You Can't Be Friends With a Slave

YOU CAN'T BE FRIENDS WITH A SLAVE, Part twenty seven

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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The bastards didn't even feed me the morning when I was due to appear in court. And they laughed when I politely asked if I could shower. I was at last put into a cell and I could then crap, and try to clean myself up as far as possible with the toilet tissue. Then I just sat there on the edge of the pallet, waiting for the inevitable. I wondered if it was like being collared - once the judge had signed the papers, would I be taken by Office Hughes to the other side of the court room and gelded there? I supposed it would hurt, and I didn't think they'd consider giving me an anaesthetic, so I guessed I was going to be shrieking and shouting as the scalpel cut into my sac. But then, would they use a scalpel? Did they have some machine or other - rather like those things they use to cut the ends off cigars - they'd put my balls in and the iris would close and slice through? On the other hand, weren't they always talking about prosthetic testicles, so that I kept the "look", and hadn't Billy-Joe said at some point said that he'd even thought of giving me really heavy stainless-steel balls, so that my sac would be really stretched? It was ironic, wasn't it, that the bastard who enslaved me and who was always talking about gelding never had it done, whereas master Rafe, who said he was "firm but fair", was actually going through with it? And what then? Was he going to sell me, or was I going to have to live out my life at his establishment, always being known as a gelding?

By the time I was taken up to the court I was really depressed, and I looked terrible - the lack of sleep had left dark bags under my eyes, and as I hadn't shaved, I had a thick, dark "five o'clock shadow" all over my face. I was hungry, and I knew my skin would be looking all sallow, instead of shining with good health as it usually did. And there were big red patches, or even bruises, on my butt where they'd spanked and paddled me.

The court was full - I suppose it always was for slave cases, as people would want to see guys stripped, or gelded. As I looked around at the public gallery I didn't see anyone I recognised. They led me up the slave entrance - a flight of steps up from under the court into a caged area, and Officer Hughes stood behind me, the contrast between his uniform and my nakedness pointing out to everyone that he was free and I was a slave. I remembered my previous time here, how embarrassed I'd been when my clothes had been stripped off me and I was naked in public for the first time. Now, I didn't give a shit - Billy-Joe's use of me had seen to that.

The courtroom doors opened and master Rafe came in, accompanied by a lawyer. He took one look at me, and seemed to be shocked. He went to come over to me, but his lawyer took him by the arm and led him over to a table, where they both sat down. He continued to stare at me, and I wondered if he felt guilty about what he was about to happen to me.

"All rise!", the usher shouted, and the judge came in and sat down. "Case 10483, the slave known as Steve, SIN.....", the usher intoned. The judge looked up from his papers, and peered down at me. "I see from your history that you were a voluntary enslavement, subsequently changed to servitude for life by petition of your then owner. Slavery is a serious business, young man, and not to be taken lightly. The Court does not look lightly on these constant changes of mind on the part of your owners about your future. You are a slave, and that is a perfectly respectable role in our great society. We need slaves, just as much as we need free men, in order that we can continue to maintain those great values that made our country what it is."

What the fuck was he going on about, I wondered.

"The Court was disinclined to agree to your owner's request...."

Oh good, so perhaps I wasn't going to get snipped....

".... as a slave should be just that, a slave. But, after many petitions and submissions from your owner's lawyers, I have reluctantly decided to agree."

Oh, fuck me. That bastard. I wonder how much he'd paid those fucking lawyers?

"Consequently I now pronounce you once again to be a free man, Mr Harris."

"Guard", he continued "Take this man and remove his collar."

I was in an absolute daze. Officer Hughes took me by the arm again and over to the table where I'd been bent all that time ago so that my collar could be fixed. Now I had to bend over again, and once more I knew they'd all be looking at my ass, as they sawed away at the tough steel links. It seemed to take for ever, an there was an excited buzz of conversation from the audience as they admired my body. There was a kind of "clunk" noise, and the chain fell away on to the table, and Harris pulled at my arm to get me to stand upright.

It just didn't feel right without that weight around my neck - after so long wearing two or three pounds of steel around my throat I felt somehow different: my head felt as if it could reach upwards to the sky. I felt with my fingers around me neck, enjoying the sensation for the first time for so long of being able to feel all my neck without that band of steel around it.

Harris led me back in front of the judge. There was a lot of excited noise from the watching crowd, and he banged his gavel for silence.

"Mr Harris, I do not want to see you in here again. I will tolerate no more games. If you voluntarily enslave yourself again you will automatically be enslaved for life, and that time it really will be for life. This Court upholds the institutions of our society, and slavery is a serious business, not something a young man can play with as some sort of strange sexual fetish: look at you, you are a disgrace! Playing at slavery by having those words tattooed over your body. It will not do, Mr Harris, it will not do at all. There are many, many slaves in our society to whom slavery is a serious business, not something to be tried out, then set aside, as you now seem to be doing."

"But your honour...."

"Silence, Mr Harris! If you wish me to sign this paper, your formal petition of freedom, you will remain silent. I do not want to hear your pathetic excuses for why your little game of voluntary enslavement has suddenly gone wrong and you wish to return to that enviable status of freedom that real men enjoy."

What the hell, I thought. If that's how he saw it, who cared. I was free! I couldn't believe it!

"Guard - give that man a cloak. It's not satisfactory for a free man to parade his nakedness in public like that. It demeans slaves, who must appear here in a state of nudity to reflect their status in life, to have a free man disporting himself in public like that."

Officer Hughes draped a long grey cloak around my shoulders, the judge banged is gavel, and I was led down the stairs. That bastard's attitude had changed completely: only a few hours ago he'd been raping my throat. A few minute ago he'd threatened me with the discipliner up my ass as I climbed the stairs into the court. And now it was "This way, please, Mr Harris".

In the slave area underneath the court they didn't know what to do - evidently it had been a long time since anyone had been granted freedom. Normally the slave was led down naked and thrown into a cage, as I had been, to await collection by his owner. They could hardly cage me, as I was a free man, but, apart form the cloak, I was naked and without resources.

Officer Hughes offered me a chair by the desk on which he and the other guard did their paperwork, and went to fetch me a coffee! I sat there, still in a daze. Master Rafe wasn't going to have me gelded - I was here because he'd wanted to free me! How could I have been so wrong? How could I have misjudged him so? How could I have doubted his love for me? I felt shattered inside - the man I loved, who owned me, who I wanted to serve, had been betrayed by me: I'd seen him as a foul, evil pervert, and had forgotten how much he cared for me. I was ashamed, and sat there, head bowed, feeling dreadful.

"Steve..."

His voice was calm, quiet. I was frozen, ashamed, confused... I just sat there.

"Hey, Steve... This isn't what I expected!"

His strong fingers were under my chin, and he lifted my head up so that I had to look him in the face.

"I give a guy the best birthday present he could ever hope for, and all I get is this sullen look? I was expecting at least a 'thank you'. Maybe even a kiss...? Or a hug? Or a great shout of joy..?"

I got to my feet, slowly. This wasn't the way I usually did, as he was my owner and slaves stood quickly in the presence of their owners. No, this was slow, as I had to control my anger.

I towered over him, and almost spat out "Bastard! You had me dragged here in that slave carrier, then they raped me...."

"What?" He sounded genuinely shocked.

"Yes... Stripped at your place. Herded around like a parcel, my destination tag screwed to my nip - look..." I let my cloak fall open so he could see the mark on my sensitive nip, where the screw had been tightened too much. "Then here, last night - spit roasted, I think they call it: that oaf there fucking my throat, and the other bastard raping my ass..."

"Steve... It wasn't meant to be like this... I knew I couldn't get back in time, but I wanted you to be free on your birthday. So I arranged transport for you to the court. I used a reputable company - I thought they'd send a cab or something, as you were coming along to be freed...."

I looked at him. Could he be telling the truth?

"You don't know how hard this had been, Steve. The courts just don't free many slaves, you know. The slavery laws are really severe - once you're a slave, you're a slave for life, normally with no possibility of manumission. That's what makes it such a powerful deterrent to criminals - no reduction in sentence, no remission... Slavery means slavery for life. And in your case it was even harder - as you heard, the judge thinks you changed your mind, that you volunteered for this as some sort of game, and now you want out.... I tell you, it's taken a long time, and cost me a small fortune in lawyers' fees, and bribes of course."

"Bribes?"

"Well, donations to the judge's chosen political party, actually. You ended up costing me more than you would have if I'd had to go along to an auction and purchased you. But what's this about rape...? These are officers of the Court.... Surely you'd be safe here....?"

He turned angrily to Officer Hughes and the young guy, and snapped "Is this true? Did you rape this man? Rape is an enslavement offence, you know: how are you going to feel when you're down here, naked, stripped of those uniforms, waiting for the slave transporter...?"

The young officer almost sneered. "Sir, please calm yourself. By definition, rape is only something that a man can do to a woman, or another man. The only men here last night were officer Hughes and myself. There was a slave, too - a slave who had been wilful and uncooperative and who needed to be put into the stocks. It is the custom here always to try to calm these slaves by using them sexually - a bout of sex does after all calm most slaves down."

"You raped him, then, as he said. I'll make a complaint..."

"Sir, it won't succeed. Lack of evidence, and lack of victim!"

"Don't be stupid! This man will testify...."

"Sir, this man cannot testify to anything that happened here last night. He only came into existence as a legal entity a few moments ago. He is unable to testify to what occurred before then, by definition."

"Don't swap legalities with me! He was here...."

"No, sir. A slave was here. And slaves cannot testify in court. As I said, there is no crime as such, as rape is not recognised for slaves. Perhaps the slave was mistreated, but that's always hard to prove as officers of the Court are allowed wide discretion in dealing with unruly slaves. But there are no witnesses - the slave could not testify, and no longer exists anyway. And the free man we have here could testify, but by definition cannot speak about things that happened last night."

I touched master Rafe on the shoulder. "Please, master, let it lie... Don't upset yourself."

"But Steve, it's not right."

"There' a lot of things not right about being a slave, master... I guess that was just one of them."

"Steve, I'm not your master any longer - you're a free man. Just call me Rafe, OK?"

Thoughts raced through my brain. I tried saying internally "Yes, Rafe", and it just didn't sound right. He saw me standing there, blank faced, and said "It kind of went wrong, didn't it...? I wanted to give you a surprise on your birthday. And look how it's turned out."

"Why didn't you tell me? I had hours of hell... No, not the rape... That was later.... Hours of hell thinking that you'd tired of me, that you were sending me away, selling me.... And then, when I arrived here, that it was for a gelding order..."

"Oh, Steve... We have got it wrong, haven't we? I thought you loved me. I love you, you know. How could you think that I'd send you away, or sell you? And would I want you to lose those balls, those balls that have given me so much enjoyment...?"

"You never said you loved me..."

"Yes, I did. It was you who was always going on about it, always telling me about how buddies behaved. That's what I couldn't do, Steve..."

"What do you mean?"

"A master can love a slave. He owns him, and many masters love their possessions. But they can also love them, truly love them, as one man loves another. I thought you knew that. But you always wanted to be 'buddies', to be friends. And that's different - two men can only be friends if they have something in common, common interests, shared life experiences, growing up together... all that stuff. A master can't be friends with a slave, Steve - you've heard enough people tell you that, I'm sure. Masters and slaves are just too different. But I listened to you, and I wanted that - I wanted your friendship. And the only way I could get that - if I'm lucky and work at it - is to make you a free man once more, and then try to earn it. And now I seem to have fucked it up - we haven't got this friendship off to a very good start, have we?"

I wanted to throw my arms around him and hug him and kiss him. But that's not what buddies do in public, is it? Instead, I reached out, and for the first time in so many years shook hands with him. We looked at each other as we held our grip, and we both broke out into broad smiles.

"You can't be friends with a slave, Rafe", I said, "But masters and slaves can fuck each other. Can friends do that, too?"

"Oh yes, Steve! Friends can fuck each other.... And there are some other changes underway, too. Now... I think you'll like these clothes...."

He'd brought in a short sleeved shirt, Jeans and boots, just like his own. I threw off the cloak, and was strangely conscious of being naked in front of the men in a way I hadn't been as a slave; especially as all these men had not only seen me naked, but had used me sexually. The shirt felt really odd on my torso, as did having my thighs and calves covered. And I was really uncomfortable as I pulled on the boots as I'd had bare feet for so long and my soles were thickly calloused.

We walked out together, and I was expecting him to drive us back to the training establishment. But instead, we walked around the corner to the big hotel, and went up to a large suite.

"I guess you didn't sleep much last night...", he said. "You look tired. Why not have a couple of hours before I take you out to a birthday lunch.. .? We have a lot to talk about."

I was really glad to kick off my boots, and wiggled my toes luxuriously in the deep carpet. It felt somehow odd stripping off in front of this guy, even though I'd done it hundreds of times before - was I already starting to become a "man" again? I walked naked into the bathroom and showered, and walked back into the bedroom, towelling myself dry. I saw him still looking at my body, and felt strangely shy.

I pulled back the covers and slid between the sheets - not starched and crisp as I was used to, but normal hotel ones. Still, no matter. He sat there watching me, then said "Well, I'll get a couple of hours, too, as I caught the overnight flight from the coast."

I lay there watching him as he pulled off his shirt and jeans, then, in his boxers, started to pull back the covers on the other bed in the suite.

"Hey, Rafe... I thought we were supposed to be buddies now... Can't buddies share a bed? Get your ass over here, as there's only one thing I want for my birthday.... It's you... Or, rather, your ass..."

He almost threw himself at me, and our sex was more passionate, more intense, than it had ever been before. We didn't get lunch. We just lay there, in each others arms, just enjoying the feeling of closeness and togetherness of two men who had at last found what they wanted. About four o'clock I nudged him with my elbow, causing him to grin. "Hey, Rafe - shouldn't we be going home?"

"There is no home, Steve. I sold it. I wasn't on a trip to visit the slave dealers - I was tying up the sale of the business. One of the big vertical slave conglomerates wanted to move into the market for young white slaves, and made me a great offer for the business - we've got a solid reputation, you know, and it was worth it to them to buy me out, rather than trying to enter this part of the business from scratch - it's very specialised, you know, getting those lads to be good slaves without buggaring them and spoiling their new owners' fun in taking their cherries."

"And anyway", he went on, "It would be hard for you to go back there as a free man - Richie and all the other slaves had seen you naked, you'd fucked with all of them, and I've studded you with Luella... Much better we make a fresh start together, somewhere else."

"Doing what, exactly?"

"Oh, I don't know... I'm a rich man now you know, and I can afford to subsidise a real friend."

"But Rafe, what about Richie...? And Luella...? And, look, well, I guess I've got a kid on the way..."

"A son, actually, Steve. I had to keep studding you with her as she kept spawning girls, so they needed to be aborted. But the last time it was a son, and she'll bear it in three months."

"My son...? What's going to happen? And what's going to happen to Richie and the others?"

"Look, Steve, face the realities of life as a man in the modern world, will you? I guess Richie and the others will be fine - the new owners have bought a thriving business, which they want to grow and expand, and it's Richie and the others who know how to run the place. Sure, they'll put in some of those college graduates to do cost accounting and all that sort of stuff, the place will be tied up in red tape as they do risk assessments and equal opportunity reviews and all that crap, but they'll need Richie and the crew to actually make it work. But it's no concern of yours - they're slaves, and what happens to them is their new owner's concern, not yours."

"But they're my friends.. And there's my son..."

"Steve, get real! They're not your friends. You can't be friends with slaves. And although you're the sire, the kid will be a slave, too, as he'll be born to a slave mother. He'll be no better off, and no worse off, that all those other kids you sired when Billy-Joe was studding you. I'd guess half the 'breeds who'll be coming to market around here in a few years time will be your sons - forget it! Just because you pushed some of your seed up their mothers, it doesn't mean you have to be concerned about them. They're slaves, probably good-looking, strong slaves, if your genes go through well, so they should have a good life."

I lay there, thinking. I suppose he was right. I mean, even amongst free men there are enough guys who get women pregnant and then leave, aren't there? I think I read somewhere that it's a genetic instinct for a man to want to spread his genes as widely as possible - so perhaps I shouldn't try to buck millions of years of evolution.

"Anyway, we're booked to fly to Europe next week..... We need a break, and when we come back, we'll look around for something to do together. Do you want to be my business partner, as well as the guy I fuck?"

I flipped him over onto his belly, hauled his butt up into the air, pushed his shoulders down, and gave him a good hard fucking, just to remind him that we were supposed now to be equals anyway. And afterwards, we did sleep a bit, curled up companionably together.

Before we went out to dinner I wanted to exercise - I get fretful and stressed if I don't really use my muscles hard at least once a day (and sex doesn't count!). I then started to discover the dreadful prejudices people have.

Rafe thrust a bundle of money at me and said he wanted to stay in bed recovering, so I went out myself and bought some exercise shorts, a singlet, and some Speedos, and a few other things. The hotel had a big health club and pool, and I thought I'd work out there. It was really odd to be in shops, spending money again - I'd never bought anything since I was enslaved, and always had to wait outside, in the shafts of the rickshaw, when Billy-Joe went shopping.

Back at the hotel I presented my room key at the Health Club, and went in to change. It was pathetic, really - you were supposed to huddle in tiny cubicles to undress, as if you were ashamed of exposing your dick to other men! I pulled on my shorts and singlet in the tiny space, though, as that's all there was - no good communal bench where you could spread yourself, as there had been when I was playing football. Then I went out into the exercise area, adjusted the running machine for "fast" and "Steep hill" and began pounding away. I'd only been going a few minutes - I'd barely broken out into a sweat - when the guy in charge, a nicely set-up twenty four year old just out of college from doing sports centre management or something, I'd guess, came over and switched off my machine.

"Hey, boy... Get out of here. Can't you fucking well read? It says on the door 'slaves not allowed."

I was astonished! This was an expensive hotel, and we had a big suite. And this puppy was downright rude.

"Hey, what happened to courtesy around here? Do you always speak to guests like that?"

"I don't care if your owner is a guest, boy. He isn't allowed to send you down here to the Health Club. Men don't like exercising with slaves. Now get the fuck out of here, before I fetch a discipliner."

I grabbed hold of the material of his polo shirt and almost dragged him off his feet. "Listen, bud, I'm not

a slave. So keep a civil tongue in your head. I'm a free man, like you, understand? And I'm a client, and I've a good mind to send for the manager..."

He was confused, and apologetic. "Sir, I'm sorry, sir... But one of the other members here saw a slave brand and tattoo on your arm..."

I thrust myself towards him. "You mean this?"

"Yes, sir..."

"Look, boy" (I deliberately use the insulting word he'd used to me). "My buddy and I we like to play, see. He's my master, and I'm his slave. Now, fuck off, and go and do your paperwork, or jerk yourself off, or do whatever else you do in that office of yours. Or would you like to play, too - come and join my master and me, and we'll use that cute young body of yours to give you the thrill of a lifetime..." It really turned me on to be able to be so coarse and crude to a free man again, after having to keep myself so constantly in check for all this time.

He turned to go, and I called out "Tell that cocksucker of a member that slaves wear collars, remember?"

Somehow I'd thrilled at this exchange. It was good not to be subservient all the time again. And I realised for the first time that I'd spoken to another man sexually - I'd as much as admitted that Rafe and I were together... And I'd even said the guy had a cute body... How I'd changed - before enslavement I'd never had admitted things like that, even if I'd had those thoughts. And I'd never have dreamed of calling a guy "cute" to his face. Now, I just didn't care - it was, after all, perfectly natural to like men.

There was trouble in the pool, too. I'd rather have swum naked, but had gone to all the trouble of buying some racing Speedos. Now all those who chose to look could see both my slave brands (as the one on my ass was below the line of the brief trunks), and, of course, there were my tattoos on my belly and back. I was doing racing lengths in a fast crawl, when the pool guard motioned me to stop at the end of one lap.

"Please, sir.... We've had complaints... A mother said you were frightening her child...."

"What?"

"Your tattoos, sir. The child is afraid that you'll attack her, as she's not used to being with slaves..."

"I'm not a slave."

"Yes, sir. But the child thinks you are, and is scared. And we don't want upset kids, do we, sir?"

"So tell the mother to take the brat out of here! I wouldn't think you'd want upset patrons either, would you?"

"Sir, please..."

"Look, I'm swimming, right? I've paid for it. If the kid is upset, for no reason, then it's the mother's problem, not mine. Now, get out of my way..."

"Sir, please.. . Help me out on this... Look, I'm just the pool guard. I'm still at college. The lady's the wife of the Dean...."

"That's your problem, bud. If she's bringing the kid up to be scared of guys with tattoos, that's her problem. You shouldn't tolerate prejudice, you know. And I need to exercise, to keep this body the way it is..." I could see the guy looking at me as I stood there in my tiny Speedos, and for the first time I saw that flicker if interest that I now know happens all the time when a guy really fancies you. It had never occurred to me before that men sent signals like that.

"Sir.... I understand, sir.... But perhaps a massage, and then you could swim later...?"

I hauled myself out of the water, and saw him appraising my whole body. He led me off to the massage room, and lowered the blinds. He was surprised when I just dropped the Speedos and stood there stark naked, but I saw his eyes drop immediately to my dick. I climbed up onto the massage table, and lay there. He went to cover my middle with a towel, but I told him to leave it off.

He poured oil into his palm, and started to massage my pecs - it felt good. And, as you know, when someone touches my nips, my dick gets hard. He saw it, of course, and started to blush.

I took hold of his wrist, and moved his hand down my body - he couldn't resist, even had he wanted to (and I don't think he did!).

"Now, massage that...", I said, wrapping his fingers around my shaft. But before you do.. .why am I the only one in here naked? Don't your clients like to see you the same way?

He was reluctant to strip - I had to almost pull his polo off him before he understood he had no choice. But he was a good masseur - I suppose, as I'd never had that done to me before. But there is something undeniably erotic about having a young naked lad rubbing oil all over you and kneading your muscles: and no, I didn't fuck him. But it was probably a better way to pass the time, than thrashing up and down the pool (but I'm not sure it's as good for your muscles).

Over dinner that night Rafe told me we were going to travel - he wanted to see Europe, and do all the touristy stuff. But I wasn't so sure - I just wanted to live a normal life for a bit, to have a proper home, somewhere to call my own. We kind of argued all night, carrying on long after we should have been asleep. Not serious arguments, just trying to see each others' point of view.

We called room service for breakfast, and the waiter looked really startled to see us both obviously naked together under the thin sheet - what was happening to America, I wondered: didn't people in hotels fuck any more? I was in a playful mood and tipped the jelly out into Rafe's navel, then used it on my toast from there, finally ending up by licking the remainder out slowly and sensuously with my tongue. He in turn kept taking big mouthfuls of orange juice, then kissing me, so that the cold juice ran from his mouth into mine, followed by his hot tongue. We laughed and giggled, and I don't think either of us had "played" like this before, almost like kids.

Afterwards, I washed him in the shower, and knelt to suck his dick as I did so. He wanted me to stop, but I said "This is what slaves do, master...", and we both almost fell over, we were laughing so much.

OK, Steve, you win", he said as we were both dressing.

"Master, what?"

"Hey, Steve... Rafe, remember? You win - I can't deny you anything. Lets' find a place, get a business going, and we'll go to Europe next year..."

"Master, look... Yesterday... It was fun.... Dinner, sex, breakfast his morning... We laughed a lot, it was great.. But it's not working for me."

He was at once serious. He put his arm around my shoulder as he had once before and led me over to the couch. We sat close together, his arm still around me, and he asked quietly "What's wrong, Steve, tell me about it... Come on, we're buddies now.. .that's what friends are for... what's wrong?"

"Master, I want to be your friend. I really do. But it's not the same. The sex last night was mechanically perfect - better than it's ever been in that respect.. but... well... I'm used to being your slave, to you being in charge... And its' not the same for me... No, it's not as good for me..."

"Steve, I wasn't always in charge... You fucked me lots of times. And you can be rough..."

"Yes, master. But when I fucked you, it was because I knew you wanted me to, even though you didn't say so, and you were my owner. And I was rough because you liked it. I got my pleasure from doing what you wanted, master, even when you didn't explicitly ask. And now..."

"Can't you do those things for me as my friend, Steve?"

"It's not the same! Please, master, let's go back to the way we were. Treat me as your slave, master."

"Steve, I can't... You're not a slave now."

"Yes I am, master. I'll always belong to you..."

I got up, leaving him sitting there dressed, and slowly stripped off my clothes to stand there naked in front of him. I knelt down in front of him and bowed my head, and said, calmly "Master, you once taught me about fucking. You thrashed me with a cane until I was almost senseless, then you fucked me. It was what I needed. You taught me that a slave does whatever his master wants, not what he wants. But I think that there was another lesson there, too - that a master can control his slave by punishment, by the tawse, the whip and the cane. You beat me, master, carrying on long after I was almost insensitive to the pain as I'd taken so much. You needed to do that, didn't you, master, to exert your control totally and completely? You need to control, as much as I need to obey."

I got to my feet, and went and fetched something else I'd bough the day before - why, I don't know. I think I'd justified the purchase on the basis that it was going to be a "surprise" birthday present for myself, to make master Rafe laugh. Or perhaps my brain had worked this out somehow, deep down.

I handed master Rafe the four foot Malacca, and went and bent over the back of the couch so that my ass was exposed to him.

"I am your slave, master", I called. "Show me you care enough about your slave to discipline him, and show him that you mean to continue to rule his life."

End Of Part Twenty Seven.

YOU CAN'T BE FRIENDS WITH A SLAVE, Part twenty eight

Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

SLAVE MASTER

I think he planned to only cane me symbolically - he wanted to do what was right by me, and thought that a few light strokes would give me what I needed, the assurance that he loved me and wanted me.

The strokes landed on my bare butt gently at first, then they became harder. He stood back to give himself a bigger swing, and the "swish" of the cane through the air was soon accompanied by agonising pain shooting through my muscles, and it was all I could do to carry on lying there. I gritted my teeth and remembered that first time when I had declined to be manacled, as I was a man, not a wimp. Now I needed to prove to myself that I really was a free man, a man who could choose to lie there and take this beating from my master.

We seemed to communicate somehow - I needed be caned harder, and he understood this. And at the same time he wanted to strike ever more savage blows, as he was turned on by the need to discipline and control slaves: even though I was free, there remained some desire in him to exert that control he enjoyed.

The blows rained down, and soon it was all I could do to stop screaming out loud with their sheer savagery. I then felt something warm trickling down my thighs - and I knew that the fury of his attack had broken my skin, and I was again bleeding. I did pass out this time, but it only stopped him briefly - he slapped my face to bring me round, half dragged me into the bathroom and sprayed my body with icy water to fully revive me. He put his hand on my neck and squeezed it tight to give me that feeling of being under his control, and led me back into the bedroom and thrust me once more down across the back of the couch. He started again, and the hurt was even greater.

Finally, he was exhausted. He stood there, his chest heaving, his shirt soaked through with sweat from his efforts. I just lay there. I couldn't do anything else. I didn't think I could ever move again.

I was aware that he was stripping - I heard the clunk of his belt buckle as it hit the floor. Then, above the wall of pain that was submerging my senses, I felt it - that unmistakable feel of his dick pushing at my sphincter.

With no lube, no massage, no preparation, it must have hurt. Well, it did hurt - it's funny, isn't it - you don't think you can experience any more pain, and yet when a different one comes along, it's there all right. He just fucked me, brutally, hard, with no tenderness, no love: this was just one strong man exerting his domination and control over another. Then he went and sat on the edge of the bed, and shouted "Get over here, slave... There's work to be done..."

I managed, somehow, to get off the couch, and I almost had to crawl across the floor. I knew my blood was trickling down into the carpet. I was on my hands and knees in front of him, and he pointed at his now-flaccid dick. "Clean me up!"

His chest was still heaving from his efforts, and he was covered in sweat. I knelt there, and put my hands onto his naked thighs to steady myself, and bent my head. I almost gagged at the smell of my shit on his dick - I hadn't been cleaned out, had I? I forced myself to put my head down, and got that sharp, acrid taste of shit on my tongue, that almost made me throw up. But he was my owner, and I needed to obey him - I needed to obey him to show him that I was sincere in being his slave. I don't think he knew what he was asking of me, but it didn't matter - I would obey.

You can make yourself do the most disgusting things if you need to. And I slathered and sucked at his dick and his balls as if they were the finest of gourmet meals. Then I knelt again, taking my hands off his thighs, and just rested there, my head bent.

He leaded forward and raised my head, lowered his, and kissed me, his tongue forcing his way into my mouth. At once he recoiled, looked at me, looked down at his dick, and said "You should have said, Steve..."

"Master, you commanded, and I obeyed."

He stood up, then raised me gently to my feet. Tenderly, he began kissing me again, and I knew that he was showing his love for me in this way, by showing me that he understood that I'd licked my own excrement off his dick for his sake, and that he was now prepared to share the traces of that which remained in my saliva. It was an act as deeply symbolic as that thing those Christians do when they share the flesh of their god and drink his blood.

We hugged and caressed, and moved to the bed, and lay there, not fucking or anything, just enjoying the feeling of our two bodies twined together, complete and whole, each understanding the needs of the other.

Of course when you don't have slaves to clean up all the bloody sheets and stuff, it costs! Master Rafe never told me how much they added to his bill, but it must have been a lot as he didn't seem to be very pleased. We didn't go out that day as I couldn't - I could hardly walk, and, anyway, the blood would have soaked through my Jeans. So we sat and talked, and he told me all his wonderful plans to see Paris and Rome and London and Athens, to see all the historic sights, to ski in the Alps, to swim off a tiny island in the Aegean.... He'd always wanted to do these things, but had been working all his life. But then he looked kind of wistful, and said "But you know, Steve, some things are better in the mind than in reality. I bet those places are all crowded and expensive and full of rude people ripping off the tourists, and the historic places won't be as good as I think, and the Alps will be overcrowded, and the Aegean's polluted... No, perhaps it's best to dream.

Was he telling the truth? Or was he trying to be nice to me, to agree not to go, to find a place here and settle, in a way that wouldn't make me feel bad? One day, I hoped I'd be good enough friends to be able to ask him that.

It was difficult that next day. Hard-eyed lady relators wanted to drive us miles to show us ranches and farms, and my butt was still giving me a whole lot of pain. So master Rafe hired a pickup, and I lay in the back on my belly, as he followed them. "You're saving me a whole lot of trouble, Steve", he laughed, "Those bitches can't go on and on about these awful properties as I sit in their cars with them. This way I get to travel quietly. I'll have to thrash you again if we don't find something soon..."

We encountered prejudice again and again as the search continued - everyone would have been happy to see a slave ministering to his owner, but they could see I was a "free man"" as I wasn't collared, and master Rafe insisted I wore a T with long sleeves to cover my arm brands. But when master Rafe rejected a place because the bedroom wasn't big enough for the two of us, or said that he liked the big spa bath in another as he and I could really have a great time together in there, you could see their attitude change: sure, it was subtle, as they wanted to sell us something, but somehow they looked at both of us as if we were not proper men.

The search went on and on, and master Rafe never really told me exactly what he was looking for - sure we talked, but he never really asked my advice or anything. I don't think that was because we weren't buddies, no, it was more that he was older than me anyway, and not having spent time "out of life" as a slave, he knew he had a lot more experience and just didn't feel the need to ask. But on about day six of the search, there it was.

It was pretty run down - but the main house (although much smaller than his previous one) had good thick stone walls and the roof was still watertight. Out the back there were four solid barns, and as we looked around them it was clear that they had at one time been used as slave quarters - there were some cages, with their stainless steel bars still intact, a communal shit pit, open showers, all that kind of stuff. There was around a hundred acres, and it was fairly lonely and isolated, being at the end of a long, bumpy dirt track off a very small county road, nestling in the cleft between two ranges of hills.

Master Rafe was used to bargaining - he struck deals for all the slaves he sold, but his was a side of his nature I'd not seen before: I was hugely impressed as he sat, poker-faced, with the realtor and then the owner, and negotiated. He desperately wanted the place, and it was the only one we'd seen that was remotely suitable, it seemed, and yet he was prepared to get up and walk out, as if completely indifferent, until they backed down on some point or other.

It didn't take the contractors long to fix the place up into a reasonable state - master Rafe only wanted the main house comfortable but sparse, and it didn't much matter in the slave quarters: the showers had to be made to work, all that kind of stuff, but there's no need to provide luxury, is there? As ever, he was really "hands on", and we spent most of our time out there watching the contractor's slaves toiling away - there's something really sexy, isn't there, about seeing carpenters and plumbers with those tool belts slung around their hips with all their tools in: the handles of the tools seem to complement their dicks and asses, don't you think? Mind you, as they moved around and crouched down to work and so on, I did think that it might have been better to give them at least a jock or something to wear - being active like that you do always worry about your dick and balls catching on something, don't you? I asked the foreman about this, and he said they had tried letting the slaves wear standard shorts, but they found custom almost melted away in favour of contractors using their slaves naked - apparently it's one of the minor pleasures in life for boring suburban types, to see the rugged worker slaves toiling away like that.

As the work got close to completion, master Rafe got more and more involved in setting up his business. I was left mostly alone as he carried on innumerable calls on his cell, and to try to keep myself in shape I started to help out, unloading the contractor's trucks, barrowing materials from one side of the place to the other, going out with an axe and a saw and putting the fences in order and clearing out some of the small woods on our land, that kind of stuff. At first the slaves resented it, especially as master Rafe insisted I worked in a T and Jeans because I was a free man. I hated that, actually - sure, I know they help prevent you from getting scratched and so on, but it really does constrict your movements when you're working hard. When I was a long way from the house, though, I'd slip my clothes off and work away naked with the gangs clearing the woods or whatever: they were a really great group of guys, and the contractor seemed a good owner. They all understood they needed to work hard, and provided they did, he didn't punish them. He allowed them to rest during the noon heat, and fed them well - I almost wished I was one of them, enjoying the comradeship, and the sex (they wouldn't let me join them when they lay together taking their mid-day siesta, gently stroking each other and playing with their fellows. I don't know why - I'd have really enjoyed it, and I think I could have showed them a thing or two about how to suck a dick dry, too - remember, I'd had lessons from an expert). Still, you can't have everything, can you?.

Master Rafe and I then started touring the various slave auction houses and slave merchants. He'd explained his plan to me by now, and I was to help him in the search for suitable material. "It's like this, Steve", he said as he lay in the crook of my arm in bed one night, his hand idly stroking my balls. "Modern man needs excitement. Look at the popularity of those films about olden times, with Greeks and Romans and their slaves, and gladiators and all that stuff. Modern slavery just isn't like that - the slaves are so expensive that you have to work them hard to get your money back, and the only enjoyment most owners get is a little more sex than they might otherwise get from their wives".

"When I was a kid", he continued, "There used to be boxing matches on the TV. And wrestling. But boxing went out of fashion when one or two boxers got their brains scrambled. And wrestling degenerated into a comedy act, with really unpleasant looking men doing quite unbelievable things to each other - all faked, of course. So I've been talking to a group of influential bakers, who're going to put it all together again: we're going to have modern 'Gladiator Games'. We can't let the slaves kill each other, of course, because of the cost. But we're going to have them fighting - really fighting, no faking - until one wins. It will be a sort of mixture of boxing and wrestling, no holds barred, totally naked, of course. The guys I've been talking to are TV producers in New York who're going to mount the shows, and I'm going to find the slaves, and train them. No, correction: we're going to find the slaves and train them".

The first day of our search was unsuccessful. We went through all the display areas, looking at the flesh on offer, but nothing seemed right. The slaves were all too well trained, too obedient. They stood there on their display stands, hands neatly behind their heads, and waited as we felt their muscles, and erected their dicks to make sure they looked good like that. Master Rafe was keen to get a good mix of blacks and whites, but the whites seemed extraordinarily expensive (he was working to a budget the producers had given him) because of their relative rarity, and most of the blacks were the big, solid thick ones: good for heavy labouring, but not suitable for the rapid cut and thrust of gladiator fighting that was in his mind.

We'd made the rounds of all the places in town by day three, and master Rafe was talking about having to move to the next city to continue our search. Frankly, I was bored - trailing around the town "shopping" was no fun, and I wanted to be outdoors, working, or exercising: it was like when my mom used to take me to the malls on her shopping expeditions when I was a kid, when all I wanted to do was play all with my friends. But master Rafe wouldn't let me stay at our place "No, Steve", he said. "You know about slaves form the inside. And when I see what I want, I'll need your opinion."

As we left he last dealer's showroom and were on the street, we heard shouting - really violent cursing and swearing. There was a gap between the dealer's showroom and the next building, with a fence to the street, and the noise was coming from behind there. Master Rafe told me to kneel down, and he stood on my back so he could look over. He got down quite quickly, and we went back into the dealer.

The salesman who'd been showing us the stock a few moments before came over at once. He was a slave himself, but was dressed neatly in tailored shorts and a tight jacket that buttoned right up to his collar. "Sirs, have you changed your minds.... The delightful farm boy... Or was it the Mexican with the exceptionally thick dick....?"

"Those slaves out the back, being loaded into the transporter. You didn't show me those."

"Oh no, sir. They're the rejects. Only suitable for the mines. As part of our contract with the state to take all the output from the courts, we get a wide variety of men: debtors, persistent speeding offences, domestic violence, bankruptcy: mostly the 'mild' men who had respectable lives, jobs, that sort of thing, before enslavement. Then there are the burglars, rapists, muggers... A lot of riffraff, mostly. Unstable. Can't hold down proper work. Most unsuitable as slaves in normal domestic service - in fact, we don't even offer them for sale. We don't waste money on getting them toned and trained, on shaving them, or anything - we just batch them up and ship them off to the mines where they can't do any harm to respectable folk."

"There was one of them shouting..."

"Oh, him. A whole load of trouble there. He doesn't even have the sense to know that slavery is irrevocable, and that once the decision has been made to send him to the mines, that's it. He keeps saying he was innocent... He was convicted of rape or something, and that it was a set-up by his girl friend.... But he's been so difficult, and won't take the training, that we decided the only sensible thing was to have him incarcerated down in the mines. Either that or have him calmed, but eunuchs are out of fashion, currently."

I felt a sick feeling in my gut. That could have been me! Falsely accused of rape. Condemned to toil away like a worm threading its way through narrow, dark tunnels in the bowels of the earth. I actually shuddered, and master Rafe, always watching body language, saw it and gave me a long, hard stare.

"I'm potentially interested in that slave", he said. "Show him to me."

"Oh sir, as I've explained, he's in the shipment for the mines... He's not for sale."

"Are you, or are you not, a slave dealer? Will your owners be pleased with you if they hear that you turned down the opportunity to sell me a slave for a reasonable price, rather than having him shipped as part of a low-priced job lot off to the mines? If you were my slave, you'd be joining the next shipment! Now, do as I say, and have him brought into the viewing room. There's no need to clean him up."

Master Rafe can be very forceful when he wants, and I could see the slave begin to get terrified as he saw the logic of what had been said.

"Please, gentlemen, room three... I'll be back immediately... Please help yourself to drinks.... Shall I send a slave to attend on you, a little relaxation whilst you wait..? All our showroom assistants here are most skilled..."

"What he means", said Rafe, grinning at me, "Is do you want them to send a slave to get you horny, so that you can't think straight when you see a nice bit of male flesh in front of you! He doesn't know that you're horny all the time!" The slave actually looked shocked as master Rafe grabbed my crotch and felt my erect dick straining away under my Jeans - somehow the whole atmosphere of slave showrooms and auctions always set me off like that.

We sat in the viewing room, all neatly modernistic with its ash furniture and Eames chairs for us. The showroom slave came back after a couple of minutes, and apologised to us "Sirs, I'm sorry, but the slave is difficult - we've had to gag him, as his obscenities were outrageous! And as all he kept doing was protesting his innocence in-between his cursing, I don't expect you want to hear what he has to say anyway. We've had to cuff him, too, sir - as I said, he's a most unsuitable slave for domestic use, and the mines are the best place for him: their regime there deals with even the most defiant slave. Once they're down below, they only get food in return for the stuff they send up to the surface, you know, and that soon focuses the minds of the slaves working there on what's important."

We could hear a lot of struggling going on, then the curtain on the small stage pulled back and I saw the slave that master Rafe must have viewed when standing on my back. He was about twenty three or twenty four, and he reminded me a lot of myself at that age - he was good looking in a careless sort of way, as I had been, but not as tall as me - only five eleven, I'd say. His dark blond hair was much too long, and I was surprised he hadn't already been given a proper slave cut. You could see that he led an active life, as there wasn't a trace of fat on his neat, well-proportioned body - not overly muscled, but with those long, lean muscles that normally spell good hard work and a surprising amount of power. As well as the ball gag in his mouth, they'd fixed his wrists with plastic ties to the collar at the back of his neck so that he was restrained: that had the effect, of course, of puffing his chest out, and giving greater prominence to the big dark aureoles surrounding his well-sized nips.

As we watched, the guard who'd half dragged in him knelt down and slipped the standard ankle restraint used in most of the showroom we visited around his left ankle, then stood up and went to stand discretely at the side of the stage.

Master Rafe stared at the boy, and I could sense he was pleased with what we'd seen so far (although the guy was wearing battered slave shorts). "Turn around so I can see your back", master Rafe called out, but the guy just stood there, defiantly.

The guard stepped forward, drew back his hand, and almost casually slapped the slave hard across the side of his face - the sound of it echoed around the room almost like a whip lash. The lad staggered with the force of the blow, but just stood there. We saw the guard pulling his hand back for another blow, but master Rafe shouted "No! Leave him be. I need a hands-on inspection anyway...."

We got up out of our seats and went up onto the platform. From the rear the slave was almost more desirable - he had that wide shouldered, narrow-hipped look that is so good in a man, and the slave shorts couldn't even begin to conceal his desirable butt, which flared up temptingly and ran down to strong, well-muscled thighs.

Master Rafe ran his hands down the slave's back, feeling the musculature as he went, and causing the slave to shift his weight nervously from foot to foot.

He dropped to his knees to get a better perspective on the thighs, and I saw his fingers digging into the muscle to gauge the power there - the slave gave whimpering noises as this was happening, as I know it can be a little painful if the examiner probes deeply with strong fingers. It shows master Rafe's experience in appraising slaves, though, in that he went for the back first, especially the back of the thighs: so many men are seduced by the look of the front of a slave, but it's the back that gives them the sustained power, isn't it?

Then we went to the front, and master Rafe teased the slave's nipples to make sure they had good firm erections. His hands went up and felt the slave's neck, holding his head rigid in spite of the slave's protestations as his expert fingers pushed deep into the musculature, and felt the glands to make sure there was no sign of incipient infection.

He stood back to take a longer look, and said to me "See, Steve, that's what you need to look for: power in the muscles, and a generally nice tone. You don't have to worry much about the belly: a lot of guys put a bit of weight on there if they're not working hard, but a week's harsh exercise and it soon falls away. He's handsome enough, don't you think? A lot of men will be drooling cum at the thought of this one... But as he'll have to appear totally naked, there's one more thing we need to inspect..."

The slave dared to kick at master Rafe as he reached out to undo the button holding the shorts closed. Master Rafe just stood there, looked straight into the slave's eyes and said, in that icy calm tone he adopts when he's inwardly seething with rage, "Do that again, and I'll buy you whatever your dick looks like, and then I'll have you gelded, and then sent to the mines. The big slaves down there like fucking ass which they say isn't the ass of a 'real' man, you know."

He reached for the button again, and the shorts dropped to the floor as the slave stood there - he wasn't exactly docile, as I could see all his muscles in tension, but at least he didn't kick out again. He was uncut, and had a neat dick that was carried high on top of those balls which bulge out and don't hang very low - rather like in Michaelangelo's "David". They hadn't shaved him or anything, so the whole package was surrounded by a mass of dark blond curls, and he looked really rather classical.

Master Rafe proceeded to do the usual examination of the testicles, then skinned the slave back to get a good look at his dick head, and I really did think the slave was going to lose it and lash out again - surely he'd had at least some elementary handling before?

"Tell me what you think, Steve", master Rafe said, and I too now cupped the balls in my palm. I have to say they're not my favourite configuration - I really do prefer them to hang low in a big sac - but these were good sized. Of course it's always difficult examining a guy's balls when they're covered in hair, isn't it? You can't really feel the texture properly. But when I 'skinned him back, I did like his dick head: the moist pinkness of a revealed dick head is one of the minor pleasures of life, I suppose - well, I guess it's about the only argument I can ever find against 'skinning.

I was still holding his dick so I felt the shock run through the slave's body when master Rafe said "Jerk him off, will you? We need to make sure he shoots well." He made a lot of strangled noises, and tried to pull away from me. I really did feel sorry for him - if this was the first time another guy had ever masturbated him, it must be pretty traumatic, with the guard, the showroom slave, master Rafe and me all there watching! So, as gently as I could, I cupped his balls in my other hand and pulled him back towards me, then started to stroke him very slowly and gently, so as not to cause too much alarm.

It was totally unexpected - he went to a strong, upward-thrusting erection almost immediately, and I'd really only teased his 'skin backwards and forwards across his head a couple of times when a huge load of cum pumped out of him - not just large in volume, but with an amazing force that sent it squirting across the gap between us to soak the front of my shirt.

I got to my feet, and the poor lad cowered back, evidently thinking I was going to hit him. But master Rafe and I just stood there, helpless with laughter. "Hey, Steve", master Rafe said between his guffaws, "Why don't you give me hand-jobs like that? When you jerk me off, it always takes me ages to cum. Have you found a new technique, or something?"

We scraped some of his cum of my shirt and agreed that it was thick and rich. The showroom slave seemed terribly upset, and was speaking into a telephone, calling for slaves to bring cloths, towels, a fresh shirt... Master Rafe cut him short, saying "Don't other about all that - Steve here is used to being covered in cum. Now, how much do the mines pay for bulk stock like this?

It was derisory. Only about ten dollars per pound of slave meat! I suppose they did it that way as that was some measure of the slave's muscularity. So this one was valued at no more than one thousand six hundred dollars, and master Rafe took a credit card out of his wallet, thrust them at the astonished showroom slave, said "I'll take him at that price, then, and give you a bigger profit. Send me the paper work later and just push the card through your machine now". He turned to the guard and told him to uncuff the slave from the floor, then took hold of the guy's dick and led him away.

I could tell the poor guy was completely embarrassed at being led down the main street by master Rafe pulling at his dick, and most passers by did stop to stare - naked slaves were no longer the rarity they once had been, but it was unusual to see them gagged and cuffed, as this one was. When we got back to the parking place, master Rafe opened the rear compartment of our SUV, behind the rear seats, and told the slave to get in. He cuffed the guy to the restraint hooks that are now standard on most SUVs - it's part of the image, I suppose: suburban moms and dads like to think that they might have to control unruly slaves - then pulled the door closed, locked it, and we set off again.

"Right, Steve. . Now we know.. We're going back to all the dealers and we're going to look at the stock destined for the mines. We need slaves with spirit, and that's where we're likely to find them. It doesn't matter to us what they were sentenced for - indeed, a few real rapists might be an advantage, as one of the competitions in the Gladiator Games is gong to be called 'Fight for a fuck' and the winner has only won when he's got the loser skewered on his dick.

And these guys are dirt cheap - ten bucks a pound, eh... And just think what I had to pay Billy-Joe for you! Do you realise, they're actually cheaper than prime USDA corn-fed beef?"

We found five more that day, and when we set off for our place the back of the SUV was crammed with slave flesh. Master Rafe had made them all strip, and said that it would do them good to get used to the feel of other men against them - most of these slaves really were virgins, and had never even touched another guy's dick before.

It can go cold in the foothills at night, and when we unloaded them they stood there shivering slightly and were glad when we led them off into the slave dorm. They really didn't have a clue! At first they didn't understand the bars of the communal shitter. They wolfed down the slave chow, though - I guess there's no point in feeding slaves who are being sent to the mines - although, as master Rafe pointed out, it would have been in the dealer's interest to make them weight as much as possible! And we crowded them all into one small cell to sleep - master Rafe said that it would do them good to keep feeling other men, and, in any case, it was kinder, as it would keep them warm. We'd let the wrists of the first slave go free, and taken out his ball gag, and I noticed that he seemed to have given up - he was no longer shouting and protesting. Perhaps he realised he was no longer special, he was one naked slave in a bunch of others. Or perhaps he was beginning to understand what he'd been saved from.

Who knows!

Master Rafe and I ate a good dinner that night, and after we'd fucked, we lay in bed talking about the day. "It's off to a good start, Steve", he told me. "I'm going to make even more money from this enterprise than I did from training the young lads. By the time anyone else realises there's a potentially huge market for this, all anyone will ever want is a slave from my training yard. I'll have set the tone, made the running , set the fashion... And I think you'll see I have a few surprises, to get and keep exclusivity."

"How are you going to do that, master? I mean, a naked slave is a naked slave. How will anyone know he's been trained here?"

"Wait and see, Steve, wait and see... " was all he'd say, but I could tell he was pleased with himself by the way he sighed so contentedly as his head lay on my chest.

He woke me the next morning with his customary slap on my butt - I usually manage to end up sleeping on my belly, with my head buried in my arms. It was just before dawn, and even I felt it was cool as I went out just in shorts. We got the slaves out from their cage, and they stood there as the sun came up, rubbing their hands over their bodies to try to get warm.

"Right, you men", master Rafe began. "You've all been saved from the mines. But if any of you misbehave, or disobey, or are uppity in any way, I won't hesitate to send you there: you cost me little enough, and it will be no great loss if I have to send you there free! I bought you all with the cash I carry in my wallet, remember."

"Now, you're going to be trained here. You're all in pretty good shape, but not as good as master Steve here, who's in charge of your physical education." He looked at me, and I felt a thrill at hearing myself called "master Steve", and a glow of pride that master Rafe had recognised my fitness. The slaves were all eyeing my body, and he went on "Yes, master Steve was a slave at one time. So he knows all the tricks. All the ways that a slave can try to avoid working, can try to cheat his owner from what is rightfully his - complete, willing, utter, total obedience. If master Steve finds any of you slacking, any of you trying to avoid working as hard as you possibly can, he'll first of all use the discipliner on you; then if you persist, he'll beat you to a pulp; and when you've recovered from that, if you still persist, you're off to the mines. A sort of 'three strikes and you're out' rule. So the message is work hard, and obey."

"Now, if any of you are thinking of running away, here's another little house rule: if any slave escapes, or even tries to escape, all of you, yes, all of you, will be gelded, and then sent to the mines. Neither master Steve nor I have time to keep locking you up, or chaining and unchaining you. You'll live as free men in the slave dorm here - regulate yourselves, decide who you want to fuck, all that sort of stuff. We won't interfere. But if you're not ready for training the next morning, or if you don't give us all you've got, be prepared to be punished. That's all I've got to say. If this were a normal meeting at a school, college, or office, I'd say 'are there any questions?', But you're slaves, you don't question, remember! And I've told you all you need to know to survive and prosper here."

"Take them on a run, Steve", he said to me. "Tire them out. They all look fit, but don't bring them back here until they're exhausted, as we've got the doctor coming in today to brand them, and in spite of what I've said, I think some of them will be rebellious as the iron burns into their flesh."

"I thought branding was going out of fashion?"

"It has. But these slaves are special... You'll see!"

It was ironic, really - the slaves were all naked and would have liked to run in shorts. I was in shorts and would have preferred to run naked! I was really fit, of course, and my feet were hardened to the ground, so it wasn't difficult to get them to the point of exhaustion, and then I made them run uphill back to the dorms. I was proud of them, though, as they sat there crowded around a small table, sweaty bodies touching each other, as I tipped a big bag of slave chow into the trough in the middle.

You can build kind of "team spirit", can't you, and I think I saw the beginnings of that in these young men. I don't suppose they'd have sat here joking with each other if they'd known what was in store for them later that morning.

End Of Part Twenty Eight