Date: Tue, 4 Oct 2005 05:09:59 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Dad And Me, Part 19

Dad And Me   by Pete Brown.  petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part  19

I had forgotten what it was like to sleep in a proper
bed, alone.  I had forgotten what it was like to feel
clothes against my skin.  When I first went into the
bathroom in my bedroom suite and saw a button marked
"slave", I pressed it and was surprised when Amos
appeared, and fell to his knees in front of me, and
called me "Master Steve".

Although I did play with his body as we did when I too
was a slave, it somehow was not as exciting, or as
entertaining, and had I not been very frustrated and
in need of relief I probably would not have fucked
him.

They found me some clothes - I think Stryker was
pressed in to giving up some of his, as there was a
certain scent about them, a male scent that I
recognised from the times when I'd been using and
abusing his body.  I couldn't get used to shoes,
though, and even the open sandals they found seemed
strange on my feet.

Dinner that night was a curious affair, too - Mr
Hawthorne hardly spoke to me, Charles  just glared,
and I had all the problems of remembering how to eat
"nicely" - as I've told you, all slaves were always
kept just on the edge of hunger:  we were only fed
enough to keep our strength up and allow us to work at
maximum output, and we always felt we needed "more".
And now the slaves brought around great platters with
the meat and vegetables on them, and helped me to as
much as I wanted!  I  just ate and ate, long after Mr
Hawthorne and Charles had finished, and I saw a faint
look of disgust on their faces as I sated my appetite,
wolfing down huge quantities of the food (and that's
another thing:  we always had to eat quickly as
slaves, as we were supposed to move on to the next
task, and not waste our time.  Consequently I'd got
into the habit of shovelling the food into my mouth as
quickly as possible, and that can't have been a
pleasant sight for the two more refined men to have to
watch).

What really got me , though, was the wine:  I'd never
had alcohol before, as we were too poor to afford wine
at home and dad restricted himself to a couple of
beers every night and carefully counted the cans in
the fridge so I couldn't sneak any.  And as a slave,
it was totally forbidden and never provided, of
course.   When the serving slave poured some of the
(probably) expensive red wine into my glass, it was
therefore a shock to taste something totally new, and
I drained my glass almost without thinking.  He did of
course refill it, and as I gorged on the huge
quantities of meat and vegetables I ate, I accompanied
it with more wine.

After dinner, therefore, when Mr Hawthorne and Charles
decided to watch a movie, I felt very light headed and
almost as soon as we'd sat down in the cinema space, I
fell into a deep sleep.  They shook me awake at the
end of the film, and I realised that I was lying
there, kind of slumped, and feeling pretty rough.
There was also a stream of drool running down my chin,
where my mouth had fallen open as I slept, and I
assumed I'd been snoring.  "Dad, you can't be serious
about keeping Steve here as a house guest!", I hear
Charles say.  "Look at his disgusting behaviour at
dinner, swilling his food like that and getting drunk,
and then this disgraceful performance tonight:  he
ruined the movie for me, if not for you."

"Well, Charles, what should we do with him?  If we
simply turn him out, with no education and no money,
he won't find work, and he'll soon get picked up as a
vagrant and he'll be back as a slave in no time."

"That's the best thing, if you ask me!  A great oaf
like that... He has the manners of a slave, the body
of a slave, the look of a slave, and he's used to
it... So it won't be any great loss to mankind, and
not much of a change for him."

"Hey!", I cut in.  "Look, I can work, you know that.
I work hard.  There must be some job I can do... I
don't want to be a slave - I need to get a job, make
money, and perhaps buy my dad from you, sir..."

Mr Hawthorne gave a wry smile "I'm not sure you will
ever be able to save enough to make that possible,
Steve.  You're only likely to get low-level jobs, even
if we can find one for you at all, as you  just don't
have the education.  And it will be hard enough to
make enough to live on, let alone save money,
especially enough money to be able to afford someone
like your father.  He's a valuable property, you know:
 a big, strong whitey, with a proven track record at
studding....  It was bad enough losing you, and I'd
need proper recompense if I came to sell Joe."

"Well, sir, I'm going to try!"

"Admirable, Steve.  But Charles and I are going back
to New York tomorrow morning, early, as usual.  I
think you ought to stay here for the time being, as my
guest, and get more used to the life of a free man -
relax, watch TV, catch up on the world, and next
weekend I'll talk to you seriously about your future."

"Dad, you can't leave him here....  Suppose he steals
things...."

"Oh Charles, don't be so ridiculous!  Where would he
go, f he did?  He hasn't got any papers, and he still
looks like a slave, with his SIN on his wrist like
that.  And you can see the white band around his neck
where his collar kept the sun off.  Steve won't leave
here, it will be too difficult."

I hated the way they still talked about me  just as if
I was still a slave - owners often discuss their
slaves in front of them,  just as if they were not
there, and Mr Hawthorne and Charles were still doing
this.  I was going to tell them, then thought that
perhaps it was a bit impolite, but Mr Hawthorne was
speaking again.

"Now, Steve, we won't see you in the morning - have a
lie-in, breakfast in bed, a swim.... There's TV,
papers and magazines - oh, I forgot, you have
difficulty with reading - and  just tell the kitchens
to prepare you anything you want to eat:  it will do
the lazy slaves there good to have to work all week,
not just on the weekends.  And, of course, as my guest
you can use any of the slaves who take your fancy."

"Thank you..."

"But Steve, I don't think it would be a good idea for
you to bring your father into the house - it would
unsettle him to see you living as a free man, whilst
he's still a slave.  And he'll be very busy this week
- as I've lost you, he'll have to work extra hard
around the place to keep up with the scheduled tasks.
I've reassigned the new Mexican boy I bought from
household duties to outside work, and that will be
more trouble for Joe until he had the lad properly
broken in!  I think you'd be doing both of them a
service by not interfering."

"Yes,  but..."

"Steve, please do this for me.  I know more about the
management and control of slaves than you do, and this
really is the easiest and best way to proceed.  As my
guest, please respect my wishes in this regard."

Mr Hawthorne's tone had gone to one of issuing a
command as he said this, in spite of the polite words.
 I was going to argue, but thought better of it - if I
was to get a job, and to be able to help dad, I needed
Mr Hawthorne's active assistance, and it would be
better not to upset him.  So I  just said "Certainly,
sir."

"Good, Steve.  Now I'll bid you goodnight, and we'll
see you next Friday evening."  He turned and walked
out, followed by Charles, who didn't even pay me the
courtesy of saying goodnight or anything.  I sat
there, staring at the TV and idly flicking channels,
but I was so tired that I soon left the room and
climbed the stairs to the room I'd been given.

It was really odd to have to take clothes off before
getting into bed - and that was strange feeling, too,
as I'd been used to  just flopping down onto a
mattress on the floor.  I missed having a nice warm,
hard body to snuggle up to, and I lay there, tossing
and turning, trying to get used to the feel of the
sheets and blankets over me.  Finally, still unable to
sleep, I pressed the "slave" button on the bedside
cabinet, and almost instantly Andy appeared.

He bowed low, and said quietly "Master?  Your wishes?"

"Hey, I'm Steve, come on, you know what I like to
do...."

"Master only has to command...."

"No, Andy, I want a bit of fun, like we used to... I
can't sleep, and I need a bit of relaxation, a nice
warm ass, a good fuck...."

"Certainly, sir.  Is there any slave that you
particularly prefer?  One of the waiters, or one of
the maids?"

"No, Andy!  You!  We always have fun, remember?"

"As you command, sir..."

Well, he got into bed with me, but that spontaneous
fun and enjoyment we used to have was totally missing.
 Before, we both knew that Stryker would probably
punish us if he found me "wasting" my seed by fucking
the other slaves, and it added a real touch of
excitement as Andy and Amos and me sneaked away
somewhere to enjoy each other.  Now, he  just lay
there and waited for me to tell him what to do, and
then he  just did it, with no enthusiasm or energy!  I
began to get pissed off, and told him so.

"Sir, I'm a slave", he said. "You're a free man.  And
free men command slaves, sir.  So  just tell me what
you need, sir, and I will of course obey."

I tried telling him I wanted it to be like before, but
he didn't seem capable of doing that.  So I began to
lose my temper, and when he still didn't react
properly I shook him a bit and shouted at him, and
then when this still wasn't doing the trick I slapped
him around a bit - well, mostly on his butt, to show
him I meant business but I didn't want to harm him
permanently.  He didn't react, though, and when I
finally  just pushed him face down  on the bed, kicked
his legs apart, and took him hard, it was really not
very satisfactory.  Afterwards he  just lay there and
I was looking forward to those moments after a fuck
when both guys lie there breathing hard and smiling
and touching each other - but he was almost supine,
and it really spoiled it for me.

I'd been intending to keep him with me all night, so
that I could ease my dick as soon a s I awoke in the
morning ,but his whole attitude so upset me that I
kicked him out and told him to go back to the slave
quarters, adding that he was fortunate that his
attitude hadn't earned him a severe caning..  And then
I felt vaguely guilty, and lay awake most of the night
worrying about why Andy had been like that:  we were
just two guys together in bed, after all.  But then I
began to realise how different it might be as a free
man when  I wanted to fuck a slave - perhaps all
slaves all resented it, as I resented being made to
stud in public.

It was late when I finally woke up, and I decided to
go for a swim to clear my head (I had a headache, I
don't know why!  Then I remembered the wine, and what
people said about alcohol).  I  didn't even think
about trying to find any shorts, and padded down the
stairs and out to the pool - where the young Mexican
guy was performing the duties that I had done for so
many years.  I smiled inwardly as I looked at his
slim body as he worked away - I'd been like that, I
remembered, before I matured properly and now had a
real man's body.

The water felt fantastic, and I did seven or eight
lengths, fast, before I stood there at the end,
watching the Mexican as he still worked away on the
other side of the pool.  And then I was bored, and I
thought about how Charles had used me as a "pacer",
and called out to the Mexican, asking him if he could
swim.

"Yes....", he said haltingly.

"Well get in here, as I need some competition..."

"No, I'm busy...."

I felt my anger rising!  This guy wasn't only a slave,
but he was a lot younger than me.  I'd given him an
order, and he was arguing!

"Get your ass in here... NOW!"

"No... I'm busy....."

I hauled myself out of the pool and went over to him.
"I said, get in the pool!".

"Hey, man, fuck off, will you?  I've got work to do
here, and a long day as Joe says that it's grass
cutting day, and it will be tough...."

"I told you to get into the pool!"  I was  really
angry now, and I began to understand how frustrating
it could be to have to deal with slaves, especially
those who didn't obey instantly and completely.

"Just piss off, will you?  I've got work to do.....
Quit interfering!"

And then I realised what was happening:  I'd come out
naked, he'd seen my tanned body, tanned all over so
that it was obvious that I was used to being stark
naked under the fierce sun, and then he'd noticed my
tattoos all over my back, and my SIN on my wrists...
He thought  I was a slave, and could ignore me.

"I'm a free man, boy, and you'd better do as you're
told...."

"Oh, fuck off!"

I grabbed him by the wrist, dragged him over to one of
the loungers, sat down, then as he started to shout
and yell at me, I pushed his body over my thighs, held
his neck tightly and pushed his head down, and began
to spank his ass with my other hand.  It's somehow
very satisfying to let your physical side take over
like that, and his cries of anger, turning to pain as
I beat him, were somehow at the same time both calming
and arousing:  I could feel my dick straining upwards,
stabbing into his belly and pubes as he lay sprawled
across me.  And as he wriggled and squirmed in a vain
effort to escape, this only added to the totally
erotic sensation.

Mind you, I can't recommend giving too much of a
spanking with your bare hand - even if you've got
work-hardened hands like me, it starts to really sting
your palms when they make contact with the hard muscle
of a working butt too often.  I only hit him about
eight times, and then stopped, my heart racing from
the swimming and the excitement of what  I was doing.
Looking at his firm ass, glowing red now even through
his dark skin, my dick got even harder, and I thought
"why not?".

Look, he was a slave, and a good-looking slave with a
trim body.  He'd been working on the plantation for a
couple of weeks at least, so I naturally assumed that
Mr Hawthorne, or Charles, or both had used him.  And
even if they hadn't, Amos or Andy, and of course dad,
as the kid was now doing my job, almost certainly had.
 And my dick was throbbing now, so I grabbed his ribs,
picked him up off my lap and turned him around so he
was facing me, and sat him there so that he was
forcing my dick down on to my belly.

"Bastard!!", he hissed.

I was beginning to really enjoy this.  After the
sullen, supine lack of reaction from Andy last night,
this was more fun.  He began to flail at me with his
arms, trying to hit my face, and so I raised my hands
up his body until they were almost under his spits,
then dug my thumbs upwards into his arm muscles.  I
squeezed him, hard, so he knew he was under my control
and he mostly stopped his attack on me.  I raised him
up, freeing my dick which sprang upwards, then gently
lowered him, at the same time spreading my thighs out,
forcing his apart, to give access to his ass.

"NO...!", he shouted as he realised the tip of my dick
was positioned at my hole, and this turned into a
scream as I lowered him, none too gently, down onto
me.  Was it anger, or was it pain?  I didn't care!  I
felt fantastic to be making this slave do what  I
wanted, and  as he continued to cry and shout I raised
and lowered him on my dick, at the same time thrusting
myself upwards occasionally to meet his body as it
came down.

My own passion was now really up, and the more he
cried out, the more of a charge it gave me.  I fucked
on and on, but amazingly soon I felt that wonderful
tightening in my balls and tensing in all the muscles
of my body as I got ready to shoot.... And then it was
all over.   He squatted there impaled on my dick, and
I let go of my grip on his body, wrapped my arms
around his slight form, and hugged him to me.

I always like to feel another guy's heart beating, the
scent of his sweat after sex, the warmth of his hot
breath as he pants and you hold him close, and the
Mexican kid was no exception:  he lay there, my arms
surrounding him, making him feel safe and secure as I
liked to feel with dad.  But he wasn't enjoying it
properly!

"Bastard", he whispered, and  I could see him trying
to hold back the tears in his eyes as his face was so
close to mine.  "You bastard!  I'll tell Mr
Stryker...."

"Tell him what?"

"That you fucked me, of course!  He said that only Joe
and he, and Mr Hawthorne and young Mr Hawthorne, were
to use me.  He said that I was to be kept for them,
and that I wasn't even to go with the bath slaves....
He'll be cross, and I hope he whips you...."

I laughed.  "But was it good?  Did you enjoy it....
What's your name, anyway?"

"Juan.  And no, I didn't... You fucked me, man, you
fucked me when I didn't want it...."

I laughed again.  "But did you enjoy it?  Did you like
taking a real stud's dick?"

"No!"

"So you don't like dick?  You don't like Mr Hawthorne,
and Joe...."

"I don't like Mr Hawthorne making me do things.  But
Joe's nice - he's gentle, he likes me..."

"But does he fuck you?  He's got a big dick, as we can
all see - does he make you take it?"

"Yes, but it's OK.  He's gentle, he asks me...."

I  just laughed.  "Well, Juan, you've got a lot to
learn about being a slave yet!  It's not a question of
what you like or don't like, or whether the other guy
is gentle or not.  You're a slave, boy, and if a free
man wants to use your ass, use it hard or soft, that's
all there is to it.  I should know...."

"Yes , you should!  And you ought to treat other
slaves properly, and not..."

"Watch your mouth, boy!  A strong man can always use a
weaker one if he wants - you need to understand that!
But I'm not a slave...."

He grabbed my wrist, and turned it towards us, holding
his there next to mine.

"You're a fucking slave,  just like me!  There's your
SIN!  So what's your name?  I'm going to tell Mr
Stryker.... Or I can  just give him your number...."

I reached up and tweaked his left nip - hard - causing
him to wince and shout and squirm (and sending a
shaft of excitement  through my rapidly softening
dick, still speared up inside him).

"Mind your manners, boy!  I was a slave, but now I'm a
free man.  You can tell Mr Stryker whatever you like,
but be sure to tell him that Mr Steve Masters took you
and  enjoyed your ass.  I'm a guest of Mr Hawthorne,
and I can use any of the slaves here as I like."

The kid began to look worried.  "Sir, I'm sorry... But
you looked like a slave, sir...."

I laughed, and helped him to get up slowly off my
dick.  He stood there in front of me, and I saw
something of myself as I was at his age - unsure,
uncertain, worried about how to react to a real man.
I felt sorry for him, I suppose, and wondered how he'd
got enslaved so young.  So I asked him.  He  just
shrugged "We were very poor, sir.  And I wanted to
help my family.  So as soon as I was old enough I
tried to cross the border.... And was caught.  And the
law now says that illegal immigrants are enslaved -
it's assumed they like the USA so much as they're
trying to get in, that they ought to be made to stay
here."

"But what about your family?"

"I don't know, sir.  Since I was enslaved there's been
no contact, or anything."

I looked at him, and thought that at least I'd had
dad.  How much worse it must be for this young guy to
be taken from his family and to be here, amongst all
of us men, being kept utterly naked now and made to
fuck.  I felt sorry for him, but there was nothing  I
could do - he was a slave, after all, and here were
millions just like him. He was lucky not to be on a
nigga coffle, if he only knew it.

"Still, you've got Joe, he'll help you..."

"Yes, sir.  He's kind, sir.  But he makes me work."

"So he should, Juan.  You need to grow up, to be big
and strong, like Joe, so you'll be a credit to Mr
Hawthorne.  Now, get away, to work..."

He bowed, and loped off, and I watched his muscled
young body as he went towards the mower shed.  The
morning sun was warm on my body and so I sat there for
a few minutes, enjoying the luxury of deciding for
myself what to do, and knowing that I didn't
immediately have to start working on my next task.
But as I did, I began to think, and realised how hard
it was going to be for me:  Juan had instantly assumed
I was a slave, and so, I guess, would a lot of other
people - well, at least I wouldn't be naked, I
suppose,  but my general build, my short hair, my deep
tan, and, most of all, the big black SIN staring
starkly out from the underside of my wrist, would lead
them to the wrong conclusion.  And as I mused on,
something else occurred to me, though:  it had been
fun to make Juan do as I wanted, and there was no come
back:  I was a free man, he was a slave, and I could
do what I liked with him.  Even as these thoughts
flashed across my mind, my dick began to go hard
again.

All that week I then struggled to adjust to my new
status in life.  It was hard at first to get used to
ordering the slaves around, but after a day or so it
became almost natural to tell them to give me another
glass of wine, or to be careful when they were washing
my balls in the shower, or whatever.   It began to
feel "normal", too, to have clothes on.  I watched a
lot of TV, struggling to make sense of the world and
what had been happening in my eight years of slavery
when I had been cut off from it, and then I discovered
that if I turned on the text along the bottom of the
TV screen whilst there were simple soaps on, I could
begin to follow the words!  There was a plentiful
supply of newspapers and magazines delivered to
Manderleigh every day, too, and I made a determined
effort to sit down with them and follow the printing
with my finger, forcing my brain to start to "say"
what they said.

I followed Mr Hawthorne's advice, or request, and
stayed away from dad - I saw him, of course, toiling
away, naked as ever, and on the grass cutting day I
sat on the terrace with a cool drink and saw him and
Juan pulling the heavy mower up and down the slopes.
He had Juan trained already, I noticed, as he was made
to do his share of the work,  just as I had been as a
kid, and dad now had the added device of the tawse to
"encourage him" - although Juan gave as good as he'd
got, as he "helped" dad when it was dad's turn to drag
the heavy thing up the hill.  As I sat there in the
warm sunshine there was something very agreeable about
watching work being done for you, something good about
having an easy life,.  Somehow it made it all the more
satisfying to know that the slaves were being used
efficiently, and were not sparing their efforts, or
wasting their time as a result of the tawse and cane:
leisure and idleness were made even more appealing by
this contrast.

Mr Hawthorne seemed surprised at how much I had
improved when he asked me to join him for dinned the
following Friday evening, after his arrival from New
York.  I'd ordered a sandwich in late afternoon so  I
wasn't ravenously hungry, and only ate one plateful of
food - and then only slowly;  and I'd learned my
lesson about alcohol, too, after having too many beers
watching a match on TV one afternoon - I'd called a
waiter in, and when I'd tried to fuck him I'd found my
dick had a problem in going hard.  After that, I'd
been much more cautious, and now I sat and sipped
slowly at the velvety smooth vintage that Mr Hawthorne
provided for us both.

When we'd finished eating, Mr Hawthorne took me to his
study, that room where  he'd used my body so many
times.  We sat there in the firelight, and he looked a
little uneasy as he began "Steve, we have to talk
about your future.   You're a free man now, and you
can't go on living here - it will ultimately cause
problems with Joe, and with the discipline of the
slaves generally.  On the other hand, although I have
no obligation to you, I would feel badly about simply
turning you our into the world, penniless.  Men who
cannot, or will not, work no longer receive welfare
benefits, and if they remain destitute, they can be
enslaved.  It would be a pity if I had to lose you as
a very satisfactory slave, only to find some other man
lucky enough to be able to buy you again - and
probably at a bargain price in a public auction of the
destitute!"

"Well, sir, there is the matter of compensation..."

"Compensation?  Steve, that simply does not arise.  I
bought a slave, validly, and used you for eight years.
 And treated you well, I think.  The mix-up in the
courts was not my problem, and I do not think that
there could possibly be any blame attached to me, or
any question of 'compensation'.  But, in any event,
you generously waived that right, as you know...."

"Sir, I didn't, that paper, it was...."

"Steve, let's not argue!  The position is that you did
waive whatever rights you might have had - and, as I
say, it's unlikely that you had any anyway.  Let's
look at the position we're in now, and remember that
you need my help, shall we?"

I nodded, knowing that what he said was true and that
I needed his good will.  If he wanted to continue
playing the kind, considerate guy, so be it.

"Well, Steve, I think there is a way out of this.  I
will take you to New York, and will find you a job in
the bank.  Although most of the low-level jobs are of
course done by slaves, I'm sure there will be
something you can do....  That will take you away from
Manderleigh, and the possible problems with managing
things here....  Would you like that?"

"But where will I live?  Will it pay enough to live
on?  I need to save, so I can make you an offer for
dad....  And what about him, sir?"

"It will be tough, Steve, as with so many slaves
available we don't need to pay much at the bank for
low-level work, and without an education, we can
hardly offer you anything better -  it would upset he
other staff.  But for the time being, you can have a
room at my apartment - it was built before the time
when it was realised that it was beneficial to make
slaves sleep together in close proximity as when
they're all crammed really close they get up to less
mischief;  and so there are one or two unused slave
kennels:  they're not luxurious, of course, but
perfectly adequate for someone like you who doesn't
need a lot of unnecessary comforts.  And it's close to
the bank, so you won't have to pay travel and so on -
you could walk, or perhaps run, to keep you in shape:
it wouldn't be proper to give you a ride in the limo
that collects me each day."

I listened with fascination at this strange mixture of
generosity and parsimony.  I wondered how many rooms
this apartment had, if it had, evidently, multiple
slave kennels!  And yet there wasn't  a room to spare,
only a slave space.  And not even a ride to the office
- still, I probably would need the exercise, as after
only a week I was already beginning to feel my hard
muscles lose their tone..  Mr Hawthorne was looking at
me expectantly, and when I didn't react, asked quietly
"So what do you say?"

"Thank you, sir..."  I was hesitant.  "I guess it's
for the best....  But dad...."

"There can be no question of you having contact with
your father, Steve.  He's a slave!"

"But he's my dad, he...."

"No arguments, Steve!  He's my slave, and I will not
allow him contact with you.  It will be unsettling for
him, and for the other slaves - Stryker has a hard
time as it is to run a tight ship here, without
additional complications.  So are we agreed?"

I thought hard, but what choice was there?  I nodded.


"Good.  Now, Steve, we've had many enjoyable times in
this room.  As a free man, I can hardly order you to
take your clothes off, but you might want to show your
gratitude in a tangible way..."

I could hardly believe my ears!  Surely he didn't want
to fuck me?  But as he sat there, serenely calm, and
totally in control, I realised he did.  So what the
fuck was I going to do?  He held all the cards - I
needed him for a job and a place to stay;  he owned
dad;  he could probably call the Sheriff and have me
arrested as a vagrant if I left!

I felt anger rising inside me, as he was taking
advantage of me again.  But something else inside was
saying "What's the problem?  He's fucked you often
enough when you were a slave, so one more time isn't
going to matter, is it?".  But it did - being made to
do something as a slave, and agreeing to do it
voluntarily, are two quite different things.    I
just sat there, my brain racing away.  And then I got
to my feet, and slowly began to unbutton my shirt, Mr
Hawthorne's eyes never moving from my body as a slow
smile spread across his face.  I was about to learn
that lesson that so many men discover only when the
realities of life hit them: that there's almost no
difference between being a slave who has to obey
because he is an owned object, and a free man who has
to obey because another man is more powerful than he
is economically.

End Of Part Nineteen.