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Underneath the court was the area where the prisoners, and slaves, were processed. Officer Hughes made me stand there, naked, as he dealt with some paperwork. All around me other officers were bringing and taking prisoners to the courts above, and the guys looked at me almost pityingly – it was clear they all knew I was a slave, because of my collar, and the fact that I was bare. Mind you, it was clear that sometimes things had gone badly wrong – at least one of those guys who’d stared at me with disdain were subsequently brought back down, naked like me, with a heavy iron collar around their necks: I guess their defence had failed to work! They looked as if they were in shock. At least I was prepared for it, and was doing it by my own choice.
It was actually quite cool down there, as the air conditioning hummed away, and I suppose it was because I wasn’t used to having so much bare flesh exposed that I started to get cold. It was also irritating that Hughes didn’t even bother to glance at me – it was as if he just knew that, as a a slave, I’d stand there obediently until he chose to do something about me. And where the fuck was Billy-Joe? I must have been here at least twenty minutes, plenty of time for him to make his way down here and collect me.
Finally, I could stand it no longer. Turning to officer Hughes, I said, as friendly as I could as I thought that from our earlier conversations he basically a nice guy “Hey, man, how about letting me have a coat or something, or even a blanket? I’m fucking freezing standing here, and, you know, I’m naked and….”
He stopped what he as doing, and the next moment he raised his arm and slammed me with a tremendous backhand across the left side of my face. As I staggered with the sheer surprise of it and cried out in alarm, a second blow hit me on the right side. I stood there, swaying. I was in shock. No one had ever used physical violence on me before. My heart was racing, my head was reeling, and I was too amazed at what had happened to do anything.
“There’s your first two lessons, slave!”, Hughes said, quite casually as if he did this every day. “First, you don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. Slaves don’t interrupt free men. And secondly, you keep a respectful tongue in your head when you do speak. You call your owner ‘master’, and all other free men ‘sir’. Do I make my self clear?”
“Look, I was only trying to….”
A third blow almost knocked me off my feet. “You’re a slow learner, aren’t you, slave? I think you’re in for an interesting time in the next few weeks if this is how long it takes you to understand the proper form of address. I asked you if you understood how to speak to a free man… Now, try again…..”
He raised his arm threateningly, ready to strike again, so I just muttered “Yes, sir.”
“That’s better, slave. Now, two more things you should remember. Firstly, you’re not naked. You’ve got your slave collar on, and that’s all a slave needs. Your owner may elect to allow you to wear clothes, but it’s not essential. A slave has nothing to be ashamed of in being naked – that’s an emotion that only free men can have. Your body is your owner’s, and if he chooses to display you, it’s of no concern to you.”
He looked me up and down, and went on “Actually, you’ve got no reason to be ashamed anyway. Even if you were a free man, I’d like to see you display yourself. You obviously look after yourself, you’ve got a real man’s body, no fat, long legs, good pecs, and, as for your dick… , you must know you’re above average in that department, and your balls complement it well, swinging low like that.”
I felt myself blushing again, as I wasn’t used to having men talk about me in these terms. Well, I mean. Even if you happen to see another guy in the locker room, you don’t go up and start discussing the size of his dick, do you?
Hughes carried on speaking. “And, remember, your bodily comfort is of no concern to anyone now, slave! I don’t care if you’re fucking freezing, or roasting with the heat. If I tell you to stand there and wait, that’s exactly what you do. Understand?”
I saw his arm twitching again, so I just muttered “Yes, sir”.
“And change your attitude, slave! When you’re replying to your owner, or other free men, we like to hear a nice crisp response. If you speak to me one more time in that sullen way, I’ll really tan your hide. Understand?”
“Sir, yes!”. I got it right this time.
I stood there then, as officer Hughes went on with his paperwork. I still felt cold, and there were those little goose bumps breaking out all over my body. I started to tremble slightly, almost shivering, but decided it was best to try to endure it rather than interrupt officer Hughes again. I kept looking at the clock, and this irritated Hughes as he said “Keep still, boy. I can’t bear to see slaves twitching around like that. And I think it would be better if you assumed the display position – it’s good practice for you. So hands behind your neck, feet spread…..”
I did as I was told, and he glanced up at me. “That’s right, slave. But one more thing – keep your head bowed, and your eyes down – look at a point about a metre in front of you. That looks more servile, and most owners like to see their slaves like that.”
Standing like that I couldn’t now easily see the clock, but if I tried hard, I could just make it out in the corner of my eye. An hour had now gone by since I was brought down from the court – where the fuck was Billy-Joe? Why was he keeping me waiting around like this?
At long last Billy-Joe did appear. He went up to officer Hughes with a piece of paper, and said “I’ve come to collect Steve Harris…. I was told to ask for Officer Hughes…”
“I’m officer Hughes, sir”. Hughes was now in the polite, courteous mode he had been in when I’d first met him! He clearly had a different way of dealing with men than he had with slaves. “…but there’s no Steve Harris here, sir. I have a slave who used to be Steve Harris, but the free man with that name vanished when the enslavement order came into force.”
“Quite so…. Quite so…”, Billy-Joe said. “So where’s the slave Steve….?”
“Billy-Joe, thank god.. .where the fuck have you been…?”
I was writhing on the floor. It felt as if someone had thrown a pan of boiling water over me. My skin was on fire, and all my nerves were screaming in agony. I was shouting and crying – my throat felt raw. I wasn’t sure that my bladder hadn’t released, as there was wet on the floor.
Hughes stood over me, and pushed the sole of his leather boot down onto my belly. “Lie still, slave. And shut that fucking noise, unless you want another dose of my discipliner!”
I did as he said, as best I could. I lay there in horror, wondering how long it would take my skin to re-grow after this scalding. I heard officer Hughes say to Billy-Joe “I’m sorry about that, sir, but your slave has been difficult all morning. I’ve tried milder discipline on him, tried to explain the proper mode of address for slaves, but it looks as if you have a real dumb one here… So I thought it best to reinforce the message with a little demonstration for him of the discipliner. I’m, sure you’ll need to buy one for this slave, sir, as he’s such a dumb fuck. Effective, isn’t it? There’s no permanent damage of course as it directly affects only the nerves, and he’ll recover within about ten minutes. But if he understands that persistent breaches of the rules will result in a ouch of the discipliner some times, it will make him think twice!”
What a bastard that Hughes was! And it was him who was the dumb fuck – I’d been to college, a good one, got a good degree, had a responsible job…. And all he could do was hold down some low-level guards job in public service. Still, it was his boot pressing don on my belly, and he had this discipliner thing… And he did at least have a uniform, whereas I was nude.
I wondered what I must look like, sprawled there, still twitching feebly, with the weight of a leather boot pressing into my belly. I could see Billy-Joe staring down at me, and then, to my astonishment, I heard him say “Thank you, officer. That’s good advice. But the slave is mostly going to be living at my father’s place, and he, the Colonel, tends to believe in less hi-tech methods of disciplining the slaves – the tawse, the strap, the whip… He says they were good enough for his father, and they are good enough for him. Still, it seems to work – we never have the slightest problem, and we have the best behaved slaves for miles around. Still, I think you can probably let him get up now – I think he’ll have learned his lesson, and remain silent.”
Hughes’ boot came up off my belly, and I struggled to my feet. The pain was going away, and apart form the odd involuntary twitch, I was back in control.
“Hey, Steve”, Billy-Joe began. “You look fantastic, man… You always did have a great body when we were rooming together, but you seem to have got even better. You look fucking great….”
“Sir, can I…..”
There were two resounding slaps on my butt. I jerked forward, feeling my dick and balls fly through the air. Hughes snapped “Don’t interrupt, slave. And this gentlemen is your owner, remember? So you address him as ‘Master’. I’m listening, slave, and any more of this nonsense and I’ll not just paddle your ass, but I’ll have the discipliner on you again. Now, assume ‘display’.”
I stood there, looking at the floor, and Billy-Joe said “OK, Steve, what’s the problem? You can speak.”
I faltered. It seemed so unnatural. This guy was my roommate from college. We were buddies. But I managed it. I stuttered out “Master….. Please may I have something to wear? I’m cold, and, well, you know… naked.”
Billy-Joe just laughed. “Aw, come on, Steve, boy! You look great. It seems a pity to cover it all up. You don’t know how many times I lay awake at night waiting for you to come in from a bar, or, more likely, from fucking some bitch, so I could see you slip into bed naked. And now I can see it all, not just an occasional flash. Still, I suppose so… Officer, do we have anything to cover the slave?”
“Perhaps you could wait, sir. I’ve got all the paperwork here authorising his collection by you, but you have to do a physical check before I release him – certify that he’s not been damaged whilst he’s been in our custody. If you want to get on with that, sir, I’m sure we can find him some slave shorts somewhere.”
His eyes almost glittering, Billy-Joe advanced on me. He reached out and rested his sweating palms on the top of my shoulders, and lightly massaged my neck with his thumbs. I went to move back, as I hated the thought of being touched, but Hughes snarled “Stay still, boy. It’s only your master’s hands on you!”.
I kind of shuddered inwardly, and tried to compose myself as Billy-Joe carried on his probing of me. His hands moved down and rested on my pecs, and he stirred them around slightly so that I got a ripple of sensation going through me as his palms excited my nipples.
He used both hands down the side of my body, almost pressing his thumbs in between my ribs, then flat palm again over the ridges of my belly. Then he was around behind me, and I could feel his sweaty hands tracing the big muscles in my shoulders, before he kind of cupped my butt in his two hands. He lifted his hands up, as if trying to move my butt, and he must have been standing so close to me as his breath puffed in and out on the base of my neck.
“Fantastic, Steve… I always thought you had a butt to die for – no wonder the women went wild when you went ventured forth in those tight jeans of yours…. But you’ve been working on it. Really nice muscles here….”
“…and here”, he went on as his hands slid down my flanks and thighs. It almost tickled as his fingers disturbed the wiry hair on my legs, and I moved slightly.
He came around to the front of me again. “Now, the ‘piece de resistance’, as the French would say!”
As I watched from my down-cast eyes, horrified, not daring to move in case officer Hughes punished me, Billy-Joe reached out with his hand and cupped my balls in it! I went to move backwards, instinctively – well, you do, don’t you, as your balls are so precious, and at once Hughes snapped “Easy, boy! Stand still whilst your owner is inspecting you!”
Billy-Joe moved his hand up and down, and I was on the edge with suspense as one false move on his part and I knew I’d be in agony – well, I mean, having a guy’s hand probing at your balls is risky, isn’t it?
“Fantastic, Steve!” Billy-Joe was almost whispering. “I’ve always wondered what those big low-hangers of yours would feel like. They’re great. And I think they’re full of spunk, aren’t they? When did you last jerk off?”
I wasn’t going to answer that, was I? I mean, a guy doesn’t tell his best buddy things like that. So I just stood there, until officer Hughes growled “Your owner asked you a question, slave…”
“Two days ago, master.”
“Hey, Steve, and I always thought you were an ace stud. I always imagined that you’d be jerking off at least twice a day, even when there wasn’t a woman around! Two days ago…. “
“Master, look, I’ve been worried. I didn’t feel like it…” It’s funny, isn’t it, how a guy feels he needs to defend his virility even in circumstances like this. But my comments were cut short as Billy-Joe now had my dick lying in the palm of his other hand.
Now I’ve had women hold my dick before, of course – not a lot, as I find the ladies don’t generally like to play with a guy in the same way as I like to play with them, but some. So I thought I knew what a hand felt like – but this as quite different. Billy-Joe’s palm was sweaty, and he cradled my dick in it, almost appreciatively. I went to pull away again when he started to squeeze around the end of my foreskin to make my dick head emerge, but officer Hughes again growled “Easy, boy! Hold steady there….”
Because I was in the display position my eyes were down and I could see my bright pink dick head emerging from its protective sheath, all moist and ready for action, as Billy-Joe squeezed away. Then I almost shouted out as Billy-Joe suddenly raked his finger nail right across it, catching my piss slit on the way. He let go of my dick then, and held his finger up to his face, as if inspecting it. “I’ve always wondered what a guy’s dick juice is like, Steve, when he has his head covered all the time as you do. Interesting….”
Just then the phone rang, and officer Hughes went to answer it. Although he was only a short distance away he turned his back to us as if he didn’t want us to hear what he was saying.
“Billy-Joe, what the fuck are you doing?”
“Hey, Steve, just as the officer said… Inspecting you, to make sure they haven’t damaged my property.” He said it with a kind of smile, so I supposed he was joking.
“Fuck it, man! You don’t do that kind of crap to a buddy… Playing with my dick, fondling my balls….”
“Oh come on, Steve, be sensible. It’s not your dick any longer you know, strictly speaking. It’s mine. I own it. I own you. Remember?”
“Cut this shit out, will you, Billy-Joe? I’m your buddy, remember? The guy you roomed with at college? We’re only doing this at your suggestion… And, anyway, why are you keeping me here naked like this? And what the fuck have you been doing ? It’s over an hour since the case was over and you could have been down here before….”
“Steve, get real! Sure, we roomed together. But we need to take this slavery thing a bit seriously – it is the foundation of our society, you know! And what’s the problem with being naked? Not that you are, anyway, as you’ve got your collar: a free man might be naked, but a slave can’t be, by definition, as he’s collared. And in your case, it’s especially silly, as you’ve got a great body – I’d have thought you’d have liked to show it off a bit to other guys….”
“Billy-Joe! Cut the crap, will you? Tell me you’re joking… Look, let me get dressed, and then let’s get out of her, and go and talk this out. I’ve been here long enough – what kept you, anyway?”
“Oh, I ran into an old chum in the corridor upstairs, someone from school days who I haven’t seen for ages. We needed to catch up, that sort of stuff. And he’s invited me to a great party tonight…”
“You left me here, so you could shoot the breeze…?”
“And why not? A man can’t be expected to ignore his friends you know, Steve. We don’t do that down here – we’re sociable folk in this town, and two acquaintances can always find the time to catch up.”
“…even if his best buddy is standing shivering with the cold?”
“Well, I didn’t expect it to be cold. And it’s not as if you’ve got anything else to do today, is it? So a little wait would hardly inconvenience you!”
“Billy-Joe, please…. Get me some clothes, and let’s get out of here. I want to go to your place and have a shower, change into some proper stuff, try to forget all this….”
Just at that moment officer Hughes came up again, and Billy-Joe asked him about clothes. “There’s some standard slave shorts in the pile over there, sir. They’re from slaves who have been brought in and stripped for the court for re-sentencing. If you’d like to use them for the slave, be my guest… Tell him to go over there and pick out a pair. But don’t you want to inspect his anus, sir, to make sure there has been no tampering?”
I thought he was going to do it. I really did. I thought my best buddy was going to make me bend over so he could look at my hole! Officer Hughes was indicating his desk to me, as if suggesting that I should go and lean on it to make Billy-Joe’s task easier. I felt myself almost begin to lose control. It didn’t matter how much they punished me, I couldn’t let this happen.
“Here’s a glove, sir”, officer Hughes was saying to Billy-Joe. “These new slaves are never cleaned out properly, and if you’re going to inspect him, I’d recommend you wear a latex glove.”
“Hey, Steve… Have they been playing with your hole? Anyone tried to fuck you?”
“No, master”. I almost shouted.
“We’ll skip that part of it then”, Billy-Joe said, and as I relaxed, he added “…at least for the time being. Come on, Steve, go and get some shorts.. .you’ve been whinging on long enough about being naked….” Billy-Joe turned to me and nodded and pointed, and I stalked off across the floor, feeling it cold under my bare feet.
The pile of shorts was just that – a heap of the standard off-white rough shorts you see slaves wearing everywhere. They seemed to be in only three sizes when I looked at them – small, medium and large – and it was obvious that they had all been worn before and not laundered. As I picked them up and examined them, I could see faint piss stains inside some, and even “skid marks” in others! I sorted through all the “large” ones, and couldn’t find any really clean ones, so I walked back over to where Billy-Joe and officer Hughes were talking.
I stood and waited for them to acknowledge me – Hughes was fingering his discipliner suggestively – and when Billy-Joe tilted his head to indicate I could speak, I said “Master, all those shorts are soiled.”
“Hey, boy, they’re slave shorts, worn by slaves, right? Most of the slaves who come in here are so scared of what’s about to happen to them that they can’t help dribbling a little piss… Now, get the fuck back over there and pick a pair, or, I’m sure your owner won’t mind you carrying on being naked. You’re pretty easy on the eyes ,after all!” Hughes turned away from me immediately he’d said this, to signal the end of the conversation.
What was I to do? Was it better to be naked, or to wear a pair of shorts that had been around another guy? I sorted through them again, and I knew there was no way I could bring myself to wear the skid-marked ones. But there was a pair with only a small amount of piss stain, that looked relatively clean on the outside, too. There didn’t seem to be any other choice, really, so I pulled them on.
God, it was great not to be buck naked again! But the shorts felt so odd. They were cut much shorter in the leg than any free man would wear, of course – as a free man myself all my shorts were at least down to the knee, and these cut off high on my thigh. And there was no underwear, or any pouch built into the shorts, so the rough cotton rubbed directly against my dick, balls and ass. The cut seemed strange, too – although they were roomy enough so that the simple elasticated waist slipped over my hips easily, once on they seemed to stretch tight over my ass. And at the front my dick seemed to be pressed into my thigh, and I felt certain you cold see it’s outline through the thin fabric.
I walked back towards Billy-Joe and office Hughes, and waited again. When Billy-Joe again “noticed” me, and mindful of officer Hughes’ discipliner, I said, as respectfully as I could, “Master, are we about to leave?”
“Ah, yes, Steve, I meant to tell you there’s been a slight change of plan. I told you that I ran into an old friend earlier today, and so I’ve decided to go off to his party tonight. I won’t be able to take you down to the Colonel’s estate myself, so I’ve arranged transport.”
“But Master… You said that I’d be living here in the city, in your apartment….”
“Change of plan there, too, Steve! I think on the whole you’d do better in the country. It’s healthier for a slave there. And the Colonel grows all his own meat, fruit, vegetables and eggs – it’s all pure and natural… A great place for a slave to live. Much healthier than the city. And there’s a whole lot more room for you to move about in – you wouldn’t want to be in a small city apartment all the time, only able to exercise in the park. I’ve talked it through with the Colonel’s overseer, Straughan, who I think you met on your last visit – he’s going to accommodate you there. I go down there quite often at weekends, so it will be easy to keep in touch.”
“Billy-Joe, that wasn’t what we agreed, you said….”
I was writhing on the floor again, as Hughes simply touched his discipliner to my naked chest. I was moaning and shouting and my limbs were thrashing around, and Billy-Joe and Hughes just stood there and watched, until my body came back under control again.
“You’ve got a difficult one there, sir, if you don’t mind me saying so. If I were you, I’d send him off to one of the slave breaking places – they work wonders with guys like him. After a couple of weeks he’s come back a respectful docile, obedient slave. My brother in law works at one, and I’d be happy to give you his card…. Sometimes he tells me about how they do it – it sounds fun, well, at least for the guards. I’m even thinking of giving up this job and going to work there myself.”
“Thank you, officer, but I don’t particularly want this slave broken – well, at least not like that. I’ve seen some of the slaves who come out of those places – sure, they obey, but they’ve lost something… some spark. And I want this slave to be functioning properly, so he’s fun to be with, if you understand me.”
“Quite so, sir. I wish I could afford a piece of ass like this….”
“Anyway, we have seventy slaves at the Colonel’s, and adding an extra one won’t be a problem. And he won’t cause too many problems either, I’m sure. But thanks for the offer.”
Turning to me, Billy-Joe said “I’m coming down next weekend, Steve. Straughan will see to you until then – he’s a good man, and he’s going to look after you properly.”
“Shut the fuck up, slave! Do you want another taste of the discipliner?” Officer Hughes positively spat this out. “Your master has told you what he has arranged, and you dare question it? Now, ‘display’, and keep quiet!”
I stood there, powerless to do anything else because of the officer’s weapon, and just watched as Billy-Joe signed to say he had inspected me and I was in good shape, and then signed the “transference of property” form to assume ownership and responsibility for me. He shook hands with officer Hughes then, and simply walked away, without even saying goodbye to me. Look, I like to try and make allowances for my buddies, and it must have been difficult for Billy-Joe – he was, after all, brought up with slaves and was used not to seeing them as people. I guess he’d just forgotten that I wasn’t a proper slave, and so had simply walked away as he would have from one of his normal slaves.
Once he’d gone, Hughes came and stood in front of me. He reached down and fondled my dick, through the thin fabric of the shorts. I knew better than to try to pull back, and just stood there, hands still clasped behind my head. As he stroked at me and felt for my dick, I started to have an erection: oh god, please, not now, I thought. This guy will think I like this sort of thing. He’ll think I’m some sort of fucking faggot.
“He’s a lucky man, your new owner”, officer Hughes then said, almost conversationally. “I wish I could afford some prime man flesh like you. You’re everything a male slave should be – good body, big dick, and I can feel that you’re ready for anything – just one touch, and you’re hard! And I guess you’re a virgin, too – no one’s ever been up that ass of yours. Man, what fun your owner’s got in store.”
“Still”, he went on, “No time for that now. Come on to the loading bay as the UPS guys usually come about this time.”
There were several slaves waiting in the loading bay area, and as I stood there, cars and vans gradually came up and tool them away. Officer Hughes had firstly commanded me to stand at “display”, but after a few minutes when it was apparent that the UPS van must be late, he allowed me to stand at “Rest” – I still had my feet slightly apart, I had to have my head bent and my eyes focussed about a metre in front of my feet, but I could clasp my hands behind my back – one hell of a lot more comfortable, I suppose. I guess I should have been grateful for this kind of consideration, but all I could do was seethe with indignation about the fact that Billy-Joe would rather go to a party tonight, and leave me here for some sort of van service to deal with.
When the UPS van did arrive it was kind of a mini-truck. The driver got out, and called out “Picking up a slave, serial 86607016….”
Hughes replied “Over here”, and the UPS man with his palm PC came over. He totally ignored me, and asked Hughes to verify that the slave was really the right one, and then, as a double check, he reached up and swivelled my collar around a bit so that he could read it. “Yep, this is the one. We’ve had a few problems lately with picking up the wrong slave, and the owners haven’t even noticed for a few days… So many of these blacks and Hispanics all look alike, and when they’re being shipped to join field gangs, or to the mines, no one really notices. Still, that wouldn’t happen with this one, would it? Handsome brute, and so unusual to get a white guy.”
He and Hughes then proceeded to complete the paperwork, and they never spoke to me or asked me to verify anything. I realised that, to UPS, I was just another object to be shipped carefully from place to place, tracked, handled, and delivered properly. I wasn’t a man, someone who could make decisions for himself about travel, I was just like a dumb animal being moved around by its owner.
“OK, boy”, the UPS guy said. “Over to the van, and let’s get you secured.”
“One minute”, I heard Hughes say. “Slave, drop those shorts.”
“You heard me, boy, drop those shorts. They belong to the state, and they don’t leave here.”
“Sir, I’d have to travel naked…”
“You fucking well don’t listen, do you? You’ve been told already that a slave is never naked as he’s wearing his collar. And, anyway, it doesn’t matter – slaves don’t feel shame. Now, drop them, unless you’d like a little does of the discipliner….”
Reluctantly, I slid the shorts down over my hips, and let them fall to the floor. The UPS guy gave a low whistle when he saw me. “Wow… This is one hot slave, one valuable property! Look at how he’s hung! And that butt! Is he fuckable?”
“No”, Hughes said, a smile playing over his lips. “I know the reputation you delivery guys have for making sure the stock is still in good order, but you’d best not try this one: he’s only been enslaved today, and he’s not broken in yet. And, if I was his owner, I would want it to be me who took his cherry – I think there’d be a swift complaint to your employers if his owner finds he’s not really tight, first time around…”
I listened to all this incredulously. Did the drivers really fuck the slaves in transit? But, at least I had nothing to worry about. And, of course, I knew that Billy-Joe wasn’t going to “take my cherry”: at college he’d been just as much of a ladies’ man as I had.
The tarmac almost burned the naked soles of my feet as I walked behind the UPS man to his truck. I’d almost got used to being naked in the controlled environment indoors, but here, in the open air, it all felt different. How many pairs of eyes were staring out at me from the windows that lined the back of the court building? And the hot sun felt strange on my body – well, I guess I’m used to it on my back as I often slip my shirt off in the heat, but not on my bare butt, and certainly not on my dick. The UPS man opened the back door of the truck, and motioned me inside. As well as the usual jumble of parcels and packages, there was a kind of cage – about the size of a telephone booth. The driver opened the gate to it, and motioned me in. When I hesitated, he slapped me on the butt and told me to get a move on. Well, what was I supposed to do? I went in and stood there, and he slammed the gate and locked it. I couldn’t sit down or anything as it was too small, and I just had to stand there, looking out at him through the bars.
“OK, fella. It’s going to take about an hour, so whatever you want to do, you can hold it in. If there’s any piss on the floor, you’ll lick it up. You slaves are really like animal sometimes – I even had a slave crap in there last week! Make sure you don’t do that – you won’t like the taste. With that, he got out and slammed the rear door, and a moment or so later the van stirred into life and, together with all the other packages, I started on my journey to my new home.
Arrival at the Estate
Well, I suppose it wasn’t all that bad in the cage inside the delivery van. At least there was no one else looking at me. And I suppose being naked might even have helped – the aircon didn’t run in the cargo section, and it was a hot day outside. As the sun hit the roof of the van, the temperature soared, and I was soon sweating like a pig. At least I could hold on to the bars as the truck swayed from side to side as we sped along. I got crosser and crosser at Billy-Joe, though – would it really have hurt him to give up going to a party, so that he could take me out and re-introduce me to the Colonel, and to make me feel welcome on the estate?
My mind wandered to the other times I’d been there – two of three times during vacation periods at college Billy-Joe had invited me to accompany him to his home. I remembered the huge, colonial-style mansion with it s tall white pillars along the front providing a shady colonnade. The wide corridors, their old wooden floors lovingly polished for generations, and the smell of the lavender from the wax. The well-proportioned, elegant rooms, with their antique furniture. The exquisite food served off fine china and crystal. The supremely comfortable beds, with freshly-laundered and starched sheets every night. Perhaps it wasn’t going to be so bad after all – if I had to live somewhere as a slave, the Colonel’s mansion was almost certainly better than sharing Billy-Joe’s apartment in the city. I remembered, too, how helpful and courteous the slaves were, and how perfectly they performed their duties, as if they had been painstakingly well trained. – as I’ve told you, our family wasn’t big on slavery, so I wasn’t used to the amazing levels of personal service I received there. Whenever you needed something, it seemed to appear. And if you wanted to go riding, or do any other sport, it was a real pleasure not to have to prepare the horses, or clean the equipment afterwards.
Of course I’d invited Billy-Joe to my home in Hertford, too. I almost felt ashamed at our standard of living compared to that which Billy-Joe enjoyed. Although dad was really quite well off, we just didn’t compare with the luxury at Billy-Joe’s. Mind you, he seemed to enjoy these visits to Hertford even though, once he’d suggested it, I’d told him he couldn’t bring his personal slave valet with him. I think he valued the continuing comradeship that we had at college, as he shared my bedroom as we slept in the twin beds. Mom offered him our guest room, of course, but he seemed to prefer sticking close to me, even though we were a bit cramped there compared even to what we had in our college dorm room.
I wondered what sort of accommodation I’d have in the big house – I guessed it was unreasonable to expect that I’d have the same luxurious room I’d had before, with a private sitting room, private dressing room, huge bedroom, and enormous tiled bath and shower room. Well, I mean, presumably this type of thing was reserved for the Colonel’s occasional guests who were “week ending”, as I’d been. No, I thought it more likely that I’d have some sort of normal bedroom and private bath, and I wondered how I’d get along sharing the public rooms with the Colonel – on my earlier visits I’d used the dining room, or course, the family breakfast room, the billiards room, the library, the huge formal drawing room, the pleasant little “snug” with it’s oak-panelled walls and masculine tartan curtains…. I’d need to be careful I didn’t upset the Colonel by appearing to abuse the privileges of a long-term house guest, I knew, and I wondered if there were some little services I could render him to show him how grateful I was. Without money, there was of course no way I could offer to pay for any of it, but perhaps he’d value a companion to play chess with, or perhaps he’d like someone to talk to in the long evenings: I’d observed on my visits that neither the Colonel nor Billy-Joe were big TV fans, and so the evenings could drag a little. I’d need to really hone my conversation skills, I thought, if I was to be properly appreciated as a good guest by my hosts.
When the van slowed and finally stopped I started to worry, though: I sincerely hoped one of the slaves would come in to the van with the UPS guy and give me a wrap or something to wear – I didn’t like the idea of mounting the imposing front steps to meet my host when I was bare-assed: it might get the whole visit off to a bad start. I needn’t have worried, though, as when the door was opened I couldn’t see the mansion at all – we seemed to be in some sort of totally enclosed courtyard, with “service buildings” – that’s the best way I can describe them – running along all four sides. There were lots of doors opening into what might be offices, or store rooms, and I thought that we’d probably come around to some kind of “service entrance”. Well, at least I’d have a chance to smarten up and dress, before meeting the Colonel.
The UPS man unlocked my cage, and snapped that I should follow him. I jumped down from the back of the van and almost yelped as the sharp gravel of the yard cut into the tender skin of my naked feet – it would be good to be wearing proper shoes, or even sandals, again. He went into one of the rooms – I suppose he made deliveries here often – and, indeed, it did seem to be a kind of “receiving room” – there was a black slave in crisp white shorts with the Colonel’s logo sitting at a small desk, and he and the UPS man proceeded to exchange paperwork – I was being “signed for”, just as if I was a package being delivered to the house. The slave got to his feet and ambled over to me, twisted my collar around to read the number engraved on it, checked the papers, then thanked the UPS man. Even though he was the “customer”, I couldn’t help but notice how respectful he was to the UPS man, calling him “sir”, and bowing slightly, and keeping his eyes cast down. It was, I supposed, another example of the Colonel’s perfectly-trained slave force, who knew their place and were always conscious of the need to treat free men with dignity and respect.
I looked at the slave when the UPS man had left, and said “I’m the new guest here… Fetch me some clothes, before anyone comes to meet me.”
“Mr Straughan will be here in his own good time, man! He always greets new slaves. And until then, you stay naked “, the slave said. Unlike his conversation with the UPS guy, the slave was looking me straight in the eyes, didn’t call me “sir”, and had a far from respectful tone in his voice. I realised that he probably didn’t understand that I wasn’t a proper slave – arriving naked and collared, he probably saw me just as a regular slave, like himself.
“I don’t think Straughan will be pleased if he finds out you’ve kept me here like this…”, I started. I’d met Straughan on my previous visits, and knew that the reasons why the Colonel’s place ran so perfectly was stemmed largely from Straughan’s fanatical attention to detail, and his firm control of the slave force as it toiled away in the house and on the estate.
“Hey, man, I don’t think Mr Straughan would be very pleased if he heard a slave referring to him as ‘Straughan’. He’s got a quick temper, and that crop of his can hurt if he lashes out at you. We’d best just wait here patiently for him.”
I’m not sure I liked this black slave referring to me as “man”, but it wasn’t worth arguing with him. Once Straughan arrived all this would be sorted out, as I knew Billy-Joe would have called him and told him to look after me.
The slave dropped into the “rest” position and, after a few minutes, when I’d paced around the room, looked out of the window, and generally fidgeted around in my impatience to get out of there and on to the next thing, he hissed at me in a half-whisper “Hey, man, you’d best keep still, and assume ‘rest’, like me. If Mr Straughan comes in and finds you pacing around, you’ll get punished. Slaves here who are not working are supposed to assume ‘rest’…. Best do it, and avoid a beating.”
“Oh, don’ worry about that. Mr Straughan and I have met before. He’s expecting me, I’m sure, and things will be very different when he comes.”
“Man, you can say that again! I know he’s expecting a new slave, and that’s why I’m here. And you’d better believe things are different with Mr Straughan around – he’s a real hard master, I can tell you: You’ve probably not had a slave master like that in any of your other places… Look, man, it will be best for you if you just do as I suggest, believe me. Just relax, and assume ‘rest’, and maybe it will go OK for you.” “Don’t worry, slave, there won’t be a….”
I never finished that sentence, as at that moment the door opened and Straughan came in. He was just as I remembered him – late fifties, thin, wiry, only about five seven, but immaculately dressed. I seemed to recall that he’d had military training, and he certainly had that air of a long-serving former soldier: ramrod straight back, impeccably neat clothes, neatly-trimmed hair, and that general air that says “look at me – I’m proud to serve my country, and show respect for it by being properly turned out”. His thin features, though, suggested that he could be harsh, even cruel, if he was disobeyed or crossed, and I felt that I wouldn’t have liked to be a raw recruit in any unit that he was in charge of.
I took a step towards him, held out my hand in greeting, and said “Straughan! Good to see you again. Remember me – Steve Harris… I’ve been here several times before with Billy-Joe. You always ran a tight ship, and it’s going to be a pleasure living here almost full time….”
He totally ignored my hand, not holding out his own in return, and, indeed, giving me a withering look from his cold eyes as if I was some kind of small dead rodent a cat had dragged in. “Slave, say one more word without being addressed, and I’ll have the guards in here to take you out and flog you.”
That stopped me in my tracks. Was it possible Straughan had misunderstood something, had got me mixed up with some proper slave who was arriving? But what should I do – if I interrupted him, he might actually do that before I could stop him – I’d seen that he had a quick temper when dealing with “slaves”, and was not slow to act. So I almost bit my tongue, and just stood there.
“That’s better, slave”, he went on. “Calm yourself. And assume ‘display’ – you do know what this is, don’t you?”
I assumed the position, muttering “Yes, Straughan, but…”
“One more disrespectful word, and it’s a flogging! I’m ‘Mr Straughan’ to you, boy, or, usually, ‘sir’. Now, let’s understand each other – no, you’d better understand me. Listen carefully, as I’m only going to tell you once.”
“I told your owner, Master Billy-Joe, that it was not sensible to have you here as a slave. All the slaves here are owned by the Colonel, and subject o my control and discipline as I’m his Overseer. But he would insist, as he says his apartment is too small for two men to live together in. I told him having some strange sort of ‘quasi-slave’ here would cause discipline problems – the other slaves wouldn’t know how to treat you, wouldn’t know how to refer to you if you spoke to them, and would start to get uppity if they saw a slave getting special treatment and privileges. Master Billy-Joe thought he knew best, though, and phoned his father, the Colonel, and talked him around: so you’re here, whether I like it or not, even though I think it’s a fucking stupid idea.”
“I spoke to Master Billy-Joe on his cell phone a few minutes ago. I told him that we needed to agree how you were to be treated. I told him about all the potential problems, but he didn’t have time to discuss it – he was dashing off to some party or other. I told him I couldn’t look after you until we had reached an agreement, but he was in such a rush that all he could say was ‘Look after Steve properly, Straughan. You know how to do these things. We can sort out any problems at the weekend’, when, I understand, he’s planning to visit.”
“Great, Straughan. So, look after me. Get me some fucking clothes, then show me to my room in the main house, rather than keeping me here in this dismal place…. I’m just doing a period of voluntary enslavement you know, keeping a low profile until things calm down with my -ex. I’m just doing a five-year stretch, or, at least five years and one day, max, the judge ordered and extra day. But I’m sure Billy-Joe will release me long before then….”
Straughan seemed to cock his head to one side as I said this, but I might as well not have bothered. He just continued “I reminded Master Billy-Joe again of the potential difficulties and problems, and all he could say was ‘get off the fucking line, Straughan, I’ve got other calls waiting. And I’m late already for my party. Just do what you think’s right.’ So, you see, he’s left it to me. Now, follow me….”
At fucking last, I thought! What was he going on about? I wanted clothes, a good hot shower, a cold beer…. Was that the right order? Straughan strode through the door by which he’d entered, and I followed, noticing how his small, tight ass moved easily under the stretched fabric of his jodhpurs – I wondered why he wore those, rather than standard trousers, but then took in that he had knee-high brown leather riding boots on, boots that shone in the light as if they were polished for many hours each day.
The next room was stark – the building blocks of the walls had just been painted over, the floor was plain poured concrete, and fluorescent tubes in the ceiling lit everything with a harsh bright light. Two huge black slaves were standing there – they had at least a couple of inches on me, and probably fifty pounds.
“Wash him!”, Straughan said to the slaves, and they advanced on me. One held the end of a hose pipe in his hand, and when he was close to me, he released a jet of water at my chest. It was icy cold, and I shouted “What the fuck….?”
Straughan said to the other slave “Slap him!”, and the guy at once back-handed me across the left side of my face, just as Officer Hughes had done. I staggered backwards, fell over and lay sprawled there on the floor, arms and legs all akimbo and feeling horribly exposed as my dick and balls flopped around. The first slave just turned the hose on me and played the water up and down my body.
“Keep a civil, respectful tongue in your head, slave!”, Straughan said. “The Colonel does not tolerate foul language from anyone, least of all from a slave. Now, get up, and let Charlie and Coon get on with their work – we need you clean, to be able to induct you.”
I was going to protest, but one of the slaves had his arm up threateningly again, ready to strike My face was almost numb from his first blow, and I didn’t want a repeat. So, the shower was cold, rather than hot, but it was a hot day… I’d survive. But then both blacks took a bar of soap and started to rub me all over with their sudsy hands. I’ve never liked other men touching me, and this was dreadful, and had never even washed the back of a buddy after a match at school or college. Now not a square inch of me was left uncovered by the soap, and they didn’t seem to mind at all having to soap my balls, or run their hands down my ass crack, or even to retract my foreskin.
That’s not on, is it? I mean, you can’t have a guy sliding his hands down your ass, and you certainly can’t have someone fiddling with your ‘skin. So I went to push the slaves’ hands away from me. Straughan saw this, and nodded, and one of the slaves grabbed my arm, spun me around so that my back was to him, then slapped my butt hard, twice, once on each cheek! It stung like hell – he was, as I’ve said, a big guy, and hugely powerful. The sound of the slaps resounded around the room like pistol shots, and my whole body jerked with the sheer force. Not only that, but it was fucking humiliating – it was rather like when your mom or dad had reached out to spank you if you were naughty at the mall or in a restaurant – a quick spin around, then two swift blows on your butt.
“Stand still, slave”, Straughan called out, “And let Charlie and Coon do their work. I’m a busy man, and I haven’t got time to stand here and watch slaves play around – I want you processed nice and quickly and those two know what they’re doing.”
I was horrified, mortified, ashamed, angry… I really don’t know which emotion was worst. All I could do was stand there as the two big blacks finished soaping me, then spraying me with the cold water to wash it away. They seemed unaffected by the water – perhaps they were used to showering in cold water, who knows.
My ordeal wasn’t over yet, though, as a small stool was dragged into the centre of the room, and they pointed to it, indicating I should sit. Straughan was watching impassively, and the slaves looked ready to slap me again, so I did. There was a buzzing, and then a tickling as my hair fell down my body, landing on my thighs and in my crotch as I sat there. They were using a fucking battery-powered clipper on me!
I tried to jump up, but one of the slaves had his hands on my shoulders, and I was held there. I wasn’t going to let them cut my hair off! Look, don’t get me wrong, I’ve never been one of those guys with really long hair, in a ponytail or anything. No, when I was at school and college I always had it reasonably short as it was much easier after playing sport to get it dry. And since I’d started working, I’d had it in a neat executive cut. In fact, I’d only been to the barbers a week before, so my hair was in great shape. I was rather proud of it, actually – it’s strong and wiry and a really dark black. That bitch Chantelle was always running her fingers through it and telling me how sexy it was.
“Cut that out!”, I yelled, and Straughan was at once in front of me. As the black’s hands continued to press down on my shoulder he took his riding crop – I’d noticed that today, as whenever I’d seen him before, he always carried a leather riding crop with about two inches of pliable leather on the end of it – and struck me with it, once on each nipple. I screamed, as it was so unexpected, and it hurt! A hard, spikey, cruel pain shot through me. Straughan stood there watching me, then casually lowered the crop so that the leather end was prodding and probing at my balls. I stirred uneasily on the stool, but couldn’t move because of the insistent pressure on my shoulders.
“Slave, that’s the last warning you get. I’m sure you know that slaves are not allowed to initiate speech; slaves respond when free men question them. And when you do respond, it is civilly, politely, and in a suitably humble way. Slaves here do not shout ‘Cut that out!’ at the tops of their voices, when it is clear that a free man has ordered them to be clipped. If there is any more unseemly interruptions or unruly behavior on your part, I will order Charlie and Coon here to hold you upside down with your legs apart, and my crop, which has just teased your nipples, will be thrashing your testicles, and your anus. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir!” I responded in what I hoped sounded an enthusiastic way, as I could see from the cruel set of Straughan’s features hat he almost relished the prospect of beating me sexually. When a thin smile half-played across his lips, I felt it safe to press on “Sir, please may I ask though why my hair is being shorn off? I only went to the barbers last week….”
“The Colonel prefers slaves to have close-cropped hair. All the slaves here have short hair. You are a slave, so you have short hair. Short hair enhances the appearance of most slaves – shows that they work hard and have no time for senseless grooming. It makes them look hard, and tough.”
“Please, sir, although I entered voluntary enslavement, I’m not really a slave… So do I need my hair cut? Won’t it look silly, when I meet the Colonel’s other guests?”
Straughan almost broke into laughter. “Don’t worry about that, slave! No one will think you look silly. And if you are introduced to any of the colonel’s guests, the hair on your head is the last thing they’ll be looking at, believe me! And you are a slave, you know – that collar around your neck says it all. Now, sit still, and make no further interruption.”
The clipping then continued, and I could tell from the amount of hair falling on me that it must be very short indeed. One of the slaves finally spent a few moments trimming away at the nape of my neck, and at my temples – I could tell from the feel of the cold metal against my skin that parts of me must now be completely devoid of hair.
The clipping stopped, and Straughan spoke again. “There. You’ll be surprised how much better you look. In fact, having your temples cleared away really enhances your look of virility.”
I couldn’t help myself. I reached up and ran my hand across my head – it felt like a tooth brush, it was now so short!
“Stand up!”, Straughan ordered, and I did so, brushing the hair away from my body. The slave with the clippers came and knelt in front of me, and the next moment they started buzzing again.
I couldn’t help myself. “No, leave my pubes alone…”, I shouted, and tried to back away.
This time Straughan’s blows were to my butt. The slapping had been bad enough, but the leather end of his riding crop, wielded with all his force, was different again. The pain was intense, harsh, and all-pervading.
“Stand still!”, Straughan snapped. “We don’t want any accidents with those electric clippers. The slave is attending to your pubic hair – all slaves here have it neatly trimmed. And the balls and ass crack are always totally hair-free. And I mean ALL slaves, even those who still think this is some sort of game where they get special treatment. You know, slave, I rather hope you keep protesting – I haven’t had an opportunity to give a slave a good whipping on his sexual organs for several weeks – the Colonel dislikes gratuitous violence and cruelty, and I can only do it when as slave has been particularly unruly.”
So I stood there as the clippers hummed, and felt the indignity of having my dick lifted up whilst they scraped across the surface of my balls. The slaves teased and stretched my sac to ease the passage of the clippers, then, as a final indignity, gestured at me and pressed me down to lie across the stool where I’d been sitting. I felt my butt being prized apart, then the cold steel of the clippers slide up and down my crack.
Finally, when the clippers were turned off, Straughan told me to raise my arms above my head. He came and picked at my pit hair with his fingers, teasing it out to see the length of the longest strands. I flinched slightly as the hair pulled at the sensitive skin there, and Straughan again said “Easy! Stay Still! I’m only testing to see how long this growth is under your pits – the Colonel doesn’t like to see it protruding when slaves are working. Yes, in your case, just a little trim….”
He gestured at the slave, the clippers started up again, and most of my pit hair went. He then ran his finger through the thatch on my chest, running his palm along my skin and then raising it so that the chest hair trapped between his fingers was pulled out to full length. Another nod, and the clippers ran over my chest shortening all of it almost to a stubble. Then I thought he must be finished, as his hand ran over my belly, and he tried to pull the hair up there. Although I’ve got a pleasant growth of hair all over that area, it seemed to satisfy Straughan, though, and he seemed content to let it be. At last, I thought, now I can get some fucking clothes on.
They weren’t finished yet, though. A cut-throat razor was produced from somewhere, and the slaves slid that down my crack, too. Then I had to stand again whilst they scraped away the stubble from my balls. It tickled and tingled, but I didn’t dare move, with that sharp, exposed blade so close to my manhood. I wanted to tell them to stop. I wanted to tell them they had no right to do this to a guy. But when I looked at Straughan he was standing there watching, that thin smile on his face, and his riding crop tapping up and down in the palm of his hand. Somehow I just knew that he wanted to use it, that he just needed some excuse to lash out again at my nipples, or my butt – or, perhaps he’d even try to hit my balls, as he’d threatened to. With two big black guys and Straughan all working to control me, there didn’t seem anything I could do about it, other than to feel ashamed, and angry.
Once the shaving was over, Straughan came and stood in front of me. Just as officer Hughes had done yesterday, and Billy-Joe, he casually reached down, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and cupped my balls in his hand. It felt somehow cold, and clammy. He rolled my balls around stretching the skin of my sac between his palm and his thumb, as if testing for something. Finally he muttered “Perfectly smooth, so no reason to discipline the slaves”, and let me go.
“Follow me”, he ordered, curtly, and strode out. I walked after him, and as I went out into the corridor there was a full length mirror. I almost recalled in shock at what I saw – instead of my usual handsome self, there was this creature with a slave collar, cropped hair, and with his balls obscenely exposed: taking away most of my pubic hair and then shaving my balls clean had made the so prominent – they hung down behind my dick so pink-looking. And my dick looked even bigger than usual, too. I began to realise that, to someone that didn’t know me, I now was a slave: they’d take one look at my body, and just think that I was no longer a free man.
Straughan must have seen me halt – did the bastard have eyes in the back of his head? As he turned around and said “Yes, slave. It is you. Now we’ve removed all that filthy hair from you we can really see what we’ve got to work with. And I can see there’s a lot to be done. Now… Here….”
He’d picked up a pair of slave shorts from a pile in the room, and tossed them to me. Like the ones at the court they were almost obscenely short compared with anything a real man would wear, and again they felt tight across my butt, and squeezed my dick. What made them worse, though, was that on the front of the leg was the Colonel’s house logo. I’ve never wanted to go into the army or anything, and I hate uniforms and being made to wear the same things as everyone else, especially when they’re marked in some way with a team or school name. Now I was wearing exactly the same as the other slaves, and the Colonel’s mark was on me, too. As I walked along I couldn’t help looking down and seeing the logo almost marching along ahead of me.
Straughan took me down a corridor and finally opened a door made of steel bars. He motioned me inside, then closed the door and I heard a lock click. A quick look around showed that I was in a small bare room, with the same painted building-block walls and a concrete floor. The only furniture was a very narrow bed – well, not a bed, really, more a kind of pad on the floor, about six feet long, covered in leather. There was a tap in the corner, above a hole in the floor. “Water from the tap if you’re thirsty. Piss and crap into the hole if you need to. And here….” He tossed a single blanket into the cell. “This is to cover you tonight – don’t sleep in the shorts, as you’ll need them tomorrow, and if they’re creased, we’ll let you go naked instead.”
He turned to walk away, and I could bear it no longer. “Please, sir, Mr Straughan, sir….”
“Sir, please – I’m supposed to be Billy-Joe’s friend. He asked me to look after you….”
“Free men aren’t friends with slaves! And I am looking after you. I’ve had you cleaned and trimmed so you won’t be out of place. You’ve got a bed for the night, and tomorrow we’ll have you down to the slave doctor for a proper medical examination – we don’t want you bringing any diseases or anything onto the estate, do we?”
“But Mr Straughan, sir… Surely Billy-Joe meant for me to live in the house…”
“Keep a respectful tongue in your head, slave! He’s not ‘Billy-Joe’. You refer to him as ‘My owner’… Don’t forget it!”
“Sir, surely ‘my owner’ intended me to live in the house… I’ve been a guest here before….”
“I don’t know what he intended, slave, as he could not be bothered to take the trouble to discuss it. All he said was to take care of you, and that’s what I’m doing – taking care of you, in the same way I’d take care of any newly-arrived slave.”
“But I’m not a real slave, I did it voluntarily…”
“Yes, run that by me again…”
“I agreed to a period of voluntary enslavement, for five years, sir, with Master Billy-Joe as my owner. He said it was for the best, to avoid problems with my ex girlfriend. It’s now five years and one day, I know, but that hardly matters…”
“Quite so. But you are a real slave, you know. The court has approved your enslavement order, and you’ve been collared. That’s all that’s needed.”
“Yes, but I’ll be free in five years…”
“Five years and one day….”
“Well then, it won’t hurt you to wait until the weekend, will it, for all this to be sorted out. And in the meantime, we’ll just do all the things we usually do to newly arrived slaves, to make sure they’re fit and healthy. Now, just relax, your food will be along soon, and then get some rest – I’d think that after all the worry of going to court and everything, you’re probably exhausted.”
Straughan strode off, again without saying good-bye or anything, and I just sat there on the edge of the low pad, cradling my head in my hands in despair. I’ve no idea how long I sat there like that, until a voice called out “Hey, boy…”
I looked up, and there was one of the two giant blacks outside the gate, now dressed in slave shorts, as I was. I got up, and went over to him.
“Hi, man. I’m Charlie. The other one of us is Coon. We work together, usually in the house, to keep order.”
“So, Steve, what did you do to get here?”
“Well, it’s a long story… What about you?”
“Illegal immigrant. From Jamaica. They caught me. Guilty. Enslaved.”
“Bred to it. Born on a slave farm somewhere hereabouts, then sold at 16 to the Colonel, who ‘brought him on’ – had him exercised and fed well, then realised he was very much the same size and shape as me, who he’d just bought at auction. So he paired us, and made us kind of guards in the house. Keep the waiters and valets in order, that sort of thing.”
“Still, you’re lucky”, he went on. “They don’t have a ‘Steve’ here currently, so you’ll be allowed to keep your name. I used to be a Rob, but there was already one of those when the Colonel bought me, so he decided to call me Charlie. It takes some getting used to, I’ll tell you, to lose your name.” I was learning more and more about slavery all the time – who’d think they’d deprive a guy of his own name?
Charlie pushed something through the bars. It was a steel dish with a lot of broken biscuit-like things in it. “Here, eat up…”
“What the fuck’s that?”
“Hey, man, don’t you know anything? It’s slave chow – packed full of energy, protein, vitamins, minerals… Everything a slave needs to promote good body growth, retain vitality and fitness, and grow big and strong.”
“I can’t eat that. Perhaps someone could bring some of the organic fruit and stuff the Colonel’s so famous for…”
Charlie roared with laughter! “That’s funny, man. You must be a real wit. The only time us slaves get to see any of the stuff grown on this place, organic or not, is when we’re tending it, picking it, and packing it! It all gets sold, except that used for the master and his guests. Us slaves eat slave chow, morning and night, every day, without any change. Now, eat up.”
“No, I’d rather have nothing.”
“Listen, man, you’ll never get anything else. And it’s not allowed to leave anything. As you go down the feeding line in future you get a weighed amount, and you eat it, all of it, else you’re punished. Most of us are so fucking hungry all the time we’re glad of it, and would willingly take more, but they measure and weigh us, then dish out just exactly the right amount every day…. My belly could always do with more. So fucking eat, else I’ll have to call Mr Straughan, and you know he’s waiting or a chance to beat your balls.”
“Does he often do that?”
“Often enough that most of us know it’s not something you want happen to you! Just eat, will you, or he might blame me as well.”
I took a piece of it in my mouth and chewed. It was tough, and very crunchy. If there was a flavour at all it was faintly meat, faintly fish, and faintly “old” vegetables. I munched away, and swallowed.
“There, not so bad, was it? Now, finish the fucking lot.”
Charlie stood there as I forced it down. Actually, there wasn’t all that much of it, and I could imagine that it would seem even less after a hard day’s work.
Charlie took the bowl off me, and winked at me. “Hey, I’m looking forward to getting to know you… Intimately.”
“I’m not staying here, slave. I guess you may see me, in the big house, once Billy-Joe has sorted out everything with Straughan. So I don’t think we’ll be getting to know each other very well…”
“We’ll see! You’re off to the doctor tomorrow, right?”
“Well, that will be a whole lot of fun for you!” He walked away, laughing slightly.
I hadn’t been worried before, but I was now. But I did sleep that night, from sheer exhaustion, in spite of the narrow, hard bed.
To be continued …
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