Date: Mon, 24 Jul 2006 21:21:02 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Falsely Enslaved, Part Four

FALSELY ENSLAVED

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part Four

When you've got no interests in your life - no home,
no family, no sports to watch, no career to progress,
no vacations, nothing like that - you might think that
time would hang heavy on your hands and the days would
drag along.  But we were effectively working seven
days a week, and, as I've explained, very often very
long days.  We were always pretty tired, but, on the
other hand, that meant that time seemed to fly by -
the semesters, the big holidays, the shipping to and
from the Walker Plantation kind of punctuated our
year.  Before I knew where I was almost, Sam and I had
been Brett's ponies for the best part of three years.

We'd learned, of course, that being in Raleigh was no
picnic!  Yes, it is a bit cooler in the summer, but in
the winter it can be fucking cold, and we even had
snow once or twice.  It's no fun standing there in
your bare feet (even feet with thick slabs of hard
skin on the underside) on icy ground, and when you're
totally naked and when the temperature is right down,
it doesn't matter how hard you exercise, you still
shiver and shake.  There's also the problem of rain
around there - not only does rain make you cold (try
standing in a cold shower for an hour or two and
you'll see what I mean), but they also have violent
storms and if you're out in those there's the added
problem of the fact that it physically hurts as the
huge drops slam into you.  Fortunately, of course, as
Brett's trap was totally open and as he didn't like to
get wet, he did mostly try to avoid going out in the
rain, and so we were only exposed to it if the weather
turned when we were already on the road.   Even then,
Brett tended to call a cab from his cell phone and
drove on in comfort, whilst we were left to fend for
ourselves.  There was no way of avoiding he cold,
though, and Brett seemed to be annoyed at us when our
dicks shrivelled and shrank from it.  Some of the
other ponies had nice winter jackets and leggings, but
Brett was heard to scoff at this, saying that in his
book Wright said that a pony could easily get used to
the weather and it "toughened him" and was generally a
good thing.   Mind you, he did eventually give us one
of the picnic blankets from the frat house to be kept
in the back of the trap - one of the old ones they
were replacing - and he did toss it around our
shoulders when we were standing outside somewhere
waiting for him, and it did help a bit.

It was our bad luck that in his second year Brett fell
in with a local girl, a rich local girl, that is to
say.  She'd seen us in the street waiting for Brett
outside his hairdresser, and seeing him coming out,
stopped to complement him on his perfect choice of
stock.  It was all "southern courtesy" then, with
Brett saying it was nothing, and the girl saying that
he must have a good eye, and so on:  it made me almost
want to vomit!  Brett insisted in taking her for a
spin, "So she could see the ponies in proper action,
from behind, where she could appreciate the muscles at
work", and as he explained the fine points of pony
driving (not that he did any, as we were "voice
trained", as you know, but we recognised it all from
Wright's odious book), Sam and I had to walk, trot,
and run around the town.  He then offered to drive her
home, and unfortunately this was at a big plantation
about five miles out - not far, I know, but a fucking
long way when you've already been running for over an
hour, and there are two people in the trap.

Brett was invited in for tea, and we stood there as
we'd been trained to do, with our feet apart and our
heads bowed.  It wasn't such a bad day, I remember,
not overly hot, and once the sweat had evaporated from
us and we'd stopped shivering from our exercise, we
could almost fall into one of those "standing dozes"
I've told you about.  After about an hour a tall,
weather-beaten man in jeans and a shirt came past, and
demanded to know who'd left the ponies at the foot of
the steps leading up to the front door, as there was
now a disgusting mess  - well, he was exaggerating,
frankly, as I'd only pissed as my bladder was so full
and that hardly makes a mess once it's dry, does it?
He stormed up the steps and Sam and I waited (what
else could we do?)  We half expected the guy to come
out with Brett, and we'd have the pleasure of hearing
him get a good ticking off, but about half an hour
later Brett and the man and the girl all emerged
together, half laughing, and chattering brightly.

We were subject to an expert "examination" by the man
then, and his hands pried into every part of our
bodies.  Finally he stood there, wiped his hands on a
handkerchief, and told Brett that it was true, that we
were some of the finest pieces of man flesh he'd had
the pleasure of seeing recently, and that he was glad
to take Brett up on his fine, generous offer.  Sam and
I wondered if we'd been sold, or something, but all
three walked off around the side of the house, and
Brett ordered us to follow.  We watched Brett's arm
slide around the waist of the girl as they sauntered
ahead of us, and she did the same to him.

Their stables was even bigger than those at the frat
house, and I wondered if we were going to be lodged
for the night.  But the man - who by now we surmised
was the girl's father and probably the owner of this
vast place, called for his slave master and a
hard-looking, businesslike guy in his mid thirties, I
suppose, came rushing up.  Then I heard something that
sent a chill through me, as the slave master was told
to "Bring the new whitey bitch, and the nigga who
needs covering for another pup , and get them set up
for studding."

Those of you who haven't eve attended a formal
studding probably don't realise that there's a certain
etiquette to these things - an etiquette with which
Sam and I were to become all too familiar.  Firstly
they put you in the studding set - the leather collar
is buckled around your neck, and then in turn each arm
is released from the trap, twisted and pushed as high
up your back as it will go (you're supposed to at
least grunt to show that it's painfully high) and
locked into the manacle held by a chain from the
collar.  When both arms are locked into place, you're
blindfolded with a piece of soft, subtle leather to
match the collar, and even today a certain smell of
moist new leather can send me back to these
humiliating events. The pony is supposed not to be
able to see the bitch he's going to impregnate,
although on this occasion the slave master came back
with this reasonable looking nigga woman and a totally
stunning young white girl before the things were fixed
in place, so we knew what we were going to get!  What
was even better, their work smocks were stripped off
them and so I had a good view of the young whitey's
pert, well-rounded breasts.

I stood there, my ears finely tuned, and heard Brett,
the old man and the slave master discussing who was to
"have the honour" of the introduction.  When they
heard that Brett had never before put us to stud, they
insisted he should be the one, and there was a lot of
joking amongst the men about it "being like losing his
cherry" for Brett. I heard the distinctive sound of
his shoes as he came over to Sam and began to stroke
Sam's dick, admonishing him to "get hard, you bastard,
if you don't want a good tawsing tonight" as he did
so.

I couldn't really determine what was going on, except
I assumed that Sam was starting to fuck the nigga
bitch as there was a terrible lot of screaming and
shouting - odd, considering that "another" pup was
being mentioned.  After Sam had given a few cries that
I knew were the ones he just couldn't help making when
he shot his load, it was my turn.  I felt Brett's hand
on my cock, and however hard I tried, I couldn't stop
myself going hard.  He led me then, using my cock as a
kind of handle,  over to where I assumed the bitch was
lying, and he actually "introduced" me into her slit!
Then he slapped my butt and told me to go at it, and
when I hesitated, he told me that if I didn't get
started, I'd be caned.  Well, it wasn't so bad, I
suppose, except that I knew there were four people
watching me fuck - it was bad enough when the other
ponies watched Sam and me with some of the serving
slaves on holiday times, but these were four people,
all properly dressed, "enjoying the spectacle" of me
doing this most intimate thing, and I hated it.
Once I'd shot, I was told to lie forward and keep my
cock buried in her to "give my swimmers a good start",
and as my body touched the bitch's, I was surprised
how soft and pliable she felt and how big her tits
were as they ballooned against me:  when they'd
stripped the whitey before I'd lost vision, I'd
thought she was quite slim.  Still, it just shows you
how deceptive the feeling of a body could be, I
thought.

Imagine my shock when I was finally allowed to stand,
had the blindfold pulled away, and found that I was
standing between the open legs of the nigga, and it
was Sam who'd fucked the whitey - a whitey who was now
sitting there sobbing noisily.  Sam had that kind of
silly grin on his face that he has when he's had a
particularly good fuck, and after a few words with
Brett, the slave master bent down and unrolled a
condom off Sam's detumescing dick.  He came over to me
then and roughly wiped the cum and cunt juice off me
with a damp cloth, and went back to join the others.

The girl with Brett seemed to have been really turned
on by the whole thing as you could see those telltale
signs of a woman really aroused - the slight flaring
of the nostrils, the way she kept running the tip of
her tongue across her lips, and so on - and Brett and
she slipped away.  The slave master led us back to the
trap and it was a relief to have the strain removed
from my arms and to be standing there once more
manacled into the shafts.

It was really late when we left, as Brett had been
persuaded to stay and dine, and he was in a rare good
humour as we made our way back to the frat house - he
hardly whipped us at all, which was just as well as we
were so tired from all the exercise that day.  Back at
the stables, as he unshackled us he was still smiling,
and he even said "I never reckoned to go all the way
on a first date, especially with her dad around -
thanks, guys, for a great studding:  it certainly did
the trick!"

Well of course one thing led to another, and Brett was
soon moving in Raleigh "high society".  Sam and I got
used to having to run the miles out to her place, pick
her up, drive on to some tea, or cotillion, or dinner,
drive her home, wait around whilst Brett had his way
with her, and then, at the point of exhaustion, drive
him back to the frat house.  It became his custom,
too, wherever possible, to stud us on arrival at some
of the magnificent houses where all these functions
were held, and it seemed that the owners thought of
this as a most gracious and original "hostess gift",
instead of the usual flowers or chocolates.  We
learned that stud fees, particularly from
spectacularly well built and handsome slaves like us,
could be very high and even though all these folk were
very far from being poor, they still liked the concept
of "something for nothing!".  Sam and I reckoned that
Brett was so insecure in his manhood, though, that he
didn't think he could take the girl unless she was
aroused first, and it did seem that she was always
present when we were put to it, which added credence
to our theories.

Of course there are not a lot of whitey slaves around,
particularly women, and so it wasn't surprising,  I
thought, that I was always put to a nigga.  And after
that first time, so was Sam.  We were talking about
that one night in the pony stable (well, we're guys,
right, even though we're slaves, and guys talk about
the women they've had), and I mentioned how odd it was
that on that first occasion they'd put a condom on
Sam.  One of the other ponies, a handsome, long-limbed
nigga who Sam and I liked a lot, and who  I reckon Sam
would have liked to have fucked, pointed out what
should perhaps have been obvious to us:  "Owners are
breeding for specific things", he said.  "When they
put Sam to a nigga, they are going after his muscles,
his long legs, and the fact that he hasn't really got
a nigga face:   if his skin wasn't so black, he could
almost be a whitey as his nose is quite long, his
nostrils don't flare... That kind of thing.  When they
put Steve to a nigga, they're hedging their bets for
the future - obviously they're going for his body and
features too, but they must want to 'lighten' the
progeny as they think coffee coloured niggas will
fetch higher prices."  Sam and I nodded, as it seemed
to make sense.  "Now, the whitey you're talking about,
and the fuss she made about it afterwards..... Well, I
reckon she was newly-enslaved, and might even have
been a virgin.  They wanted to show her how totally in
their power she was  by getting a big black stud like
Sam to fuck her - a lot of white women fear being
raped by big buck niggas, after all, and now she was
getting it in for real.  And they put a condom on him
of course as they want to breed her from some other
slave, or perhaps not to breed her at all....."

"Or to give her to a whitey, and breed a whitey....",
I chipped in.  "So there's hope for me yet."

"Don't be so stupid, Steve", our friend went on.
"Look, when the bitches have produced the pup, what do
you think goes on then?  It's got to kept and fed and
everything until it's sixteen and can be sold, and
it's mostly done in big communal 'nursery' places down
near New Orleans as the owners want the bitches back
at work, and producing the next pup.  Now, if you were
in New Orleans and saw a lot of nigga pups running
around, you wouldn't think much of it, I guess.  But
if the sheds and fields of the big commercial
nurseries were filled with little whitey kids, there's
be a public outcry and the pressure to stop slavery,
or, at least, to stop breeding new slaves and rely on
the courts and places like that to enslave evildoers,
would become intense.  So you don't see a whole lot of
whitey pups around, and you'd better get used to nigga
cunt, Steve!"

Look, you can get used to anything, in time, and by
the third year it mad no difference to me whether I
was running naked through the streets, or fucking in
front of an appreciative audience:  I'd lost all sense
of shame, all feeling that it was "wrong" for them to
make me do that kind of stuff.  I even thought that
there was nothing they could do to me that could be
any worse than had already happened.... until the "new
pledges" ceremony that year, that is!

Brett was now some sort of officer in the frat, and he
and his buddies were always thinking of new ways of
humiliating the pledges.  That year Sam and I were
taken into the frat house - something that had never
happened before - and lightly cuffed to two "horses"
in the middle of the big common room.  Given all the
money these guys had, I couldn't understand why all
the couches were old and scruffy, and why there were
so many empty beer cans around when they had so many
household slaves, but perhaps it was just to create
"atmosphere".  They gagged us, with ball gags - no big
deal, when you're used to the bit - as someone said he
wanted to really be able to hear the pledges, and not
the grunting of the slaves.

There were eight pledges and they came in and were
told to strip down to their underwear - I guess they
knew what was coming, as they'd all worn some that
day!  Brett went along the line of young men, mostly
in boxer shorts, holding a bag from which each pledge
had to take a ball.  "There are four black ones, and
four white ones", he told them, "Each numbered from
one to four.  White balls go with the whitey, and
black balls with the nigga.  Now, listen carefully as
I'm not going to repeat it:  The holder of number one
will step up to the slave and jerk off, making sure
his cum lands on the back of the slave.  Number two
will hold the slaver's butt apart, whilst number three
takes some of his frat brother's cum from the slave's
back and uses it to lube the slave's hole.  And then,
finally, number four will come and fuck the slave."
There was cheering and raucous shouting from all the
assembled frat then.

Sam and I had to lie there and wait until we felt the
warm spray of cum on our backs, and then knew that all
eyes would be on our holes as the pledges poked
nervously at them with their fingers - I sensed that
my "three" wasn't doing a very good job, as he barely
put one finger up me and I knew I'd be in pain when I
was fucked.  Brett stopped the proceedings at that
point, though, and addressed the new pledges and the
watching members of the frat, all of whom had been
making an incredible noise as all this had been going
on.  "Right,  the two pledge fours will drop their
shorts - a gentleman never fucks with his clothes on!"

There was more raucous laughter and a lot of shouting
making unflattering comparisons between the pledges
and us slaves as far as dick size went, and Brett then
ordered them to come and stand in front of us first
and get erect, "So that the slaves can see what
they're going to get."  To my horror, as the pledge
was revealed to me, I saw it was my kid brother,
Jamie!  He's not as big as me, but he's still a big
guy, and he stood there looking both embarrassed and
proud as he stroked at his dick in front of his frat
brothers.  He's a bit of a good sport, though, and
likes to be "in" things properly, and so he turned
this way and that, showing all the guys his dick, and
"teasing" them with the sight of his dick head as he
slid his 'skin off it, and then quickly back on again,
rather like one of those strippers with a big ostrich
feather fan lets you see flashes of her body.  I
couldn't say anything because of the gag, but  I
couldn't let my kid brother fuck me, could I?  So I
started to buck and thrash around on the horse, hoping
to get his attention.

"Hey, the whitey's worried!", Brett called out, an
there were more laughs and jeers from the frat men
watching.  "I reckon our new brother there is a bit
oversized, but I am surprised, nevertheless!   Shall
we switch him and have him fuck the nigga instead, as
he looks unconcerned...."

I prayed for deliverance, but almost as one, the frat
chorused "No, fuck the whitey, fuck the whitey....",
and, still grinning and now waving his hard dick in
front of him proudly, my brother came around, kicked
at my ankles to make me spread my legs, and started to
push at my hole with his dick.  It made no difference
that I did everything I could to stop him - bucking
and thrashing around, and attempting to clamp my hole
tightly closed.  It's no use, of course - a guy who's
tied down just can't stop himself being raped, as the
guy wanting his dick in you can always exert more
force than your sphincter muscles can withstand.  So
Jamie was soon buried in me and was, I think, standing
there with his arms wide, seeking the applause of the
crowd.  The bastard then fucked me hard, really hard,
slamming his body against me with every stroke, so
that all the frat could hear the "slap" of his skin
against mine.  And when he'd finally cum, accompanied
by a huge shout of triumph, he even clowned around
some more by coming and standing in front of me and
pretending to have me clean his dick of cum and ass
juice, then "noticing" that I was gagged, and instead
using the strip of my hair to wipe himself clean!

The guy who fucked Sam didn't go to all those lengths
and just made a good, workmanlike job of it - Sam
reckoned afterwards that he was used to fucking
slaves, unlike Jamie.  Then all eight pledges were
"elected", amid wild cheering, and that was that.

Sam couldn't understand at first why  I was so upset.
He wrapped is arms around me in the stables and kissed
me, and whispered in my ear "Stop being such a baby,
Steve!  He was big, but not as big as me... And you
like taking me, don't you?"  Well I did, of course -
although not as often as Sam liked fucking me - it was
the only difficulty in our relationship, actually, as
we both liked to fuck, and you know how it is when
you've taken cock:  it's really hard to maintain an
erection.  So most nights we'd both be really hard,
then one of us would fuck the other, and then that was
it.  The problem was that as we both wanted to fuck,
we had to decide who it should be, and it usually
ended up in a "tussle" as we wrestled to see who was
going to win.  Sam was those few years older than me,
and that, and his marines training, usually meant he
won these "tussles", unless I was exceptionally lucky.
 So he ended up fucking about seventy percent of the
time, and I only got a measly thirty percent.

"Sam, it's not the size I was worried about - they
don't come much bigger than you, mate!  No - that's my
kid brother!  I've just been fucked by my kid
brother!"

Sam shrugged.  "So?  One dick's very much like
another...."

"My kid brother, Sam!  Who was still at school when I
left, who hadn't started jerking off when I first
fucked a girl, who...."

Sam tried to calm me, tried to show me it didn't
matter, but I was still furious, ashamed, tense,
hurt... Finally, Sam lost his temper.  "OK, Steve,
shut it, will you?  So you've been fucked by your kid
brother - so what?  Growing up, lots of guys fuck
their brothers, and their cousins... It's no big deal
in the places I grew up in.  Now stop all this, and
try to think constructively...."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're always going on about 'escaping'...
Can't you give him a secret sign, or something...."

"We weren't like that as kids - I mostly ignored him,
as he's five years younger than me."

"You'll have to hope that he recognises you, then.
Perhaps he'll come down the steps of the frat house,
whilst we're waiting for Brett....."

"You think he will?  Fat chance, of you ask me.  With
my hair gone, this deep tan all over, shaved, these
rings everywhere, and.... Well, even if he does think
I bear some slight resemblance to his long-lost
brother, he'll see my dick, and he'll know it can't be
his brother as our dad was always against guys being
'skinned, so we weren't done."

Sam was quiet for a while, then, in that way he has of
trying to make jokes of something that's really
serious, he went on "So I guess we'll have to hope he
doesn't get too friendly with Brett, then, and that he
doesn't decide he likes fucking slaves, and ask Brett
if he can use you again."

"Oh that wouldn't happen - Jamie was always one for
the girls.  That was his first time up an ass, and I'm
sure it will be his last."

"....unless he takes after his big brother!  He was
one for the ladies, he keeps telling me... And yet
when I let him, I can't keep him out of my ass....."
Sam chuckled then, and I suppose I couldn't help
smiling, too, just a bit.  It shows you what a nice
guy Sam is, as seeing I was so upset, he nibbled my
ear a bit, which always turned me on, and then
whispered "I tell you what, Steve, I reckon you've
been so traumatised by a dick up you already today
that I won't do it again.... But I sure am horny for a
bit of real loving, so why don't you..."  Well, with
an invitation like that, who could refuse? And as I
fucked Sam my mind was not on Jamie, at least for a
bit:  it is incredibly difficult to think of anything
else when two to sweaty bodies are really going at it,
isn't it?   Of course it was all pointless worry
anyway - I had no freedom of action as a slave, and
things would just take their course:  "Que sera,
sera", as the old song says.

Actually we got to see quite a lot of Jamie - it was
if he was almost infatuated with Brett, or was it with
his wealth?  Mom and dad aren't exactly poor, but they
had nothing like the money Brett's dad had, and like a
lot of impressionable kids, I reckon Jamie's head was
turned by all the expensive things that Brett had -
the handmade clothes, the fancy electronic stuff, the
fine meals he could afford, and, of course, the
ownership of the best pony and trap combination on the
campus.  He started to follow Brett around almost like
a puppy, and, in turn, Brett started to use Jamie for
little errands and such like:  to a man who owned
slaves, I suppose the willing attention of a free man
was a real thrill.  Don't get me wrong - Brett and
Jamie never fucked or anything like that - Brett was
still avidly fucking his rich girl, and Jamie seemed
to have a "roving cock" that was always after anything
in skirts.  Both of them enjoyed studding - or, rather
watching Sam and me stud, of course, as "a gentleman
would never father a slave", as Brett explained to
Jamie one day when Jamie said he'd like to try one of
the bitches.

Brett often let Jamie "introduce" me and Sam into the
bitches' slits, and afterwards he'd laugh and joke
with Brett and sniff his fingers suggestively from
where they'd been.  He and Brett did, I know,
sometimes go off to one of the pleasure places in
downtown Raleigh (by cab, as Brett would not want his
distinctive trap and slaves waiting outside such a
place, as people might laugh at the thought of a man
in his position having to go to one of them).  We
didn't know whether they regularly fucked women or men
there, although as part of his "teaching" Jamie the
way of a gentleman, I do believe there was at least
one occasion when they hired a couple of beautiful
young male slave for an evening's excitement.

I was always with the bit in my mouth, though, and
could never actually say anything to Jamie, and he in
turn appeared not to really notice me:  I was a set of
muscles he looked at when he was in the trap with
Jamie, I was a big, hard dick he stroked to erection
and "introduced" to a cunt, and occasionally  I was
something that, unde Brett's direction, he thrashed
with a cane because I was said to have "misbehaved".
That was terrible, as he was a lot stronger than
Brett, and those canings really hurt - we could always
tell when he was "driving", too, as the carriage whip
had an extra "bite" to it.  But in the months that
followed, he never seemed to look directly at my face
or "see" me as a whole man - I suppose that's what
happens, and free men just see some sort of composite
"slave creature", without really noticing the
underlying guy.

One of the jobs that he got from Brett was wiping us
down after studding, and I began to notice that he
pocketed the tissue that was covered in our sweat, cum
and the bitch's ass juice, rather than tossing it to
one side.  I mentioned this to Sam, and he laughed and
dug me in the ribs as we lay together, saying that he
wondered what secret perversions he put them to later,
and that if one brother was a pervert, he'd probably
learned it from the other.... And what was my
particular dark secret?

Nothing prepared us for the totally unexpected,
though:  we were back at "home" for the summer,
standing at the foot of the steps to the entrance one
morning,  waiting as usual for Brett to appear, and
knowing that we'd have to run as he was always late,
when a positive fleet of dark black cars and cop cars
raced up the drive and more or less "encircled " the
mansion and slave block.  Dark suited men, with over
jerkins saying "FBI" in big letters poured out,
followed by the cops who just stood there with their
guns drawn.  They raced into the house and stables,
and one of them came over to us.  He had a huge pair
of bolt cutters, and swiftly cut through our manacles,
and snipped open the "wings" holding the bit into our
mouths.  We stood there in amazement, watching all
this, until he rapped "Which one is Mark Masters?"

"That's me....", I said haltingly, so unused to
hearing that name, and my tongue still stiff from the
pressure of the bit.

"For fuck's sake get this guy a blanket or something
to cover himself with, will you? The poor guy's having
to expose himself!", he called out, and a really
nice-looking girl, also with an FBI jacket, came over
and handed me a woollen blanket, and almost tenderly
helped me arrange it around my shoulders.  It felt all
scratchy, as I was so unused to the feel of clothing
against my bare skin, and  I was strangely embarrassed
about having this girl doing something for me like
that:  a slave gets no attention from anyone else, and
I began to flush with embarrassment as I realised that
the sheer scent of her so close to me was making my
dick show "hard".

"Come with me, sir", the man rapped.  "Let's get you
away, before there's trouble...."

Before I could say anything to Sam, or indeed to
anyone, he was hustling me towards one of the big
black cars, and I must have been in shock, as I didn't
resist.  Or perhaps it was that I was now so used to
obeying orders.  I think I imagined that Sam would be
following in a second car.

We sat there as the road to town raced by, and I saw
how effortless it was compared to what I usually had
to do on that route, on foot, dragging the trap.

"Are you OK, Sir?"  The agent asked once he'd stopped
peering out of the rear window, as if expecting
someone to be giving chase.

"Yes, but I'm Steve...."

A look of horror came across his face.  "I was told to
bring out Mark Masters..."

"That used to be me, but they renamed me Steve when I
was made a slave, and I'm kind of used to it now...."

"OK, Steve it is then.  We're going to be spending a
lot of time together, and  I want you to feel
comfortable.  I'm officer Hughes.  Now, we'll soon be
out of the real danger zone, and then I can tell you
more."

End Of Part Four