THE WILLING SLAVE, Part 29
By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
It was all an unnecessary worry on my part, of course, as there was no way my owner was going to castrate me - he still appeared for sex about once a month, and he knew that without my balls I wouldn't be able to shoot huge loads of my cum all over his face, or down this throat, or up his ass, or, if I was feeling particularly bad tempered, into his ears or up his nose. He didn't even cane me in spite of my mistress's complaints about the cum-stained sheet, but he didn't interfere in my punishment, either, and I now had to sleep totally naked in my room without any covering at all. It's horrible at first, as the body is used to having as sheet or something over it, but it's not too bad in the summer. But as the warmer weather started to retreat it got cooler at night: the house heating didn't run into the slave quarters, of course, and I lay there shivering slightly. Ultimately my owner did notice something was wrong as I just wasn't able to run properly in the mornings as my muscles were stiff, and I was dead tired from lack of sleep. He told me I could have a single blanket to cover myself, but that I needed to be careful. "Why can't you just catch your cum in your hand and swallow it, like other guys do?", he asked.
Jamie never spoke to me about sex much after this sheet incident, but I knew he must be jerking off as when I took out the trash to the kerb for the cleansing department slaves to collect I occasionally saw signs that every young lad leaves behind: lurid magazines with disgusting pictures of naked women in them. I tried leafing through them to understand what he found so exciting in them, but a lot of the pages were stuck together... Presumably with his cum.
All that year we carried on training as we'd been doing, though, as Jamie wanted to excel at sport. Even after a hard day's running my owner and my mistress around, I had to find the energy to go jogging with him, or to practice endless manoeuvres at football, or to race up and down with a baseball trying to intercept and tackle. After the incident with the wet dream, though, he never again wanted me to sleep in the corridor outside his room. The next time his parents were staying away the night and my mistress was giving her orders I heard him say "Aw, mom, I don't want the slave lying out there in the corridor. I'm old enough to take care of myself now. If there's an emergency, I can always go down to his room - I'm not a kid any more!"
I felt so sad, as this is the first time I'd heard him refer to me as "the slave", as his mother did, rather than as "Steve". And I noticed he was developing a master's attitude in other ways, too - just little things, but I could see that I was no longer his "best buddy", but was turning into "the slave". For example, if we were practising basketball and the ball shot away from both of us, at one time he'd have chased after it and brought it back to the hoop. Now he said "Go and get it, Steve", if I was lucky! If I was unlucky, he'd casually say "Fetch the ball, slave", just as you'd speak to a dog.
At the end of the Summer vacation period there was a major change in our lives - Jamie had gone down to New York with my mistress, and when I collected them from the station from the late afternoon train there was a huge pile of bags and boxes from the major stores.
I discovered quite a lot about life in the house from looking at the trash, and when I took it out later in the week I saw that the empty boxes and bags were labelled with things like "formal trousers" and "sports coat". Jamie continued to use me as his exercise companion, and when we'd finished playing a particularly fast game of ball one night and we were both covered in sweat, he solemnly shook my hand before he went into the house.
"That's it for this season, slave. Thanks for the game. We'll do this again at Christmas."
"Sir, thank you, sir. But please, sir, can I ask why you're giving up, sir?"
"I'm not giving up - but school starts tomorrow. And my mother and grandfather want me to go to his old school. So I won't be back until the Christmas vacation."
"Sir, you're going away to school, sir?"
"Yes, Steve. One of the oldest and best. Up in Massachusetts. So when you take me to the station tomorrow, you won't see me again until Christmas."
With that he walked off, and I stood there almost stunned. Jamie, my son as I thought of him, had been so much a part of my life and now he was going away to school!
It was really tough the next morning taking all three of them, and Jamie's luggage, to the station as that's a huge load. And all I could do was watch as they hugged each other as the train came in and Jamie went to get aboard - I was right on the platform as I was handling all his luggage and so was allowed in the "free men" section. My mistress was crying as the train pulled out, and my owner looked pretty sad, too.
I'd lost just as much as them, but I couldn't show it, could I? It was my son going away, taking his first steps into the grown up world, after all, but I couldn't even wave him goodbye - I had to follow my owner and my mistress, respectfully, totally without emotion as you'd expect from a slave.
When he came home for Christmas there was a huge change in Jamie - he was no longer the lad I'd known, but a swaggering, arrogant, adolescent. He never even said hullo to me when I'd pulled him home from the station, and went straight into the house with his mother. And when he came to my room a few minutes later, he just said "Get the trap to the front door, slave. I'm going down the mall."
He never called me "Steve" again, and now I was always "Slave" as his mother used. And he commanded, and never asked.
I now had even more work, as in addition to ferrying my owner and my mistress around I now had to take him out, too. He seemed to have an endless stream of new "friends" he'd met at his fancy school, and he was always going into New York, or to the local mall, to meet one or other of them. He didn't have time to play sport, and no longer even seemed interested. In spite of my tiredness and the cold of winter, I even did things like stand outside and shoot hoops myself in the hope he'd see and remember what fun it was, and come out and join in.
It was just the same in the spring break, too, and by summer it was just as if Id never been his companion - I was just part of the "fixtures and fittings" to make life easier for him. Still, at least I was physically near him, and could see him growing up.
He had a school friend come to stay in the middle of the summer vacation, and as I was cleaning the pool just before, Jamie was sitting talking to his mother who had her usual book open.
"But mom, Brett's family is rich. They'll think we're poor."
"Nonsense, Jamie. Everyone knows your grandfather is extremely wealthy, and that you will be, one day. And your father is very well respected as he's been appointed to the board that advises Congress on the humanitarian treatment of slaves. Why, only the other day there was that article he wrote for the Washington Post that talked about the humane way to circumcise slaves. You've got nothing to worry about - indeed, I think Brett's money is very much 'new' money as his father only made it by going into the slave hire business. It will be him who is amazed at the way we live - I'm sure his people don't have the family china and silver we use every night at dinner, and have to use expensive new stuff that they probably think is elegant just because it cost a lot of money."
"Yes, mom, he will be amazed! Amazed that we can live like this, almost in squalor, with only one slave! And he's not even a proper servant - just a pony, that you get to do other stuff. Brett's parents have slaves all over the house and in the grounds, and he and his parents never do anything. It's great - even if you want the TV channel changed you just tell a slave to do it and you don't have to fiddle with a remote - there's a slave in their family room kneeling behind one of the couches just to do things like that for you. What's Brett going to think when he sess you serving dinner yourself, and loading the dishwasher, and all that other stuff? And we don't have a personal slave in the bathroom...."
"Jamie, you worry unnecessarily! I grew up with slaves, and I'm perfectly happy with the way the house runs. I like cooking, and I like to make sure the table is properly laid with the fine china and silver:
it's the standards that matter, not how they are achieved! I bet Brett's mother gets her slaves to serve hamburger, whereas we dine properly on the gourmet recipes I was taught as a girl. It's Brett that will be embarrassed - I don't suppose the uneducated slaves he'd have been brought up with have been able to show him how to use a pick and callipers for eating escargots, or the correct way of piling artichoke leaves on the side of the plate when you've eaten the choke, or...."
"Mom! That's not the point! Brett has a personal slave who lays out his clothes, helps him shower, dresses him, cleans his room.... And even....."
"Even what, dear?"
"Oh, it doesn't matter."
"Go on, Jamie. What else does this personal slave do?
If it's that important to you, we can get your father to let the slave deal with Brett's things."
"NO, mom! Absolutely not! I'd die of embarrassment if you did that! For one thing, Steve's got all those tattoos."
"Well, Brett wouldn't have to see those. The slave's T mostly covers them."
"But mom.... You know.... In the shower... Brett would see the slave's thingy....."
"You're almost a man now, Jamie, and it's time you stopped this ridiculous baby talk. You mean the slave's penis, I suppose? There's nothing wrong with discussing a slave's body using the correct terms. You wouldn't call a TV's remote it's 'thingy', so why call a slave's penis anything but that?"
"OK, mom, yes. But we can't expect Brett to have to see the slave's black penis like that. Couldn't we at least sell him and buy a new one? A younger one, you know.... That would help..."
"I don't expect your father would agree to that, dear. The slave's been with us a long time - since before you were born - and he works well and we're used to his ways. And young slaves don't necessarily work better than old ones, you know. It's all a matter of training, and the way you treat them."
"Couldn't we have a young slave, mom? Please? Brett won't want an older man like the slave touching him when he's showering. We need a sixteen or seventeen year old...."
"Jamie, stop this at once. It's out of the question that we should trade the slave for a sixteen year old just so that your friend can have a younger slave to wash him in the shower! For one thing, a young slave like that wouldn't have the strength to pull the cart - look at those magnificent muscles on the slave, and think about how you like to race around the town in the trap! Now, I don't want to hear any more about this. If your friend comes he'll just have to take care of his own clothes, and I don't expect it will hurt him to have to soap himself in the shower. And I hope you tell him that he's expected to behave properly - to keep his elbows off the table, not to speak with his mouth full, not to pick at himself or scratch in public...."
"Mom, stop it! I know you're joking... We have lessons in manners at school."
"Well, I think that proves my point. When I was at school that wasn't necessary, as all my fellow pupils already knew that from their normal home life. Now, are you going to swim, as I'm about to go in and start dinner. I'm making tornedos Rossini tonight, as I know you and your father both like that."
I carried on working, my dick bobbing up and down as I used the sweep, as Jamie got up and walked across the pool area to dive in. All those lessons we'd had certainly had paid off, as he cut through the water like a knife, did "professional" underwater turns at each end, and generally looked like a considerable athlete. He was lean and lithe, and I could see the light thatch of hair forming on his chest, just as I had. I really wanted to be in there, having one of those friendly races that fathers and sons indulge in, but in our changed relationship I knew that he wouldn't tolerate a slave using the pool.
EDITOR'S NOTE
We never get to hear from Steve's notebooks how this first visit of a school friend went, as there is a break in the record and we have nothing at all for two years. When Steve's journals resume the material is patchy and fragmented and is almost just the diary of special events such as his annual medical check up from his owner, and exceptional trips that required special efforts because of the distances involved. We also know that the vet continued to visit Steve at regular intervals for sex, and that these continued to be accompanied by canings as the vet worked out his guilt - Steve no longer complains about it, and no longer seems to even enjoy the sex much: he just records the number of strokes rather laconically, noting whether they were just on his arse, or spread over his thighs and back, too. He no longer tells us how he feels as he fucks the throat or the ass of his owner, and he seems to have lost that enjoyment of the total domination of another man's body that characterises his early sexual experiences.
Steve is only forty now, and still in superb physical condition. He is well able to do all the work that's demanded of him, but he no longer visits the house next door for regular sex, and seems unenthusiastic even about casual masturbation with other ponies when waiting at the station or the mall. Normally we expect men's sexual libido to diminish in their forties, but this is generally as a result of lack of time, and the stress of modern living. Slaves, without any or the cares and concerns of the world, usually remain rampantly active well into their sixties and so Steve's virtual withdrawal from human copulation is curious. We know that it's not a physical problem, as the diaries do occasionally note that he is still masturbating each night and each morning, and producing very substantial amounts of cum. He appears to do this as a purely mechanical process, as he does not describe the fantasies he is having as he jerks himself off.
In "Slave Psychology - The Mental State Of The Slave", Professor Jilkes, head of the Department of Animal Behaviour at Berkeley, writes "It is easy to believe that as he can speak and communicate with his owner the slave shares all the same emotions and reactions with free men. However we do not regularly punish free men for things that cause them pleasure, and the link in an animal's brain between action and consequence is one that we tend to overlook. It is important that owners who use their slaves for their own sexual gratification do so in a way that is not actively abhorrent to the slave, and that whatever is done in the bedroom does not have later consequences. Of course a slave can be made to take part in whatever act the owner desires, but if the slave perceives that it leads to 'punishment', then his enthusiasm diminishes. Most owners would prefer their slaves to be at least compliant with their wishes, and few owners would want a slave who is completely supine an uninvolved in the sexual act."
It is possible that the canings that Steve receives after he has fucked his owner have indeed turned him off. He has no option but to fuck his owner "on demand", but as he does this, he knows that punishment awaits him. Indeed, the more he enjoys the sex himself and the more he humiliates his owner causing the owner's pleasure to be increased, the worse will be the subsequent punishment.
We don't think that Steve is unhappy - he seems to continue to be pleased that he's able to fulfil his function as a pony in a "professional" way, but neither is he happy.
The journals resume in full at the start of the Summer vacation when Jamie is due back from school. Jamie is now sixteen, and Steve forty one.
My mistress called me to the back door when I was sweeping the yard and told me to go to the station to meet Master Jamie from the four o'clock train. "I'm not coming with you, as his friend Brett is coming to stay with us for the summer whilst his parents are abroad in Australia. They will have a lot of luggage, so be sure the back of the trap is clean and empty."
"Ma'am, yes, ma'am."
I was excited at seeing Jamie again, not that I liked his choice of friends much. Personally, I blame Brett for much of the swaggering arrogance Jamie seems to have acquired: between him and that fancy school they go to, Jamie seems to have learned to be uncaring and unfeeling for slaves. He never speaks to me now except to give me orders, and treats me just as if I am part of the fixtures and fittings of the house.
I jog slowly down to the station and wait outside until the train from Boston is due, then go on to the "free men" part of the platform as I expect I'll have to deal with the luggage, but I'm careful to stand back against the wall and not stand to close to any of the passengers waiting to travel on to New York.
Jamie and his friend Brett simply throw out all their bags and cases down on to the platform, then saunter off whilst I collect them and load them into the trap - both of them have got at least six pieces, and it takes me some time.
"Fucking hell, Jamie, that slave's a lazy bastard!", I hear Brett say as they stand and watch, making no attempt to help. "We've been here ages. I do wish your people would get younger slaves, or more of them, or both!"
"Yes, well you know my father's attitude- he's forced it down out throats often enough when you've been staying here in the past. Still, only five years to go, and then I can start to really live."
"When you're twenty one? Is that when you get your hands on your trust fund?"
"Yes. I could have it now, but dad's one of the trustees and he won't release any. He says I don't need a personal body slave as it's unsuitable for an adolescent boy. But now I'm sixteen, I'm going to ask him again - after all, it's legal for me to fuck now. And I'm going to tell him that it's only postponing the inevitable - when I'm twenty one the trustees have to hand over all the money, and I can do what I like. I'm going to tell him that it's unfair to make me wait to spend my money on a personal slave... Or does he like me having aching balls all the time?"
Brett laughed, and joshed Jamie, saying "Hey, the last thing anyone would think you've got is aching balls! We all hear you jerking off all night in the dorm. And you and I..... Well, I know those big, low hangers of yours couldn't possibly ache after all the exercise we give them!"
Oh shit! Were Jamie and Brett having sex? I'd wanted Jamie to grow up and get married, and have kids of his own...
"Say, Jamie, about that.... What will your folks think if we bring girls back and fuck them?"
"They'll go ballistic! I don't think anyone has sex under our roof! Not even mom and dad any more - in fact, I don't think they've had sex since he got her knocked up with me! No, we're going to have to do it in the trap, or at their house. Or we could go to a motel - there's enough around here. Remember that fun night last week when we took that girl to that crappy place up the road from school? Fucking hell, Brett, I thought we were going to get complaints as she made so much noise as you porked her."
"Yes, silly cunt! What did she think as going to happen when two studs took her to a motel? Only one of her and two of us - she was OK when you fucked her and I watched, but when I came on as the second course, she started making all that noise!"
"Yes, all that 'But Jamie, I love you...' crap and all that sobbing as she tried to get me to make you stop."
I'd finished loading now, and stood there until Master Jamie acknowledged me. "Sir, please sir, we can go whenever you wish, sir."
"About fucking time, slave! Come on, Brett, move yourself...."
We set off and it was tough as I went uphill with these two lads - no, men - and all their luggage. Both Jamie and Brett had filled out even more since the last vacation and they were similar build. Jamie took after me, as I've told you, and so they were both now a really heavy load for me.
The sting of the whip across my thighs caused me to shout out - it was so unexpected, as Jamie did not whip me, and my mistress had almost stopped using it, too. "Faster!", Jamie snapped. "Stop dawdling. My father's far too lax on you, and you're going to have to learn to run a lot fast this Summer if you're going to carry us in the style we're accustomed to."
He slashed viciously at me legs again, and I almost stumbled and lost my footing at the intense searing on my calves. I hated being whipped, not only because of the pain, but because it was so unnecessary - I would have run s fast as I could anyway. And, deep down, I knew it was wrong for my son to be treating me this way.
When we got back to the house ~I was covered in sweat, and pulled up at the front door. My mistress came out and Jamie leapt down and hugged her.
"Jamie.... Home at last."
"Hi, mom...."
"And Brett - welcome to Scarsdale again.
"Thank you, ma'am.... It's really good of you whilst my parents are working in Australia. Even with the money dad's making they can't afford to fly me there for the holidays: dad says that it's to like the old days, when people used to vacation there all the time."
"It's no problem, Brett. We enjoy having you here. Now, I've put you two boys together in the main guest bedroom as there's been a small leak in the roof above Jamie's room, and I'm expecting the decorators next week. You don't mind sharing, do you?"
"No, mom, of course not - we're in the same dorm at school, and I'm used to Brett snoring!"
Jamie turned to me, and snapped "Get the luggage out, and take it upstairs."
"No!", my mistress said. "Look at him, Jamie, dripping with sweat like that. He'll stink the place out. Can't you and Brett just take your own things up?"
Brett had wandered off slightly looking at the house, and Jamie lowered his voice and almost whispered "Mom.... Please! It's bad enough only having one slave, but if we can't use him for the stuff any guest might expect...."
"Well I'm not having that slave with those soaking clothes going up my stairs. He might make the wallpaper damp...."
Jamie turned to me and ordered "Strip! Get those things off, rub your body down with them to get the remaining sweat off you, then get the luggage upstairs. And be quick about it!"
It was awful, having to run up and down the stairs carrying their cases naked. By now it wasn't so much the thought that my mistress and Jamie and his friend would see me naked as they'd all done this lots of times before. No, it was more about being naked inside a house, with carpets on the floor, nice furniture, all that kind of stuff. Somehow it made me feel much more strange that being simply naked out of doors, by the pool.
As I carried the last bag in, Brett was sitting on one of the two single beds and Jamie was opening the first of his bags.
"Jamie, sport... Maybe this vacation isn't going to be so bad after all."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, look at the ass on your slave! Even if we can't have girls back here, there's no reason why we can't have a bit of sport - he looks like a great fuck."
"No, we can't fuck Steve..."
"Why not? He's only a slave! And we're both over sixteen, so it's all legal. I know he's a bit repulsive to look at, but if we turn the lights out...."
"Well.... I've never done it before. And I don't know what my dad would say abut fucking a slave - he's really straight-laced and I don't think he's ever fucked anyone but my mom: they married as soon as they left college, you know."
I thought to myself "if only you knew.... 'Straight-laced', indeed!"
"If you're done, get out of here!", Jamie snapped, and I bowed lightly and left. All the same, I was worried about what I'd heard. I don't take it up the ass, as you know, and I thought that Brett wasn't thinking of me fucking him, quite the contrary!.
Well, nothing much happened for four days until my owner and my mistress were going for the night to the city. Of course I'd been almost run off my feet ferrying the young men around to their friends, and the yard was beginning to look really scruffy as I hadn't had time to cut the grass. We'd got back after one long, hot trip though and the two of them decided to go swimming straight away. I hadn't even got the trap into the garage when I heard Master Jamie shouting "Get around here, slave! This pool's a fucking disgrace!"
I went around to find that there were a number of dead wasps floating on the surface that the skimmer hadn't cleared, and so I went to get the net to clear them away. I was dripping with sweat from my run, and the water looked so inviting - I'd have loved to jump in and cool off.
I started to fish for the wasps, then Jamie shouted "Fucking slave! How many times has my mother told you - slaves cleaning pools do it naked!"
"Sir, sorry, sir... I thought you just wanted the dead wasps out quickly..."
"Slaves don't fucking think, you ignoramus! Get out of those clothes, and get those fucking wasps out of the water as Mast Brett and I want to go for a swim."
"Whilst he's doing that I'll go and get my shorts", Master Brett told Master Jamie.
"Hey, Brett... Don't rush about, as it's so hot. My folks are out.... Why don't we just do it 'au naturel'?"
As he spoke, Jamie stripped off his clothes and stood there on the edge of the pool. My heart almost skipped a beat, as he looked so much like me at sixteen - in the first flush of manhood, his belly and chest with a nice thatch of hair, and his muscles now assuming the proper masculine hardness as his body grew from being a youth, to a man. Brett was in good shape, too, and I supposed the two young men were such good friends as they shared a liking for sport.
They raced up and down the pool, obviously enjoying the competition, then stood close together n the shallow end, their dicks just under the water.
"Hey, man, that was great", Master Brett said to Master Jamie. "You know what would be a perfect way to round off the afternoon?"
"No, what?"
"A good fuck! Come on, look at your slave - he's got an ass that looks ripe for reaming." His tone changed and he looked at me and snapped "Get in here and get that sweat off you."
I looked at Master Jamie, and he shouted "You heard Master Brett - do you think we want to fuck something covered in animal sweat?"
I was horrified, but, almost as if on autopilot, I executed a perfect dive into the pool, then struck out and did four perfect lengths, just as I used to in the old days.
I went and stood by the two men, and Mast Brett said "Hey, he's a good swimmer."
"Yes - he taught me to swim."
"Your family's had him that long then?"
"Yes, as long as I can remember. He's always been here. My dad bought him before I was born. You know, Brett, I hadn't noticed before - but he has got a great ass. Which of us is going to go first, and who's going to have to take sloppy seconds?"
"Well, Jamie, I'm the guest so you ought to let me go first. But if it's your first time with the slave... Have you really not fucked him before?"
"No - as I say, my folks are pretty strict about that sort of thing. But as I'm sixteen now, they can't stop me fucking anything I can get my dick into, can they?"
Both men laughed, and pulled themselves out of the pool, telling me to follow them.
"Jack that dick of yours and lube your ass", Master Jamie told me curtly. I felt sick at the thought of what was going to happen, and at having to jerk off in front of them. I just stood there, dumbly. No man likes to jerk off in front of a very young guy does he, even if he's got nothing at all to be ashamed of as regards his body, dick, or balls.
"Do you think the slave knows how to jerk off?", Master Brett asked, jokingly. "With balls like that, he must do, so what's stopping him? Do as your master orders, slave!"
I knelt down on the pool tiles, feeling their heat on my knees, then trying to keep my head bowed as I didn't want them seeing the tears starting to form in the corners of my eyes as I did this humiliating thing in front of them. I stroked my dick into life and started to beat away. It was awful! I was years older than these two, and was having to kneel in front of them and jerk off - and Jamie was my son! I don't know how I did it - except, of course, that the body's reflexes take over, don't they, and enough stimulation to your dick and you're bound to shoot.
I looked up, and saw that both young men were erect, too, standing their playing with their dicks as they watched me.
"Right, slave - bend over the table, and let's see you massage some of your cock snot into your ass - or do you want me to fuck you dry?", Master Jamie commanded.
I felt the wood of the table hard on my chest as I lay down and opened my legs, I reached behind me to feel for my hole.... And something inside me snapped. No, this wasn't right... It wasn't right that my son was about to rape me.
I got up, and said, quietly, "Sir, I'm sorry, sir. But I can't do this, sir."
Both of them were utterly astonished when I strode off and said not a word, and I went to my room and shut the door.
There was hell to pay the following day when my owner was back from the City, of course. I was summoned into his surgery where Master Jamie and Master Brett were already standing, and my owner just said "Strip, and get in the caning position over the table."
I saw all three men's eyes on me as I pulled off my T and shorts, and went and did as he said - punishment was inevitable, I knew.
"Right, Jamie... The slave disobeyed you. So you can punish him. You're a man now, and it's time you learned how to cane a disobedient slave."
Those twelve strokes he gave me hurt more than any I'd ever had before. It wasn't just the force of them, administered by a strong, virile, fit sixteen year old who made no pretence at holding back. No, it was the thought that it was my own son who was doing it to me.
Id' loved him all his life and now he was doing this to me.
When it was over my owner told me to stand, and dismissed the two men. "Just behave, Steve", he said quietly. "It can't be that bad just to let the lads use your ass. I know you like to top, but where's the harm in taking it once or twice?"
"Sir! It's not that, sir! But Jamie's my son! A son doesn't fuck his father...."
"Shut up! I told you never to mention that. Never! Never ever!"
"But its not right. I am his father. It's me who fucked his mother, not you. I'm the man whose fertile seed produced Jamie, not you...."
"Shut the fuck up! Do you think that just producing a few millilitres of sperm makes you a father? No, it's me who's his father, me who's brought him up...."
"You're no father. You never had time for Jamie. I taught him to swim, to play sport. I read to him at night, helped him to learn to write. I...."
"That's it, Steve! I won't have this from a slave! I warned you that there would be dire consequences if you ever spoke about the circumstances surrounding Jamie's conception..." Even now, he was using this strange circumlocution as if he couldn't bring himself to face what had happened properly.
"I'm anyway going to punish you for speaking to me in this way in the most severe fashion. But think on - you say you're Jamie's father. Would a father really put Jamie through what you're doing?"
"What the fuck..."
"Typical! You just don't think, do you? If he was to learn that he was fathered by a slave, it would destroy him. His life would be over. So, if you do care anything about him at all, never mention any of this again!"
I had been in a huge temper, and almost uncontrollable rage. But his words stopped me in my tracks. He was right... I couldn't say anything more about all of this.
"Sir... I'm sorry, sir.... I wasn't thinking.... You're right, sir."
"Yes, Steve, Owners are always right. We think through the consequences of our actions, whereas slaves just act like unthinking animals. But your behaviour is not going to go unpunished. Get out into the cart, and we're going downtown to the public whip master. You're going to get a flogging you'll never forget!."
I went to pick up my clothes, and he snapped "NO! You'll go naked. I want everyone to see that a slave has so displeased his owner that he's going to be driven naked to the whip master's, flogged to within an inch of his life, then driven back dripping with blood. This is a day you're never going to forget. Now, go out and get in the shafts!"
Just then the telephone rang, and he listened intently and made a few curt remarks.
"You're reprieved, temporarily. I have an important client coming. Go to your room. Stay naked. And once I have finished with this appointment, we're going straight downtown. And, if you love Jamie, say nothing to him at all."
"Sir, yes, sir."
I slunk back to my room, and I've just written this entry to try to take my mind off what's happened. But I see the client has gone, and any minute now I expect my owner will come and demand me to drive him, totally naked, down to the public whip master. I've never been whipped by one of those experts before, but I have seen the result of a bull whip hitting a man, a bull whip wielded by one of their fantastically strong specialists. What will become of me?
End Of Part 29