Falsely Enslaved

FALSELY ENSLAVED

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part Eleven

Sam and I had that kind of ongoing niggling argument as we got up in the morning. He kept telling me I was wrong and that I should turn the ex-cop into the police; and I kept saying how I was determined to make him suffer, as he had me. And I added that it wasn't the same for Sam, as although Sam had been one of the falsely enslaved, he was, after all, a real slave. But he went on and on about the risk to me, and in the end I got fed up and lost my temper. "Listen, you are a slave, remember? And you know what slaves do? They keep themselves quiet unless their owners ask them a direct question. So I'm fed up with listening to your views about what I should do to the ex-cop, and I want to hear no more!", I snapped.

Sam got up from the breakfast table very calmly and quietly, and stood there, head bowed, hands clasped behind his back. "Sir, yes, sir." He muttered quietly.

"Sam, there's no need to be like that...."

"Sir, yes, sir."

It made me even more cross, actually, but there wasn't anything I could do about it. But, as so often when you know you've gone too far, it had the effect of dragging me back a bit, and I went into my study and put through another call to Stu. We chatted about when he was going to comer on the visit we'd discussed before, and then I asked "Can I ask you a question - purely theoretical, of course... Suppose the ex-cop in

whom I have an interest were persuaded to come south..... So that he was here, in the south's jurisdiction.... Could he be prosecuted then?"

"Well I suppose so, Steve. The offences are so grave that the statute of limitations doesn't apply. But I guess the courts would take a look at the 'persuasion' that was used to get him down here. Anything the police did, for example, might be regarded as entrapment and then he couldn't be prosecuted as he'd been brought here against his will, the courts would think. Of course if it wasn't the cops... If a girl friend persuaded him to come down here to visit her parents or something, that might be different. But any deliberate act to set up something to lure him down here, or any attempt to coerce him into coming, then it would be no good and he'd be off, Scot free."

I was silent for a few moments, and Stu added "Steve, be careful! The courts take a dim view of people meddling in matters like this.... I wouldn't advise you to set up an elaborate entrapment..... If you did and the courts found out, then it would be a huge fine, or a prison term. And I suppose you know that anything more than that, like strong coercion, and you might even be looking at enslavement."

I thanked Stu and rang off, and saw Sam hovering by the study door. His silly attitude of a few minutes earlier had seemed to have evaporated, too, as he seemed really worried. "Steve, we've got to be careful.... You heard what Stu said.... If you were enslaved, we'd both be sold, you as the slave, and me a a chattel you couldn't then own, and we'd never see each other again....."

I liked the "we" again, and I put my arm around Sam's shoulders to try to reassure him. "Well it's too late, isn't it? I did abduct him - you can't get more coercive than that - and so if I am found, then it's slavery again for me, a real one this time."

"So I'd' better help you, and make sure it all works properly...."

I kissed him, lightly. "Thanks, Sam. We can do this, you know. And we may as well get started: the sooner he looks like a proper slave, the safer we'll be as no one will listen to him if he tries to complain or anything. So why don't you and the gardener go and clean him up a bit - wash him properly - inside and out, as I need to take his cherry - crop his hair, trim his pits and pubs, shave his balls and ass, that sort of stuff.... But leave his body hair: after having Brett smooth, I fancy a bit of a change and I liked what I saw with that rug on his chest and belly...."

Sam gave a big grin "Ah, so I can grow mine again, can I, if you like a hairy chest...?"

"I like hair, yes, like mine. But you've got nigga sandpaper, not proper hair, and I don't like that. So keep using the razor....."

"Oh well, it was worth asking. But I don't need the gardener to help, I can do all that myself."

"No, Sam, he was a cop, remember? And cops have some sort of combat training, for when they catch criminals who put up a fight...."

"...and you always forget that I was a marine, and we have REAL combat training! A cop's no match for me, especially one who's let his body go, as that one has...."

"All the same, Sam, take the gardener with you. I don't doubt you can overcome him, and in other circumstances it might be really erotic to watch you two fight it out. But I can't risk damage to him, and if he fought back you might well end up breaking his arm or something. And then we'd have to call in the vet, and before he's been 'broken', he'd tell the vet stuff...."

"...unless we put him and his broken arm into a deep pit on the place, and pushed all the soil back on top of him."

"Sam, that may well be what you did in the marines with 'unfortunate' prisoners, but I want revenge, you know! If I'd only wanted to kill him, I could have shot him in Boston. No, I want him whole, undamaged, and 'broken' as a slave, as I was. So take the gardener along, even if he just stands and watches, OK?"

"Makes sense, boss!" Sam snapped, and bounded out.

I did some paperwork, although my mind wasn't really on it. Then I had my morning coffee, and was sitting in my study when there was a respectful knock on the door and Sam came in - he must be trying for some effect, I knew, as of course he never normally knocked anywhere in the house. They had him outside, and I agreed with Sam that they should hold him there for some minutes, as that would increase whatever feelings of dread or terror he was experiencing.

When the did bring him in and stood him in front of me, all three were wearing standard slave shorts. Sam and the gardener stood slightly behind the ex-cop, and he stood there looking vaguely defiant. "Now, you need to let me go", he blustered. "This has gone far enough - but if you let me go, and give me five hundred, I'll forget all about it...."

I smiled. "You're a slave, boy. I captured you, just as you and your buddy did some years ago to me. The only difference is that you sold me to the slaver Jed, and I'm in a position to be able to carry out your further enslavement myself, here. You've met Sam and my gardener, and you can see they're big, tough guys: any trouble from you, and I will order them to punish you. Now, I want to get a better look at what I've acquired now you've been cleaned up and trimmed a bit: lose those shorts."

"I'm a free man... Yo can't do this to me...."

"You were a free man. You're a slave now My slave." As I said this, I nodded to Sam, and Sam neatly and suddenly pulled the slave shorts down. The ex-cop at once pulled his hands in front of his dick and balls, and shouted "Hey....."

"Put your hands to your sides, and spread your legs a little as I want to gauge how your balls hang."

"Fuck you!", he spat, so I nodded at Sam again, who grabbed his arm, and as the ex-cop wondered what on earth was happening, delivered two hard slaps to the guy's butt. Sam let him go then, and the ex-cop rubbed his hand gingerly over his butt.

"See - You did move your hands, and I can see you properly now. But we could have avoided that punishment, mild though it was. Let me warn you that as a slave in my household I expect total obedience from you, and anything less will result in punishment - much, much harsher punishments than you have just received. Now, put your hands behind your neck, as I want to inspect you."

Seeing Sam and the gardener standing there so close to him, the ex-cop reluctantly obeyed. I then got up from my chair and began the standard kind of external physical exam any owner is used to - running my hands over his shoulders, back, butt and thighs; then moving around the front to feel his neck muscles, tease his nips (which were agreeably large to begin with, and instantly stiffened as I touched them), probe his ribs, and finally 'weigh' his balls in my hand, and stroke his dick to erection. As I did this last, vital part of the inspection, he shuffled around and pleaded "No, please....", in a low voice. Sam, hearing this, instantly grabbed his biceps again, pressing his strong fingers in so that the ex-cop knew Sam was ready for more if necessary.

He was, perhaps surprisingly, not circumcised. As a general rule I like slaves to be cut (as do most owners, of course, which is why Brett had had Sam and me done), but I did wonder about this one - I was, you may recall, looking to make a 'statement' when I show a slave in public, and perhaps I ought to be considering and uncut slave for his novelty value at least. He didn't have one of those 'skins that hung right beyond the end of his dick when he wasn't aroused anyway, and in its flaccid state it covered the head, but did not extend much further. I decided to consider having just a small length trimmed off so the tip of his dick, and piss slit, were always exposed, and resolved to ask Sam about it that night.

I went back over some of the territory I had already covered, taking a fold of the skin around his waist and belly between my thumb and forefinger. I looked at him and said quietly "We call this free man fat. Only free men abuse their bodies by not exercising and eating too much so that they lay down this - you're not particularly bad, but after a few weeks here you'll be much trimmer and we'll restore that flat belly I bet you had at school. I imagine you were quite a jock, weren't you?"

He nodded, and I added "The correct response is "Sir, yes, sir."

"So, quite a jock, and one for the ladies, I suppose - that uniform, the power of being a cop..."

"You could say that..." I nodded to Sam, and he slapped the ex-cop four times now.

"You'd better improve your powers of learning! It's 'Sir, yes, sir' if you don't want to be punished. Anyway, one thing you will discover is that you may once more get to be a real jock, as we'll exercise you, and I have in mind a role for you that needs lots and lots of hard physical work. But as for the ladies... Well, I don't allow that in my slaves, unless I choose to use you as a stud for the breeding fees. It's preferable, I find, for make slaves to have sex with their fellows."

"Sir, I'm not a fag....."

A nod from me, and Sam slapped his butt twice more, the sound ricocheting around the room. "Listen, you fucking slave, I'm not interested in your views. I don't care whether you're a fag or not, and I don't need you telling me anyway. If I say you are going to have sex with your fellow slaves, like Sam here, then you will. In fact, you're going to get your first introduction to your new way of living shortly, as I'm a fairly traditionally minded owner and I believe that slaves should experience the control their owner has over them by taking his dick as soon as possible."

He went to say something, and stopped. "Good, you're learning! See how easy it is: there's no point in giving me your views on whether you want me to rape you or not, as I'm not interested in them. You're learning to speak only when spoken to, and also that I have the power, I have the control, and I can do what I like with you and there's nothing, nothing at all, that you can do about it."

I turned to Sam and said "Take him out and put him on the horse in the living room, and I'll be with you shortly."

"Sir, please....", he began, and I nodded to Sam to let him speak. "Please, sir, you can't be serious, about fucking me.... You don't even know my name....."

"What's your name got to do with it? You're a slave, my property. But you're wrong, anyway: I do know your name: it's Spike."

"No, sir, I'm...."

This time I nodded to Sam to slap him again, and I added "Slaves get given new names, and you're Spike from now on. It helps you to adjust to your new status, actually, to put your old name behind you." And before he could say anything more, I motioned for Sam to take him out.

I judged it would be better to allow him to "stew" on the horse for half an hour or so, lying there, knowing his ass was totally exposed, and worrying about what was going to happen to him. But I got impatient, eager to move on, and strode out of my study a little before the time was up. Sam and the gardener, both still in their slave shorts, were almost "guarding" the horse with Spike strapped down to it, and I sauntered over and ran my hands over his butt, commenting to him about how hot and angry his ass felt, and how that's what happened to a punished slave. "Sam runs the place", I told Spike as he lay there, his head twisting around to try to see what I was doing. "I give him wide discretion to make things happen, and to ensure standards are obeyed. He likes to spank, and, as you have found out, when a man like Sam does it, it hurts. I would advise you against making him so cross that he needs to take a cane to you, or, even worse, a whip!"

I stopped stroking his butt and ran my finger along his ass crack, letting the tip of my finger come to rest on his pucker, and scratching at it gently. He was flexing his legs and shuffling his feet slightly, and it was clear he was hating all this.

"So, Spike, has another man been up this pucker of yours, or am I the first?"

"So, sir... You would be the first.... But please, sir....."

"I'm not interested, Spike! I consider it essential to your training that you learn the complete control I have over you. So now, let's get started."

He carried on watching me as I casually removed my clothes, handing them to Sam who neatly folded them. I deliberately kept myself turned towards him as I did so, as I wanted him to see that I was absolutely unashamed of my body, and so that he could observe the size of my dick. In fact I stroked it to a full erection, not that much effort was required as I was really aroused, and stood tight by his head letting it wave and bob gently. "Now, Spike, look at this... Your first sight of your owner's dick! I think a slave should pay homage to his owner and would want to kiss his owner's dick in appreciation. Would you like to do that, Spike?"

"Sir, no, sir!"

"Normally, Spike, the only acceptable answer to an owner's question is 'Sir, yes, sir' and 'no' is not a word that ought to exist in the slave's mind. On this occasion you are being particularly foolish - as you will observe, my dick is dry and when it is inserted into your ass, there will be a great deal of very uncomfortable pain for you. If you were to kiss it, and then worship it by licking it and suckling it, you could cover it in your saliva, and thus help lubricate it.... You should know that it is totally inevitable that my dick is going into your ass, so a sensible person would take whatever steps he could to minimise the problem."

I carried on waving my dick around near his face, and I watched him as the thoughts raced through his brain.

Finally, hesitantly and tentatively, he moved his head as far as he could towards my dick, and kind of pursed his lips. I moved closer to him and put my hand on his cropped hair, and pushed my dick at him. "Good boy, good Spike....", I crooned, as he oh so gingerly at first kissed the tip of my dick, then put his tongue out and gingerly licked at it, and finally, as I continued to hold his head as a further way of signalling to him my "control" over him, he took it into his mouth - well, the first couple of inches, at least, before he gagged. Still there was time to train him more in the fine art of cocksucking later, if I decided to use him more regularly for sex.

You can't delay these things indefinitely, of course, and so I pulled out of his mouth and went behind him. I spread his cheeks and bend down to spit at his pucker - well, you do need some lube, don't you? Never mind about the slave you're fucking, I think it hurts you if you go in without any at all.

He was so tight, so incredibly tight, that I had a real problem to get in at all, and I hand to use my hand to "stiffen" my dick and really force it in. Spike was thrashing around a fair bit, as you'd expect, and I never think that's a bad thing, as it adds to my excitement and enjoyment. H e was screaming and begging and pleading, of course, and I had no intention of punishing him for breaking silence: he was in pain, I'm sure, but it's no bad thing to let a slave express himself at a time of great trauma like this. Once I was in, though, I was gentle in pushing forward very, very slowly until I was as deep as I could go. I leant forward and rested my hands on his shoulders, shoulders that were heaving with his sobs, and whispered "There, there.... I'm right in you now, Spike! Can you feel how your owner's dick has possessed you? Feel this....."

I moved around slightly, and went on "...and that is your owner's pubes rubbing against your tender ass.... Feel it, Spike, experience it, and remember who owns you, who controls you now....."

He seemed a bit calmer, so I began to fuck him properly - not really hard, not with great slams, but with short, even, slow strokes. I was enjoying it, really enjoying it, and I could have gone on for ages as he was so tight that the sensation on my entire dick shaft, let alone the head, was fantastic. It's not enough to bring me off, though - I find I need a lot of hard fucking to do that, and I didn't want to risk tearing Spike's ass by doing it that way. So I pulled out, pressed my thighs against his so he knew I was still there (and enjoying the feel of his sweaty skin against mine), and gave my dick about eight really hard wanks with my hand pressing extra tight: I felt myself going over the edge, and my cum shot in a lovely long white streak along Spike's back. I leant forward once more and whispered into his ear "Feel your owner's cum on your skin, Spike! If I train you as a sex slave, you'll learn to crave my cum, to want it smeared over you, or pumped down your throat....."

He moaned faintly, and I went over to the cloakroom to wash my dick - even though Sam and the gardener had cleaned him out inside, my dick was of course covered in sweat, spit and cum, and I don't like dressing without first cleaning it. I came back and sprawled on the couch, my legs apart, and my fingers toying with my dick and balls as you do when you've just had sex. "Right, Spike - now you've lost your virginity, we can move on. Sam is, as I told you, in charge here, so it only seems fair that he should test you out next...."

I forgave him as he cried out "No, please, sir, no....", a cry that redoubled as Sam shed his shorts and stood there by Spike's face. Sam wasn't as gentle as me when he went in, but I whispered to him to remind him about not wanting to tear Spike's sphincter, and he was a lot less vigorous than normal.

Still, I always enjoy watching Sam at work, as his hairless body, glistening with sweat, makes such an agreeable sight as it pistons in and out: and especially when there's a white guy underneath him, making such a contrast with Sam's really dark nigga skin.

Even though I knew the gardener didn't particularly like being a top, I next commanded him to fuck Spike, as I wanted the man to really understand that his life was changing. Mind you, watching the gardener you'd never know he didn't like it - he worked with vigour and enthusiasm, and I made a mental note to perhaps invite him to join Sam and me one night, as he had really powerful buttocks from all the bending and carrying he did, and they were nicely hairy.

Finally, though, we couldn't delay the part of the morning I'd not been looking forward to. As Spike lay there, cum now slowly leaking out of him and trickling gradually down the inside of his thighs, Sam went and fetched the branding iron. Unlike the rather ritualistic way that I'd been branded, with the iron heated in the fire, this was going to be a simple affair: I'd borrowed this iron from Dave again, and he told me that as his business picked up and he had more slaves, he had less and less time to "play" with fire and this electric one was superior. "It's so controllable, Steve", he'd told me as he handed it over. "Plug it in to warm it up for at least five minutes, then it's thermostatically controlled so it's always at optimum temperature. Then pressing it into the slave's flesh for exactly sixty seconds will ensure a sharp, clear brand.... That's technology for you...."

So I did as he'd said, but I still had a most uneasy feeling as I brought the glowing red "S" towards Spike's butt, and it took a real effort of will to press it home: it was all too easy to remember the total agony I had been in when I was branded. But it has to be done, doesn't it? And I'm not one to shirk an owner's duties - and I don't think it's something I can reasonably ask another slave to do for me, even Sam.

We let the gardener take Spike back out to the barn, reminding him to chain him up properly even though he appeared to be in so many difficulties that there was no chance of him running off. Sam and I then sat there and I told Sam I wanted him to take charge of Spike's training, just as he had with Brett. "We need to get the fat off him, Sam, and get those legs and butt built up - at the same time stretching his lung capacity."

"So you're going to use him as a pony, then?"

"Well I suppose so - we hardly need any additional slaves to work the grounds, and he's not suitable fur use around the house as he's too big - can you imagine a big hunk like that trying to serve our supper?"

Sam laughed, but said "But it is a problem, Steve - Brett doesn't get enough exercise as it is, and I have to make him do 'training' runs rather than real work. Another pony will make that worse."

"So we could sell Brett, I suppose: he's a proper slave, after all, and I've got the owner's documentation and everything."

Sam nodded, and I went on "I've got a SIN for Spike - a little trick Dave told me about finding a slave who's died in an accident, or something: most owners don't bother to register it, but are happy to 'sell on' the documentation. So here's Spike's number - and that's why he's called Spike, as that was the registered name on the documents. If the farrier comes when I'm busy, I want them tattooed on his butt, above the brand, and just below his jaw on the left hand side, so that they're visible even if I let him wear shorts. And the farrier is to cinch him, as we were, but I've decided to have a proper collar on him, not the 'invisible' ones like you and Brett have. But make sure it doesn't chafe - our farrier is pretty good, but those heavy iron collars can have manufacturing faults."

Sam nodded, and snuggled his body against mine. We smiled at each other, and he reached out and took my dick in his hand. "You're still all sweaty, Steve.... Shall we do something about it...."

"I don't really want to fuck again this morning, Sam."

"You idiot! I mean shall we run down to the lake, and go for a swim before lunch?"

As it so happens, I didn't get much time to devote to the training and "fitting" of Spike in the next couple of weeks, as I had a series of disturbing calls from my mother, telling me how "difficult" dad was getting.

I called Jamie privately, and he sounded worried, too, adding that he thought at least part of the problem was that dad was worried about money, and the rate a which their savings were disappearing as their pitiful pension rises were not keeping up with the price inflation - especially in energy prices, to keep the house warm. Winter was approaching, and Jamie thought it was praying on dad's mind.

"I reckon the solution is for mom and dad to come and live down here", I told Jamie. "I can pick up the bills easily, and with a few slaves around he place, mom needn't do all the cleaning and cooking and laundry...."

"Dad would never agree to it, Steve, you know that! All that stuff all his life about being an abolitionist."

"Yes, but look how he changed from being a liberal to ultra conservative, when it was one of his sons who was fucking another guy! And I take it you haven't told him that you're not going to marry, and produce the grandchildren...."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because, little brother, I do have some experience with the way men react when there's a dick shafting them, and I can tell that you really like it!"

"So I might marry, and have a few male friends as a hobby - a lot of men do that."

"I'll do a deal with you, Jamie: persuade mom and dad to come and live down here, and you can come too: you can work for me as something or other, and life will be a lot easier for you - marry a 'southern belle' to give mom and dad grandkids, and she'll almost expect you to be fucking a slave on the side!"

I heard a silence, and then Jamie said "Would you give me Brett?"

"What?"

"Brett - your pony - he and I used to be really good buddies. He taught me a lot, and I think I owe it to him to try to make life a bit easier for him. He was the president of my frat, you know...."

"You're wasting your time. He's a trained pony now, a properly trained pony. He isn't your old buddy...."

"Well let me be the judge of that. Now, do you want dad persuaded, or not?"

I agreed, as it kind of solved a problem for me - if Jamie had Brett as his pony, then once Spike was trained, he could be my pony and Sam's fears of him not having enough to do would be obviated.

One day I must ask Jamie what pressure he put on dad to get him to agree to move south. Dad clearly didn't want to, and would hardly talk about it to me at all on the phone, and mom wasn't much better: I suggested

I rent a house for them until they knew what they wanted, and she replied that she was sure that anything I chose would be fine! I mean, it's hard enough searching for a house for oneself, isn't it? Trying to find one for someone else is almost impossible. But as luck would have it there was what

I thought was a very suitable property: close to the centre of the town, so mom and dad could walk in to shop, or go to the library; four bedrooms and four bathrooms so that there would be two guest rooms if Jamie continued to live at home; a good-sized living room, a big formal dining room, a small library, and a study. It was a charming Victorian wooden structure - a lot of work in upkeep, I know, but with slave painters it's not such a problem - with a shady porch running along the front bordering the road, and with a good glass structure along the back where mom could potter and do plants and stuff even in the winter. Best of all, there was a slave house at the side, inconspicuous as these things should be, but with a short passage connecting it to the main house so that the slaves would always be on call. Opening into the lane at the end of the garden there was what had formerly been a garage, but which would make an ideal stable for Brett.

I negotiated a yearly lease, and set about acquiring some slaves so that the place could be set in order properly before mom and dad set out. I had no experience of this, of course: what I was looking for in a slave was totally different form mom and dad's requirement. As ever, Dave was amine of information, and even went along with me to the dealer in the next town to see what was available. They have a separate section for trained domestics, so there wasn't even the excitement of taking a look at the latest males they had. Dave suggested, though, that I first of all find a kind of "major domo", as I wouldn't want to be involved in running the house ,and my parents' experience would be lacking because of them not being used to dealing with slaves.

Dave questioned some of the stock - interestingly, displayed clothed - and finally recommended to me a guy in his mid fifties who was called Hudson. He'd been in service for many years and was, Dave assured me, "steady and respectful" and "could be trusted". I asked why, and Dave looked at me as if I was some sort of idiot. "How many major domos do you think are needed around here? Poor old Hudson is looking to be sold off as a common field slave if you don't buy him, and so the relatively cushy life you're offering him will earn his eternal gratitude. And you'll only ever have to threaten him with selling him, and you'll have his complete attention!"

We let Hudson - who was extraordinarily polite and stood there instantly ready to offer advice if I asked for it - assist in the selection of the other house slaves then: two maids to clean and serve at table (and who, as Dave pointed out, were potential good breeding stock should I want to have them studded), a cook (one of those huge, big, fat 'mammies' who were such a stereotype in last century's films but where there is some justification as they do make excellent cooks), and finally a gardener, and a general "boy" to help out in other areas. I perked up when we were making these last choices, and selected a twenty eight year old slender nigga as the gardener ( he had references from a previous owner attesting to his gardening skills, but I also liked the look of his body), and for the boy a sixteen year old half-breed, as I thought his paler brown would make a nice change from the rather solid black of the others.

I arranged with Jamie to take mom and dad for a couple of days to New York and paid for them to see three shows and all that sort of stuff, so that when they arrived - by plane, as I wanted mom and dad's time to begin pleasantly - all was ready in the house, with all their furniture in place, and the china, linen and glassware unpacked, and so on.

Mom thought it was delightful, and was almost crying as I introduced her to the slaves and showed her around. Dad was kind of glaring, though, and we sat down to a late lunch in the sparkling dining room in a rather sombre mood. But once the maids had begun serving the rather delicious food, and Hudson had offered dad a bottle of wine for his approval before uncorking it and serving it, the atmosphere began to change. And, as dad said, it was so good to have mom sitting around after lunch with him instead of always being in the kitchen clearing away. I couldn't help saying "Dad, that's the beauty of slaves - all that tedious stuff goes out of the window, as they do it!"

Dad was really impressed when Hudson asked him to verify that all dad's clothes were properly arranged, saying that he'd done it, but of course everything could be changed, and that he would act as a valet to dad as well as having his other duties. Dad's clothes would always be immaculate, as "befitted a gentleman with a position to maintain in the town."

Dad soon discovered the town gentlemen's club, to which he gained instant access once it was known he was my father, as folks remembered the great consideration I showed as a landlord to Dave. Mom quickly joined the ladies' sewing circle, the library volunteers, the afternoon tea group, and numerous other organisations that the ladies of the town, relieved of all responsibility for the humdrum, were able to indulge themselves in. There were a number of older folk in the town, and it was customary to have weekly dinners in one or other house, and I think they were pleased when everyone complimented them on their selection and management of the slaves who were ale to mount such a perfect dinner when it was their turn to be host and hostess.

I had been concerned at first that they might not "fit in" and dad would keep voicing his views about the evils of slavery. But it didn't seem to happen, and Jamie had an explanation. "You see, Steve, dad's a gentleman, always has been. And it would be impolite for a gentleman to criticise his hosts, and I think he thinks of himself as a guest here still. There again, he's now got the time to indulge himself as a 'gentleman', something he has never done before - and maintaining that amazing elegance of dress, and all the refinements of living, takes a lot of effort, effort which he couldn't make, without the slaves." I was nodding wisely as Jamie said all this, but almost fell over in astonishment when he went on "Or there again, it could just be because he's fucking one of the maids - or perhaps both of them, by now!"

"What?"

"Didn't you know? He and mom have a perfect marriage, but the sex went out of it long ago. So dad was always frustrated, and he couldn't really do anything about it at home, could he? But now - well, the maids are always in and out of the bedrooms and bathrooms, and it seems one came into the bathroom shortly after they arrived when dad was drying himself - and she's a saucy little minx, and couldn't resist going down on her knees and giving dad a blow job! Well one thing led to another.... I think mom knows, and finds it a bit amusing that our sixty year old dad is fucking a twenty year old nigga."

"Jamie - that's awful! These niggas start dropping a kid at the sight of sperm, even.... I don't want any little half-breed half brothers or sisters....."

"No problem, Steve! I've spoken to Hudson, and it's all under control: he makes sure that everything 'happens as it should' for the maids every month, and if it doesn't, they're down to the vet for an abortifacient the very next day. Mind you, you could just let them go ahead, I suppose - the piccaninnies would be slaves, being born to slaves, wouldn't they? And it's no worse dad 'studding' a nigga maid than what you were made to do. How many little half-breed nephews and nieces do I have, Steve?"

I shrugged. "It's not the thought of the half-breeds, Jamie! It's the thought of dad fucking the niggas - he's too old...."

"You're never too old to fuck, they say. It just takes longer."

"Yes, but dad.... He was always going on and on at me about my morals. And now, well, it's not right."

"Oh Steve, you can be a bit of a prude sometimes. There you are, banging the eyeballs out of Sam most nights, and yet you object to dad having a bit of fun.

Anyway, I'm not here to discuss dad - you said that if I got them down here, you'd let me have Brett as my pony..... And I've come to collect him."

End Of Part Eleven