't talk about it, sir.... You're not
really meant to have 'wet dreams' and it's a bit of a
joke, so I expect they haven't told you it's happened
to them."

"So this 'overflowing' stops, does it?  It doesn't
happen to you...."

I was dreadfully embarrassed now, and I wished he'd
just go back to sleep.

"Sir, well, sir, there's something guys do to kind of
relieve the pressure.  To stop the cum building up and
overflowing."

"So do all guys do this?"

I grinned now, as the more I spoke about it, the
easier it seemed.  "Sir, yes, sir.  All guys do it,
but some of them don't admit it!"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, some jocks think that they perform better if
the cum build up inside them, so they claim not to
release it.   Some people, like priests, think it's
wrong, so they don't admit doing it.  Some guys think
it's wrong to do it once you've got a girlfriend or a
wife.  But, actually, they all do it - jocks, priests,
engaged guys, married men, everyone...."

"Like my dad, Steve?  And slaves?"

"Sir, yes, sir.  There's an old joke that asks the
question 'what percentage of men masturbate' - that's
what it's called, sir.  And the answer's 'one hundred
and one percent'.  I expect your daddy did it before
he met your mommy.  And, sir, yes, slaves do it -
we're men, even though we're not free, so we produce
cum and we need to relieve the pressure."

"Masturbation?"

"Sir, yes, sir, also known as wanking, jacking off,
spanking the monkey, jerking off...  Every male does
it as it feels so good.  And, if you don't do it,
after a time you'll get a wet dream, and that's not
good as it soils the bed.  Not only that, it's a waste
of cum:  jerking off feels so good that you might as
well do it and never get to the point of having a wet
dream, sir."

"So if I ,masturbate, it will feel good, and I won't
have wet dreams.  Sounds  like a 'heads I win, tails I
don't lose' kind of thing.  So, come on, tell me
more...."

"Sir... I think you'd better ask your dad.  Dads are
supposed to tell their sons about things like that,
sir.  Or find a buddy at school who's got a lot of
hair around his dick - take a look in the showers -
and ask him.  Most guys find out about it from their
buddies, sir."

"No, Steve.   I couldn't talk to dad about things like
that...  It's too.... embarrassing.  And I don't need
to ask my buddies at school, Steve, as I've got a
buddy right here - you.  I know you're a slave, but
we've always been like buddies - we swim together,
train together.... Come on, Steve, show me how to jerk
off....  Or don't you know?  You said to ask a guy
with a lot of hair around his dick, and I've seen you
often enough totally naked to know you haven't got a
lot...."

I could tell he was joking and it kind of lightened
the mood.  But what was I to do?  A dad should teach
his son about sex, and I was more of a dad to him than
my owner was.  But I could hardly show him how to jerk
off, could I?  Still, I'd better try and explain.

"Sir, you know how your dick gets hard - you have an
erection.  Well, when it's stiff, have you ever tried
stroking it?  Put your fingers underneath and your
thumb on top, then rub your hand up and down your
dick.  It will get harder and harder, and it will feel
amazing.  The harder you do it, the better it will
feel, and then you'll get this tightening in your
balls.... And cum will shoot out of your dick.  If you
can carry on stroking it whilst this is happening, it
will feel even more fantastic!  And that's all there
is to it, really... Jerking off 101 as you might say.
There's a lot more to it of course.... Different
strokes and so on....  But you can experiment and find
out for yourself, sir."

"And all guys do this?  How often do you do it,
Steve?"

"Sir, a guy just doesn't ask another guy a thing like
that.  We all know we do it, and there's no need to
talk about it, sir."

"But we are talking about it, aren't we, Steve.  Go
on, we're best buddies.. You can tell me...."

I was blushing a bit now, but I muttered "Well,
usually twice a day, sir.  Once when I get up in the
morning - I wake up with an erection, and I do it
then. And once as I'm going to sleep at night, sir."

"Now, sir,  let's get cleaned up in here, and you get
back to sleep", I went on, "As it's a school day
tomorrow.  You change you pyjamas, and I'll get a
clean sheet for the bed.... Do you know where your
mother keeps them, sir?"

"No, Steve."

"Oh, I know, I got a clean sheet today and I haven't
slept in my bed - I'll go and get that one for you."

Well, I changed his bed, and he went to sleep, and the
next morning I took him to school as usual.  He gave
me a big smile as he got out of the trap, and said
quietly, so that none of the other kids could hear, "I
did it this morning, Steve, and it was great!"

He did what I recommended, too, and didn't talk about
it again - or, at least, not to me!  But our little
conversation did have one unpleasant consequence for
me:   the sheet that I'd taken off his bed was all
cum-soaked of course, and I'd casually tossed it into
my room when I'd taken my clean one up for him.  It
was still there the next morning when the cleaning
lady came in and found it  (my owner was doing so well
in his practice now that he could afford that luxury:
a paid cleaner for the house.  Most people just had
house slaves, but my mistress had always had women
cleaners at home, and now felt more comfortable with
the same in her house.  And I think she liked having
another woman coming in four times a week as they
could chat, something she could not have done if the
house work was done by a young slave boy).

The cleaning lady complained to my mistress about the
cum-stained sheet, and I was summoned in to her little
work room where she was doing the household accounts.
The cleaning lady was there, too, holding the sheet
and I could see the big stiff patch where Jamie's cum
had soaked into it.

"What have you got to say about this, slave?", my
mistress demanded.

"Ma'am, nothing, ma'am...."

"You filthy beast!  If your owner had had you
castrated as I'd wanted him to, this kind of thing
would not happen!  You're a disgusting animal, soiling
your bed like this.  Have you got no self control?"

I wanted to tell her it wasn't me, but how do you tell
an angry woman that it's her own son who's just
stained the bed with his cum?  So I stood there, head
bowed, and kind of mumbled "Yes, ma'am, yes.... I'm
sorry, ma'am... It won't happen again, ma'am."

"You're right, slave, it won't happen again!  Mrs
Hernandez has enough to do cleaning this house without
a slave making her unnecessary work."

I could see the cleaning lady nodding her head as she
agreed with my mistress.

"...so, as you can't control yourself there will be no
more opportunities for that disgusting cock snot of
yours to soil our beds.  From now on you get no bed
clothes at all. And take the mattress out to the store
as we don't want that soiled either - you can sleep on
the bed frame: that's all metal, isn't it, on that bed
in your quarters?"

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am."

"Right!  Sleep on the bare springs, and that will
perhaps teach you to control yourself.  You slaves are
disgusting - no free man would spray his semen around
like that.  Now, take off your shorts, and give them
to me."

I saw Mrs Hernandez's eyes open wide and stare at me
as I pushed down my shorts.  I knew it was no use
disobeying my mistress, and so I just had to stand
there naked in front of the two women.  As she was an
hourly-paid servant, I suppose Mrs Hernandez wasn't
used to the concept of slaves being ordered to do such
utterly humiliating things in front of her - she
wouldn't have a slave of her own, of course, and
probably didn't know that for ladies of my mistress's
class it was acceptable for slaves - even big, buck
slaves like me - to appear naked.  I felt myself
blushing with embarrassment, as much for Mrs
Hernandez, as for me.

My mistress looked inside my shorts, and I was glad
I'd only just changed - well, all guys dicks dribble a
bit, don't they, however careful you are to express
the last drops of urine from it?  And by the end of
the day there was usually a pale yellow stain in the
front.

"Well, at least these are clean!  I was expecting to
find them stiff with your semen too.  But to avoid
work, you'll sleep naked in future so there's no
chance of your cock snot escaping in the night and
soiling your shorts.  Is that understood?"

I was really red now.  I was thirty seven years old,
and she was treating me just as if I was a little kid,
 looking into my shorts to see if I was staining them.
 Mrs Hernandez's eyes were still riveted on my body, I
noticed, and this made it even worse.

"Now, get out of here, and go and get on with your
work.  I will speak to my husband about you and see if
he doesn't now agree that castration would be the best
option for you."


End Of Part 28