A kinky story written by Pete Brown | Chapter 8

Click here to see all published chapters | Illustration by Theo Blaze.

It’s one thing running along behind a rickshaw as I had on the way to the veterinarians, as a relatively “free” man, with just a light chain joining you to it. And quite another to have to run alongside your fellow sweating slave, pushing against the resistance of the thing , using all the power in your butt and legs, and straining your arms to press against the shafts.  The bit is hateful, as you can’t close your mouth properly so drool leaks out from the corners, and you can’t take your hands off the shafts to wipe it away.  And then, as you’d expect, there’s the whip – I’d never used a heavy whip when I was driving Blackie as I didn’t want to permanently scar his back and butt, but had found that a light “carriage whip”, one with a very springy shaft and a medium-long thin spline, was very suitable:  when it hits you there’s a very sharp stinging pain, rather  like being stung by a wasp, that carries on reminding you for the next few minutes that your driver is truly in charge of you.  Straughan had just such a whip – mine, probably – and he didn’t spare us as we ran home:  you could almost feel Blackie and I surge forward as he laid it on us, the upper thighs being particularly painful.  And I also found out just how bad “Half Mile Hill” is – it may not sound much, but half a mile is a long way when you’re dragging a rickshaw, even a light one:  on the level, once you’re going, you only have to overcome rolling resistance.  But up hill, you’re actually lifting some part of the weight of the rickshaw and the driver up vertically all the time…. I seem to remember it’s the weight times one of those funny things like sin or cosine of the angle of the slope, as they kept trying to teach me at High School: perhaps I’d have paid more attention if I knew there was such a practical application of it! 

When we got back to the plantation I was completely exhausted, and I think Blackie was a bit disgusted when I almost collapsed on the ground, rather than standing there, head bowed, hands behind his back, as he did (except, of course, that his chest was heaving and the sweat was streaming off him, so he didn’t look as cool and composed as he had when we started!). Straughan stood over me, sneered and said “You’ll soon get into proper shape, slave!  Off to the exercise yard….” 

Blackie and I trotted off, and I know he didn’t like being put through his paces again – the slave who had been told to exercise me used a “leading rain” just as I had done on Blackie all those years ago and made me run around and around in circles, “encouraged” by the whip.  He seemed to take a pride in having Blackie and me both running around him at the same time. 

That night, in our stall, Blackie was in a funny mood,  half pissed off with me for my poor performance, and half absolutely over the moon that he now had a “proper” companion.  He insisted we went and visited the two gangs of cart ponies to give them the good news, but when we went to the stall that my uncle’s stallions usually occupied, it was empty.  At first we thought that they were taking my uncle to a supper party or something, but when they were not back long after dark, Blackie guessed (correctly, as we were subsequently to find out) that they had been sold, and that he and I would therefore be pulling my uncle everywhere in the big two-pony open landau he preferred to use.  “It will be tough, Steve”, he confided in me, “as that thing is a bitch to pull as it weighs so much.  But it’s an honour to be promoted to pull the owner, isn’t it?  And I guess that that means that the owner’s nephew, my actual owner, isn’t expected back.  But don’t worry about it too much – I expect we’ll be whipped a lot at first until you build up your strength, but I’m used to that:  I’ve told you that the nephew was a real fucker, and was always whipping me, so I’m used to it.” 

I’d been going to try to broach the subject of my enslavement with Blackie, but this new outburst made me hold off a while yet. And, reader, I can genuinely assure you that he was wrong!  I was never constantly whipping Blackie – the most I ever did was to “encourage” him up Half Mile Hill;  oh, and of course sometimes he had to be made to gallop, even though he was tired, when I was running late, as I’m a punctual person and cannot abide arriving even a couple of minutes after the agreed time.  But it was no more than a pony should expect, really, and I think he was making far too much of it – most of my acquaintances regarded me as being an exemplary owner. 

Still, that night it was difficult to upset Blackie, as the more we lay together, the more excited he got. We’d been fairly heavily kissing and stroking each other, when he stopped, looked at me, and said “Well, I guess this is what we’ve been waiting for, eh, Steve?  So let’s celebrate being together properly…. Come on, on your back, legs on my shoulders…. I really want to watch you, Steve, as I fuck you for the first time.” 

“Do we have to, Blackie?” 

“Yes, Steve.  I’m the top guy here, and you know I’ve been waiting for Straughan to remove that prohibition on taking your ass.  And I held off last night, as you were upset, and sore… But now….  Come on….” 

I was dreading it.  I liked fucking Blackie and the house boys, and I felt that this was my role in sex. I’d seen just how strong and dominant Blackie could be, too, and I wasn’t looking forward to having to play bottom to him, and then having him fuck me as hard as I knew he was capable of.  But as it turned out, my fears were groundless – somehow, with me, Blackie was gentle, kind, considerate…. no, “loving” is the word.  He kept his eyes locked on mine, watched for my reactions as his dick played around my ass, stopped whenever it looked as if I was in trouble, and repeated things that I seemed to be enjoying.  It was a different Blackie form the one I’d seen so far. 

Afterwards, as we lay in each others arms, smiling and gently stroking each other, I whispered “Blackie, that was magic!  I know I don’t have a lot of experience, but that was utterly the best thing that’s ever happened to me…. But you were so different….” 

“How, Steve?” 

“So gentle, so… So caring.  You weren’t like that when you fuck the house boys…” 

“No, Steve.  I’ve got a reputation to take care of! And a lot of those boys like it rough, you know.  But you’re different, Steve, you’re my buddy… No, more than that, we’re partners now, really close, as we’re going to live together and work together every minute of every day.  I wouldn’t want to hurt my buddy, my partner, would I….” 

I felt like crying.  This slave who in the past I’d just treated as my pony, fairly but firmly, was now really concerned for me.  I wished now that I’d been kind to him, perhaps giving him a few words of encouragement, or bringing him an apple or something occasionally.  I felt awful, I suppose – and it struck me that for me now, like it had been for him, there was no escape: I was going to be treated as my uncle saw fit, rather than as I really deserved. 

The next two weeks there was this amazing dichotomy in my life – all day I was pushed to the limits of my endurance, either in my uncle’s landau, or in the exercise ring.  My back, butt and thighs were constantly stung with the whip, and  by our return to the stables I was tired in a way that I’d never been tired before.  But then Blackie would come and hold me, and start to kiss and stroke me, and before long I was transported into that other world that only really great sex can take you to:  my tiredness slipped away, the aches in my body disappeared, and I was deliriously happy as my brain focussed all its resources on the sheer enjoyment that Blackie was bringing to me.  He was the best lover I ever had, and nothing I’ve ever experienced since really compares with those nights as we used each other on the straw – and yes, it was mutual!  Blackie was a good enough lover to know that I liked fucking, too, and he would let me fuck him sometimes, using the occasion to help me learn and hone my own skills as I did so. 

We only had our work and sex in common, I suppose. Blackie and I came from such different backgrounds that, even though I had to invent a lot of stuff about my life before enslavement, that we didn’t really understand each other all that well at first as we had so little in common.  I’d always been relatively well off, and he had never had anything.  I’d been to good schools, he’d left at sixteen to try to find work. I’d had girlfriends (and, although I didn’t tell him this of course, slave girls), whereas he’d had a childhood sweetheart, whom he’d married as soon as she got pregnant the first time, then he’d fathered a second son almost as soon as possible.  He was older than me by seven years, and he’d certainly seen more of “life”, I guessed.  And however much we were close to each other, I still couldn’t get him to talk to me about his wife and sons.  As he said to me as I pressed him one night, “Look, Steve, there are some things that are really private, even when you’re with the guy you absolutely love most in the world.  You must know that, having those women and sons of your own….”  I felt like a real heel, having to keep betraying his trust by keeping up the pretence. 

I was really getting on top of things after a month, though:  my muscles had strengthened, my skin was less sensitive to the sting of the whip, and I was having absolutely fabulous amazing sex every night.  I had a companion, friend, lover…. someone I had never been as close to before.  Blackie and I spent all our time together, literally – there were no trips to the office or the mall to separate us, no different working hours or meal times, no one partner watching TV whilst the other did the dishes or anything.  No, we spent every minute of every day together, either in the shafts of my uncle’s landau, or in our stall – we were buck naked, and could have no secrets form each other (other than those big, deep, ones you know about!). Of course I hadn’t given up hope on a reconciliation with my uncle – he wanted an heir, I knew, and I was the only person who could give him one.  But now I was thinking it might take six months before he decided I’d been punished enough. 

Both Blackie and I got to fuck the house slaves as the young guys were lining up to “try out” the new stud – I think Blackie was a bit jealous, as they had been his sole province before.  Mind you, I needed this – Blackie just wouldn’t let me fuck him as often as he fucked me, and insisted on riding my ass every night. As I said, though, he was an amazing lover and I suppose I didn’t mind – although my natural tendency is to “top”, and I determined that as soon as I was free again things would change – these young guys were all really fuckable, but I wanted more: older, more mature bodies to fuck.  Still, it was all fun, and I really did begin to get almost cross at the way that everyone had misled me all my life – I guess I felt it’s a bit like Santa Claus when you’re a kid – everyone else is in on the secret, and you have to find out for yourself!  Now I remembered all that crap from the teachers at school, the lessons from the preacher at church every Sunday, and what the TV shows all  said all the time: about how fucking with other guys was “sinful” :  Ha!  If this is a sin, give me more, I thought, and got angry about all the time I’d wasted since I was sixteen when I could have been out there really enjoying myself.  And how much better our football team would have been if we’d all been properly bonded…. As I said, what a waste! 

You know how slaves chatter unmercifully about the private lives of their masters, and one afternoon when we had pulled my uncle over to Marie-Louise’s parents’ house for tea, Blackie and I were standing at the front door (heads bowed, hands clasped – I’d learned that now), when we heard two of the house slaves talking as they passed – unlike at my uncle’s house, a lot of the house slaves were female, and of course they tend to talk more anyway.  It seemed that all was being made ready for the return of Marie-Louise from Paris the following week – her suite was being redecorated “as befits a married lady”, new closets were being built for all her fashionable new clothes, and there was a general air of buzz and excitement about this stupendous event.  My spirits rose at once – if Marie-Louise had got a husband, then  a lot of the anger of her parents and my uncle would naturally dissipate:  no one could say that there was anything wrong with her if she came back with some handsome Frenchman, or even an American whom she’d met over there.    I’d been puzzling about the papers my uncle and her father had been talking about on that night when they’d both raped me, but it didn’t seem to matter as much now, as I felt certain my freedom was imminent. 

That night, in the stables, however, Straughan was waiting.  He watched as the stable lad took off my head harness (yes, my head had been shaved, just like Blackie’s, so that I could be properly harnessed and made to run with my head thrown back in the fashionable manner) and took my bit out.  Then he came over, commanded me to stand up on one of the straw bales, and told me to spread my legs. 

>From his coat pocket he pulled out a shiny stainless steel cylinder about the size of a large banana, made out of a mesh, with a steel strap at one end of it. As I stood there, not daring to defy him, he pulled the mesh cylinder over my dick, then pulled my balls down in their sac and cinched the strap around the skin between my body and my trapped balls.  A small adjustment with a tiny tool he produced, and he stood up with a smirk on his face. 

“There, Steve.  I’m afraid that’s going to cramp your style a little for the next few days – this is a chastity device that’s usually used for male slaves who have to be around free women unsupervised, and where the assignment is temporary and doesn’t warrant the slave being gelded.  Your dick’s in there, and it can’t get out – not without the key to unlock the strap around your balls, anyway…. and I’m holding on to that.  It’s all perfectly hygienic – you can piss as normal, you can keep yourself clean as the shower water gets to your dick, and you can even have erections (although your dick has to support the weight of the cylinder, as well as itself!).  The only think you can’t do is fuck, or jerk off, or even get a blow job!  We want those balls of yours to be nice and full, and the only way we can ensure that, with a healthy young guy like you, is to lock your dick up in its own little cage for a few days.” 

Well, let me tell you – for a healthy young guy like me, especially one who’d got used to regular sex and lots of it, it was fucking awful!  After the first couple of days my balls ached continuously with that dull ache that says they need release.  My dick was almost always erect (I had lots of erections normally, a you’d expect for a guy my age, but now it seemed as if I was always hard) and the weight of the stainless steel mesh made me generally sore.  I was leaking pre-cum everywhere all  the time, and I was totally frustrated.  Blackie did his best – he tried to probe his tongue down the cylinder, but only succeeded in just touching my dick head with the very tip, and that made the frustration of not getting release so much worse.  He tried fingering my prostate, getting his strong fingers right up my ass as we’d both heard that a guy could be made to cum just from prostate massage – well, this one couldn’t!  Mind you, it was an interesting experiment. 

After ten days I was almost at the end of my tether – I was so frustrated that I lost my temper at the slightest thing, and I could hardly bear to have Blackie touch me, it was so frustrating.  Not that that stopped him, of course.  As he said,  “Steve, be reasonable!  Just because you can’t have sex for the time being, that doesn’t mean I should have to stop too, right?  So stop being so fucking selfish, and get down on your back and get your legs in the air….” 

We had been out working all the morning of the eleventh day, taking Straughan on various errands around the plantation, and at lunchtime he directed us back to the house.  Leaving Blackie in the shafts, he took me in to the “preparation area” I’d been in before, and I got the same kind of thorough cleaning and going over as I had that first time, prior to my rape.  I wasn’t particularly worried by this – I’d taken dick so often now that even if my uncle wanted to pound me again, it wouldn’t be a problem.  But, on the other hand, my mood brightened as I thought that my uncle might be about to forgive me, and had called me for an interview. 

The two slaves who were cleaning me up laughed and joked about the chastity device on my dick, but Straughan had to be called to release it as they couldn’t properly shave my balls silkily smooth whilst it was there – that was another part of the problem it was causing me:  my pubes were growing back and the thick stubble was intensely itchy (as well as the other frustrations I was suffering!).   Before he undid the catch holding the strap around my sac, though, Straughan stood there and put on one of the restraint collars around my neck, and fastened my wrists to it at the back.  I thought at first that he didn’t trust me not to immediately start jerking off, but when the slaves had finished and Straughan had felt my sac and pronounced it satisfactory (I was getting over the humiliation of having this employee handle me now), he didn’t fit the sheath around my dick again.  Instead, he took out my bit and muffler, and replaced it with a ball gag.  I’d given up protesting by this stage in my “career” as a slave, as firstly it didn’t do any good, and secondly it only got me punished, so all of this went off relatively smoothly. 

Straughan told me to follow him out of the house, and there outside, still waiting patiently, was Blackie. I assumed Straughan would chain me to the carriage as he had before, but instead he told me to get up into it.  Then he sat beside me, snapped “Walk on!” To Blackie in the traditional way of starting a journey, and gave him a light touch of the riding whip across his butt to “encourage” him.  It must have been really hard work for Blackie, as this carriage was supposed to be pulled by two ponies, and now there was only him, and two passengers, too.  But it was a nice change for me, and almost like old times, sitting there enjoying the countryside, and watching Blackie’s magnificent body working away. 

It was obvious after the first mile that we were heading for Marie -Louise’s place, and in spite of being only a single pony and having this heavy load, Straughan didn’t spare Blackie the horrors of Half Mile Hill, using the whip quite viciously, I thought, to keep Blackie’s pace up. 

When we arrived the contrast between Blackie and me was astonishing – he was almost falling over with tiredness and the sweat was dripping off the end of his dick, so much was flowing over his body, whereas I was relatively cool, and not even breathing heavily. I stood there with my hands cuffed behind my neck as Straughan said “Good, Steve.  You see I need you in good condition, and I wouldn’t want you all sweaty like that… Time enough for that later.  Now stand here whilst I go in and make arrangements.” 

I stood there at the foot of the steps of the mansion that I guess Marie-Louise and I could own one day (she was an only daughter) as the hot sun beat on my naked skin.  Blackie was recovering, and he looked at me and raised an eyebrow questioningly, and I gave a slight shrug in return, as neither of us knew what was happening.  Even though we were both gagged and unable to speak, it was surprising how much the slave mentality was getting to me – these tiny gestures were so slight, as we knew that it wasn’t just speaking, but “communication” that was frowned on when you were a slave, and more overt gestures than this might have resulted in punishment had we been seen. 

My dick was erect – I was getting almost continuous boners now – and I wondered if I dared risk moving from where Straughan had left me so that I might rub myself against Blackie.  Even the slight touch of his skin against my dick would be enough to make me cum and give me relief, I knew.  But then, the thought of what might happen if Straughan came back and found us in the act, or even if he saw Blackie’s body running with my cum, made me desist.  Just as well, as he appeared at the top of the steps and beckoned for me to go up. 

The entrance hall was still and quiet, just as I remembered it from that day which now seemed so long ago when I’d stood there in my tight hose and stretched shirt, waiting to go into tea, and, yes, it must still be tea time as I could hear the faint sounds of conversation and the tinkle of the thin china tea cups.  The marble was cool to my naked feet, and I padded over, following Straughan, to the big double height extra wide doors that I knew led into the drawing room.  Unusually, there was no slave there to open them, so Straughan did so himself, and ushered me in. 

Shame and embarrassment flooded over me, and I knew I was starting to blush bright red in an instant. There, sitting on the sofas in front of the huge fireplace (filled with an exquisite arrangement of fresh-cut flowers) were my uncle, Marie-Louise, and her parents!  They were taking tea, and on the low tables scattered around I could see the silver tea service, the fine cups and plates, and all the salvers of hot buttered crumpets, freshly-made scones, and thinly-cut sandwiches that were usual at this meal.  A dark brown fruit cake and a light as air Victoria sponge occupied another table, waiting to be cut. 

Marie-Louise was in black – presumably some ultrafashionable Paris dress, in silk – with a small cocktail hat on her head that held up a half veil in gossamer thin mesh that covered her eyes.  My uncle, and her parents, were in what we call “visiting clothes” – pale afternoon suits, conservatively cut, for the men, and a flowing dress in crisp starched cotton, with many flounces and frills, for Marie-Louise’s mother.  What the fuck was going on? The very contrast between the extreme formality of the scene and my utter nakedness made me feel very uncomfortable indeed – I thought I’d got used to being naked, but was surprised how badly I felt in front of these people who knew me so well. 

My uncle dismissed Straughan, telling him to wait outside in case he might be needed to “control the slave” in case of problems, an order that was not lost on me, as Straughan carried his customary light whip. Then all four pairs of eyes started to examine me closely. 

“Turn around, Steve”, my uncle said. “…so that we can get a good look at you.”  What the fuck was going on, I wondered.  I thought at first of just standing there, but the prospect of Straughan’s whip made me move, and I slowly rotated so that they could see all of me. 

“So”, my uncle continued, “Now that you have had an opportunity to see the entire body, I’m sure you will agree with me that it’s in fine shape and should be excellent breeding stock.  Now, sir, madam, Miss Marie-Louise, would you like to inspect him properly? I’ve had him cuffed and gagged so there should be no trouble in approaching him, but we can soon get Straughan in here if there’s any difficulty…. I would just caution you, however, that he has had no…. no…. ‘no relief’, as we might say, for a number of days, and so he is probably extremely sensitive.  I wouldn’t want there to be any mess on your clothes, or on the exquisite furnishings in this room – a tribute to your taste and delicacy, if I may say so, ma’am”.  He finished with a slight bow and a nod towards Marie-Louise’s mother. 

“I think I can speak for all of us”, her father replied, “In saying that that won’t be necessary.  He is indeed a fine specimen – and it’s interesting to see the flesh properly.  When your nephew was here last, we had to make certain assumptions, based on what was revealed by his visiting clothes…. This slave seems to be an improvement over that.. .the musculature I superb…” 

He winked as he said this, so I knew all the family knew who I was.  Fuck me – this was awful!  How on earth was I ever going to look my parents in law in the eye after I’d married Marie-Louise?  After all, it’s not many parents of the bride who would be there at the wedding having seen their son in law completely naked – and erect, I now realised:  the tension had had the inevitable effect. 

“Yes, I’ve had this slave exercising properly – he’s turning out to be very useful on the estate”, my uncle continued smoothly. “Although Jon used to go to the gym, there’s no substitute for real hard work, I believe, in giving a body proper tone, and muscles that are worth looking at.” 

He sat back a little on the sofa, then leaned forward to Marie-Louise and her family.  “So, are we still agreed?  The lawyers have looked over the papers, and I’m still happy…. Shall we sign now, and then proceed?” 

Marie-Louise’s father looked at her, and she nodded. Oh no – they were going to sell me to this family! I’d be a slave to them, as well as their son-in-law! This was fucking awful – I wanted to be free, to marry, have the kids, then go my own way.  And how would I get Blackie here, if I was a virtual slave in this house and he was still at the plantation? 

My uncle and Marie-Louise’s father were using expensive gold fountain pens to sign a great pile of legal documents, then solemnly shook hands.  “There – our estates both in to the trust fund to be managed by us until the heirs of your daughter Marie-Louise and my nephew Jon come of age”, my uncle said.  And as I heard this, I breathed a huge sigh of relief.  My freedom couldn’t now be long coming, as they were discussing our kids. 

“My dear, are you ready?”, Marie-Louise’s father asked, and she nodded. “We may as well begin then, as the doctor is waiting….  I’ll call him in.” 

“No, father.  After what happened to me, the shame, the disgrace, the way I had to leave home and can only now return after you made this arrangement…. I want to do the next part myself.  I liked that Jon, and when I saw him in his tight hose, I was excited at the prospect of our marriage.  It’s only right that I should get a little of the experience, a very little….” 

“Are you sure, my dear?  Shall your mother and I withdraw?” 

“Oh no, father… I’m quite a woman of the world after my Paris sojourn.” 

I was utterly confused now.  Surely she and I weren’t going to fuck here, were we?  That’s what it sounded like!  My already hard erection stiffened, and my dick started to give those little involuntary jerks of its own, as you get sometimes before a spontaneous ejaculation.  I tried to stop myself, as the thought of spraying my cum over the room wasn’t nice! 

Marie-Louise got up and went to a low table to the side of the room.  I can still hear in my mind the rustle of the expensive silk of her dress as she moved, and then approached me.  She was holding something that looked like a large glass ash tray, then, her mouth set in something that I couldn’t decide was a sneer or a smile, she reached out and took hold of my dick!  I felt the lightness and softness of her touch, but again, one of those things that snaps into my memory just like a photograph is the sight of her bright scarlet immaculately groomed fingernails as her long fingers curled around me. She’d never done anything like this the two or three times we’d dated – I’d had to make all the running, and a quick fumble with her breasts was all I got for an evening’s work.  Paris must have changed her, as she didn’t hesitate to start jerking me off, and she was pretty expert – she didn’t just stroke the shaft as so many women wrongly do, but let her fingers bang into the flange of my head, whilst her little finger curled around so that my piss slit scraped into her sharp nail. 

I’ve told you I was already right on the edge because of me enforced celibacy, and I knew I couldn’t hold out under this stimulation for long.  I just didn’t know what to do – I was hugely humiliated to being jerked off by a woman, someone who’d used to be my girlfriend, and whose parents were watching, along with my own uncle!  But what could I do about it? I was gagged, so I couldn’t protest verbally, and cuffed, so I couldn’t stop her.  I did the only thing open to me, and tried to pull back, but she must have sensed this was going to happen as her other hand snaked out and grabbed my balls, and pulled me back towards her.  “You’re not escaping this time…”, she hissed. 

To my horror I felt my dick start to jerk itself and my balls contract preparing to shoot, and then I began that wonderful series of contractions that your balls and dick do when they’re completely loaded and stimulated beyond endurance.  I began too pump a huge amount of cum, at high velocity.  Marie-Louise must have felt this beginning to happen, as quick as a flash she bent my dick down so that my seed was caught in the ashtray thing… But then she carried on stroking me!  Well, you know how it is when you’ve shot, if you’re one of those guys who, like me, has a sensitive dick!  I just can’t bear to be touched on the dick when I’ve cum, but she kept stroking and jerking me.  My body convulsed, I tried to scream, I tried to pull away, but she held on to my dick.  The after shocks that her continued jerking  of me caused produced even more cum, and when she thought I had finally shot everything I could, she at last stopped. 

There, in the glass dish in her hand, was the biggest load of cum I had even produced, lying there milky white.  I could smell that characteristic smell of it even above the whiff of my own sweat, which this intense bout of sexual stimulation had produced. Marie-Louise picked up a similar sized glass container and put it over the top of the one she was holding – now I saw it was one of those things they use in labs – Petrii dishes I think they’re called. 

Leaving me standing there, still shaking from my ordeal, she went over to my uncle and showed him the contents of the dish, remarking that it seemed to be “very satisfactory” and “almost certainly enough”. She showed her father, too, but I noticed that her mother was left out of this display of my semen. 

“Right, my dear”, her father said.  “The doctor is waiting….  Hurry along, whilst it’s fresh.  I don’t think there’ll be a problem, as Steve is so obviously virile and we have so much of his seed there, but it’s best not to waste time as we don’t want to have to go through all this again.” 

Marie-Louise left the room, and my uncle asked her mother to ring the bell.  When the slave appeared, at once, as you’d expect in such a well-run house, my uncle told him to fetch Straughan, and when he reappeared, my uncle told him to take me back to the plantation as they were finished with me. 

I didn’t have a ride back as I had when we came. Straughan took out my gag and fitted the usual bit and muffler plate, and told me to join Blackie in the shafts.  As we stood there, Straughan was almost laughing.  “Well, boy, that’s you done, I would think, until the next time.  Your owner wants an ‘heir and a spare’, and with any luck he’s achieved the first part of that.  So we’ll all be here again next year….” 

He saw me looking puzzled, and said “Boy, are you thick!  That cum of yours is even now in a turkey baster and being inserted into the heiress to this place!  I expect the doctor calls it some fancy name, and charges a huge fee, but that’s what it is – just a turkey baster, to pump your cum right up inside her. And just think – your owner’s nephew could have done the job properly, if he hadn’t been so wilful and stupid.  Still, you’re a slave, Steve, and even though you might be stupid, we’ll have lots of time to knock any wilfulness out of you….!” 

Than night Blackie kept asking me what had happened, and what Straughan was going on about, but I didn’t want to tell him – indeed, I thought it best not to!

I realised now that my uncle and Marie-Louise’s father both were getting what they wanted – a liaison between their two properties, so that it could ultimately be given to the kids of Marie-Louise and me.  But I saw now that I was probably never going to be free – Marie-Louise had been inseminated with my cum, and I would be forced to do the same at some point in the future, when she was ready to produce the “spare”. My uncle didn’t need me to be a free man, he didn’t need to recognise me as his nephew or anything like that – how much more simple to keep me on the plantation, as one might a prize bull, to produce semen for his breeding programme when he wanted. 

If I was going to have to live and work with Blackie, I couldn’t now tell him the truth, especially after I’d already lied to him since I got here.  He kept questioning me, though, and at one point I got really worried.  “Steve”, he muttered, pulling his tongue out of my mouth, “You know, you’re a really strange guy sometimes.  All this secrecy about what Straughan did to you – I thought you didn’t want to tell me that he’d taken you into that place and fucked you, but your hole’s clean and tight, as I’ve just found out. Still, I expect you’ll tell me one day.  But the other day, when you loosened my bit and did my head strap up tighter – that’s what my owner, the nephew, always did.  He always said that lad in the stables couldn’t get it right, and always adjusted it before we went off for a ride.  And, you know, you felt my neck and massaged my Adam’s apple just as he used to…. You’re very alike in some ways….” 

I had to really tweak his nips then to cause him to give a little squeal, so I could get my tongue in him and shut him up… And we soon went on from there to other Polaris, which I think took his mind off it. 

Two weeks later, as we took my uncle to church on Sunday morning, Marie-Louise and her parents drove up in the family carriage, pulled by four enormous matched niggas.  She was wearing an even more magnificent black dress, now with a large broad-brimmed black hat that shaded her face.  She was carrying a black prayer book, and a black hand bag, and as the family made its way into the church she leaned heavily on her father’s arm, was comforted by her mother, and dabbed constantly at her eyes with  an extravagant black lace handkerchief. 

Blackie and I stood properly as trained ponies in the shafts whilst the service was going on, but there were a lot of young slave lads who were playing an impromptu game of ball as they waited for their masers and mistresses – it had become fashionable to have young sixteen year olds, fresh to slavery, as personal servants to carry bibles and hymn books to church, and to hold umbrellas or parasols, depending on the season, over the ladies.   Some of them were listening to the service through the open windows, though, and seemed affected by it:  still, what do you expect?  We used to try to get our slaves interested in religion if we could, as it made them easier to control if they swallowed all that crap about loving your master, accepting your place in the scheme of things, and knowing that you’d have a better life hereafter… Like most of the owners, my uncle and I just went to the place every Sunday as it was considered the “gentlemanly” thing to do, and we obviously were not as gullible as these simple idiots. 

One of the young lads came past us, rubbing away tears from his face.  Blackie broke training to put out a hand and haul the lad close to us – he was, I saw, one of the new slaves from our own house, one that both Blackie and I had fucked during the week.  Blackie mimed at him to tell us what was going on, and in-between his sobs, he blurted out “Oh Steve, Blackie… The preacher was telling us about the parable of the bad son who the father rejoiced about when he came home…. Then he went on to say that even though our good Lord tries to make everyone happy, even slaves, sometimes his ways are difficult to understand as things are not always like the bible, but we must have faith.” 

Blackie looked at me and shrugged – it sounded like the typical crap they served up in there, that didn’t make any sense.  “Yes”, the lad went on, “He asked for the prayers of everyone for our owner, and for mistress Marie-Louise and her family, in their sad loss.  The errant ‘son’ of our owner was not going to come back like the black sheep in the parable in the bible, but we still needed to pray for him.” 

Blackie and I still looked puzzled, and he continued “It seems that our owner’s nephew went away to Paris, to study art.  Mistress Marie-Louise followed him, as she loved him, just as the Lord loves us.  They married in secret there, but then our owner’s son ate oysters one night that were ‘off’, and died in spite of the efforts of the hospital and everything.  So Mistress Marie-Louise came home – but the lord showed his mercy to our owner and to Marie-Louise by blessing her with a child… It’s just been confirmed.” 

Well, I suppose that if you’re gullible enough to believe all the god rubbish, you’d swallow that story too.  But now I knew I was a slave for life – they’d concocted this story which neatly explained my disappearance and Marie-Louise’s flight to Paris, and would explain away the baby.  I wondered what they’d do to explain the “spare” at some point in the future!

To be continued …

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1 COMMENT

  1. Pete, let me say that you’re a talented writer. You’re story is emotionally moving and morbidly fascinating.

    That said, I have a very visceral reaction to stories involving slavery. The Hindu belief includes our soul returning again and again to live a life over and over.
    I think they might be right, maybe we’re reborn to learn something, to re experience a life, retribution? Love? Whatever might be needed.

    That said, I really hate slavery stories, I actually get extremely mad and upset. Understand reading history and knowing that.my family owned black slaves doesn’t bother me, maybe because it’s history and can’t be changed.

    But reading well written stories like this, drive me crazy and emotionally upsetting. Perhaps I was an abused slave in a previous life which is why I react like this.

    I found the characters perfectly reprehensible, except for Blackie. Jon, even once branded and tattooed continues to try and justify slavery, explain his actions, how he wasn’t a bad master like Blackie said etc.

    And the uncle who knows it’s Job, rapes him and uses him, what a vile piece of shit. Southern gentleman, BS. His code is what he wants, no honor at all.

    And the inlaws or almost in-laws. Vile as well, of course the girl sounded like a bitch even when Jon dated her.

    When I read chapter 8, not only was I mad for several hours, but I felt my soul had been wounded and hurt for two days.

    I’d love to see Jon’s friend from Harvard come for a visit and recognize Jon as a slave. For them to hatch and successfully execute a plan to turn the tables on his uncle, inlaws and that overseer.

    I don’t know if you are continuing the story, but I can’t read anymore, it’s to soul damaging.

    Again, great writting.

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