Date: Sat, 26 May 2007 05:32:31 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Slave Revolt, Part Sixteen

THE SLAVE REVOLT

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part  Sixteen

When we arrived back at the demesne I ordered the
bitch to be taken away to the quarantine cells in the
hospital block - however reliable a dealer you use,
you can't be too careful, I think.  After all, I had a
lot of extremely valuable stock on the place,
including  lot of very young, maturing, vulnerable
pups, and it just isn't sensible to risk one of the
contagious diseases being brought in.  I didn't get
where I was today by not planning in advance and
considering all the risks of an enterprise, and when
you're breeding slaves, disease figures very highly on
the list of things that can go wrong.

Steve was really curious about the bitch, but I fended
off his questions with a general shrug, and made a few
remarks about "needing to breed from different lines
occasionally", and once we'd eaten and gone to bed, I
think he mostly forgot her.  I hadn't, though, and the
next morning I sent Steve out of my office -
ostensibly to get more exercise, as  I claimed I'd
felt some of his belly muscles to be less than perfect
last night, so really firing him up to go and wear
himself out. I called in my overseer and gave orders
for a few modifications on the estate.

At one end of the stables block - where we still kept
a few horses, but now mostly where the drays and
ponies for our personal transport lived - there was a
small, self contained space that had been used as a
store, or something.  I'd noticed it one day and
squirreled away in my memory the fact that it was
there, against the day I had a use for it.  It wasn't
large -  perhaps five metres by three or four - but it
seemed big enough for my purposes, and I ordered that
a wood burning stove should be fitted, a simple sink
with a cold water tap added to the outside by the
door, and that the whole place should be whitewashed
with a simple coat of whitening to freshen it up a
bit.  I ordered it to be furnished with a double bed,
a couple of simple chairs and a small table, and for a
small selection of plates, mugs and cooking utensils
to be provided.  In effect I created the simple,
rustic rural cabin that the early settlers in our part
of the world would have lived in (or do I mean existed
in?).

Fortunately the bitch I'd purchased was an
unsophisticated country girl and so when she was
released from quarantine and I'd had her branded and
inked with her asset number, she seemed quite at home
in the simple space - indeed, she even seemed to
relish the fact that she had things of her own
(although, of course, strictly speaking, she had
nothing as all the things in the place belonged to me,
as did she).  As we were about to go to bed that night
and Steve was following me to the staircase, I
stopped, and said, "No, just a minute... Follow me".

We went across the yard and through the stables - it
was gratifying to see the drays were all curled up
together, as slaves who work together like that need
to really understand each other.  Steve was looking
puzzled.  I stopped to inspect a couple of the ponies
- they always sleep in their stalls with their wrists
cuffed to the walls, to prevent them jerking off, as I
always consider it desirable for a pony to "show" hard
when he's working, and the lack of sexual stimulation
certainly helps achieve that.   Steve grinned a bit as
he saw the ponies' dicks standing up from their bodies
as they lay there, and he said to me perfectly
casually that they were in superb condition and it
would be good to fuck them.

"Oh come on, Steve!  If we want to fuck other guys,
there's lots of the house slaves who're better - more
refined.  These ponies are a brutish lot, you know:
they are so keen to have sex when they're allowed that
there's no refinement at all:  just stick the dick in,
fuck away, and finish...."

"I though you liked it a bit rough sometimes....", he
said, digging me in the ribs.  "And those house slaves
are all young lads - nice enough bodies, but not hard
and muscled like these ponies.  Their asses, with all
that running, would be a real fuck....."

"...anyway, we haven't got time for that now... Come
on......", I countered, and we went out through the
rear doors.  I didn't knock before pushing open the
door of the new "cabin", as I thought of it, of
course.  I owned it and everything in it, including
the bitch, and she had no reason to expect privacy
from her owner.  She was standing there with her tunic
pushed down so that her breasts were exposed but her
loins were covered, washing herself in a small tin
bowl  propped on the table - her breasts were smeared
with soap suds, and as Steve and I came in she gave a
little gasp, and tried to cover herself.

"OK, Steve!  This is where you're sleeping tonight.
And, as you know, this is a virgin bitch, and I expect
that status to have changed by tomorrow."

"No, sir, please...."

"Steve, shut the fuck up, will you?  You know that
when  I have made my mind up about something I won't
change it, and there's simply no point arguing with
me.  I bought this bitch for you, and tonight I expect
you to make proper use of my gift."

"Sir, please, it's not right...."

"Not right?   What's not right, Steve? "   I paused
for a moment and before he could say anything else I
went on "Let me tell you what's not right!  It's not
right for a slave to argue with his owner!
Particularly not about important matters.  I've bought
this  near-whitey bitch and I want to breed pups from
her who are even nearer to being a whitey.  And, as we
all know, you're a pure-bred whitey stud.... So you
need to get stuck in."

"Sir, please...."

"Steve, stop it!  You will fuck her as I command.  And
it's not as if I'm ordering you to do something
terrible - you're always telling me about how great it
is to fuck a bitch when one of those disgusting films
comes on the TV when we're watching it together.  And
when we were at Scabbard and Drass last week you
seemed quite excited by this bitch:  your jeans were
tented in the most outrageous way.  And when you
stripped and came to bed that night, I could see the
hard patches of pre-cum on the inside of your jeans,
where you'd leaked everywhere!"

As I said this I turned to the bitch and snapped
"Clean that soap off yourself, get naked, and in the
bed."

At least she was properly obedient! She tried to do it
without facing us, seeming not to want to continue
washing her breasts as Steve and I watched, and when
she had finished and went to remove the tunic that was
still covering her nakedness, she turned her back on
us, then scurried over  to the bed with one hand
covering her sex and he other attempting to hold her
breasts under control.  She lay there then, the thin
white sheet pulled up to her chin, and Steve and I
stood there, looking at the outline of her body that
was really only half concealed.

"OK, stud - you next!", I said, giving Steve a
friendly slap on the back (he barely winced  as the
scarring from the flaying had really mostly completely
healed).  "Get out of those clothes, let the little
lady get a look at the delights she's going to
experience, and then get stuck in!"

"Sir, please, no...."

"I've told you, Steve, that I won't have a discussion
about this!  It's not a request, it's an order.  Get
stripped off, get in bed with the bitch, and start to
fuck her.  Or shall I send for some of the  breeding
masters from the studding sheds on the estate?  I
understand they sometimes get  a new stud who isn't
willing to perform, or who doesn't know what to do, or
whatever.... And they've developed techniques for
making it happen.  We can soon have her on a studding
frame, and they can do with you whatever they do...."

Steve stood there looking doubtful.  I didn't want any
of that, of course, as this was meant to be fun for
Steve, and my plans for the pups involved having Steve
constantly involved as their sire.  So I decided to
try a different tack.  "Hey, perhaps that's the best
thing.... If you don't know what to do, the breeding
masters will soon show you how.  I think you've not
been telling me the truth all this time, hinting at
your prowess with women when you were in the marines,
and all the time not really knowing what to do.
Still, a little demonstration, and you'll be
fine......"

"Don't be so stupid, sir!  Of course I know how to
fuck a woman!  All marines do."

"So get naked, show her your body, and get stuck in!"

Steve looked really uncomfortable, embarrassed, even.
He shuffled uneasily from foot to foot, and I snapped
"Come on, man, it's not as if I haven't seen you naked
hundreds of times before.  And she's only a young
bitch - there's nothing to be  scared of!"

"I'm not scared ,sir!", he rapped back.  "But, you
know, when a guy fucks a woman, well, it's kind of...
Kind of private...."

"So you don't want me to watch, is that it?"

"Yes, sir, I mean no, sir, I mean... Please, sir,  if
you leave me alone, I'll do it, sir."

"You'll do it anyway, Steve!  I don't bargain with
you, you know that.  Now don't be stupid, Steve!
You're surely not embarrassed in front of me!  Think
of all the times we've fucked.  Surely you can't be
ashamed of having me watch you....   And I want to see
you in action with a bitch - I don't often get to see
that ass and those big thighs of yours actually
pumping away.  And you know it would be kind of
educational for me - I know about sex with women
theoretically, but I haven't actually seen it done 'in
the flesh', so to speak...."

"Sir, please, sir, don't make me do it.  She's young,
sir, and I've got to be gentle.  And I need to take my
time, show her there's nothing to be scared of... And
if you're watching, sir, I'll be all nervous and
worried, and...."

"You, nervous?  Oh come on, Steve!  I've never seen
you nervous about anything!  But at least you're now
agreeing that you are going to fuck her.  Indeed, I
can see you're almost ready for it - those shorts are
positively obscene, the way your dick is pushing at
them...."

Steve flushed red as he tugged at his shorts, trying
to make the very visible presence of his dick a little
less obvious, but slave shorts aren't like that, are
they?  They're designed to display a slave, rather
than conceal him, and he had no success.  I smiled at
him, slapped his butt this time as I didn't want to
hurt him, and said "Well OK, then.... This time, the
first time, you can take her in private.  But I'll
want to see you two at it at some point, you know."

"Am I going to fuck her a lot then, sir?"

"Oh yes, Steve!  I want pups, as I said.  Good,
strong, healthy whitey pups.  I selected her as she's
so pale, and with your whitey heritage, the pups
should be almost pure whitey.  And you're both above
average height, you've got a superb body and I guess
she has, too.... I'm looking for really special pups."

Steve's eyes saddened for a moment and he whispered "I
don't think it's right, sir... Making me breed, then
selling the pups..."

"And why not?  You're my slave, aren't you?  I own
you, I own every sperm in the fountains of semen you
produce, I own the bitch... So of course I own the
pups.  And as they're mine, not yours, Steve, I can do
with them as I like."

He was going to argue with me again, so I said quietly
"Now, stop all this fucking argument!  Strip off those
clothes, and let me at least see you in bed with her.
"

As  I watched, and as I'd seen him do so many times
before, Steve gave that little shrug he does when he
gives way in an argument, then pushed down his shorts
and stepped out of them, and peeled his T up and over
his head.  I always like to see him do this, as his
belly muscles tighten so agreeably and his dick just
jerks upwards, too as they do so - especially when, as
on this occasion, he is erect.  And in spite of what
he'd said about not wanting to do it and so on, his
body betrayed him:  I could clearly see a bead of
pre-cum hanging there jewel-like on the end of his
dick.

As if to preserve her modesty Steve did not throw the
sheet off but instead lifted one corner cautiously and
slid his magnificent body into the bed, and then, as I
watched and generally encouraged him, he put his arm
around the bitch and pulled her close to him.  She
didn't seem to object, and I really did wonder whether
she was a virgin - one of her hands snaked down
underneath the sheet and took hold of his dick, and
that's not something I think an inexperienced young
girl would do, is it?

Steve lay there rigid and silent for a few moments,
but I sensed that once the skin of the bitch was in
contact with his, he could hardly contain himself.  I
stood watching them, wondering if he'd break first and
begin before I left, but then I felt a bit sorry for
him, gave him a cheery wave, and left them then and
went up to my bedroom.  There was a new waiter that
I'd been thinking of using, and it's hard with Steve
always there as he gets jealous.  I took advantage of
his absence therefore and had them send the boy up to
me and he was indeed amusing for an hour or so - he
had a real talent for sex, it seemed to me, and it was
a nice change to have a very lithe, young body to play
with rather than Steve's solid musculature.

It was just as well I sent the boy away after I'd
finished, though, and slept alone:  when I woke in the
morning, there was Steve, kind of hunkered down by the
side of the bed, staring at me.  I know it sounds an
odd simile, but those of you who have ever owned a
hound dog will know just what he looked like - he was
kind of smiling as if he'd done something special,
kind of worried that I'd be cross, kind of ashamed at
what he'd done.... but was in no doubt that if it was
on offer, he'd do it again.  I blinked my eyes open
and muttered "What the fuck time is it? I thought
you'd be screwing your bitch...."

He grinned openly now, still looking a bit hound like.
 "Well you know, Rob, there's only so many times a guy
can do it, even a stud like me.... And I know you're
useless in the morning - if I wasn't here to wake you
up, none of the slaves would dare do it....  And
you've got some big meetings today, you said...."

I could tell at once that things were right between us
and last night had gone well.  Outside the bedroom he
did of course always call me "Sir" or "Master" to show
the respect I deserved, but here it was generally
"Rob" unless he was pissed off at me about something
when he deliberately and sarcastically would say "sir"
to emphasise to me he was doing it unwillingly.  And
you notice he said "none of the slaves would dare do
it" and not "none of the other slaves would dare do
it" - we were equals once more, as he wasn't thinking
of himself as a slave.

He knows I'm always very hard when I wake up, and,
still hunkered down, his big hand suddenly snaked out
and slid under the sheets and grabbed my dick.  He was
smiling at me as he went to put his head under the
sheets to follow his hand with his mouth, but somehow
the thought of having him suck me this morning, when
his mouth had been all over the bitch, seemed faintly
repulsive.  So I jerked away and threw myself out of
bed and went into the bathroom, saying "No time, big
boy.... Tonight...."

Later that day, after my meetings, I found time to go
to the gym with Steve, and then to go and sit by the
pool as I watched him race up and down - something he
always enjoyed and which always put him in an
excellent mood.  When he'd finished and came and
crouched by me, the water running off his magnificent
body as he dried in the sun, I reached out and stroked
his dick and teased his balls in the way he liked.
"Listen carefully, Steve", I said.  "I'm going to tell
you something, something important, and I don't want
you to interrupt."

So I explained my plan to him, and then he continued
to crouch there as I held his dick with one hand, and
now allowed my other to stroke the strong muscles in
his neck.  "You may not like it now", I ended, "But
wait for a few years, and then I think you'll agree
that I've done the right thing by you."

__________________________________

As my plan unfolded over the years, Steve did indeed
understand that I'd done my best for him - he was,
after all, a slave, and nothing could alter that.  But
a slave could have a reasonable life with a
considerate owner like me, and could enjoy many of
those things that are normally considered the preserve
of a free man.

I insisted that Steve spent at least one night a week
with "his" bitch, and never made him enter the
studding sheds to cover others, and never allowed
other slaves (or the overseers and managers and other
free men on the estate) to interfere with her.  She
was soon pregnant, of course, and fortunately that
pup, and the one she bore a year later, were both
males and there was none of the trauma that can
sometimes arise when a slave is aborted (and which I
could certainly have expected from Steve if we had
needed to do that to one of "his" pups).  I had her
spayed when Steve was accompanying me on one of my
business trips so that he could continue to take his
pleasure with her, and indeed I insisted he spent more
time in the "cabin" as the pups grew up:  I didn't
have them work in the sorting sheds or the fields with
the other pups, and instead they  generally helped
around the place and grew up with a "proper" mother
and father around.

Although conditions in the "cabin" were primitive, it
was no worse for them than it would have been for
those sturdy pioneer kids growing up in such
conditions in the early stages of our great country.
I never enquired about what they did as they got older
and were in the "cabin" as Steve fucked the bitch, but
I assume he sorted something out - Steve makes a lot
of grunting and shouting as he's fucking, and I
couldn't imagine he could easily suppress that:   his
kids probably learned about sex from a very early age.
I wanted young slaves with a sound appreciation of a
home life, who were used to a loving, stable
relationship with others, and who could be as "normal"
as it's possible for bred slaves to be - they would,
after all, always be slaves and would die as slaves,
but I wanted some element of the essential "wildness"
that only comes from a slave who is enslaved, rather
than who is born in the slave sheds, in them.

My father and I had long argued an the subject of my
own marriage and the production of heirs, as you know.
 Personally, I think we could have found some free
woman who would have been prepared to be artificially
inseminated by me to produce sons, but dad said this
was absolutely not right.  His heirs were to be "born
in wedlock" as he so quaintly put it.

In the end it was dad who settled the matter - through
his business contacts he found an "heiress" - someone
who, like me, was so insanely wealthy that marriage
with an "heir" was the only possibility, to avoid gold
diggers and fortune hunters:  there are disadvantages
to great wealth, you know.  We knew it was a marriage
of pure convenience as it was something both our
fathers wanted, and we were civilised enough to know
that once we had produced he necessary "heir and a
spare" we could both go our separate ways.  Indeed, we
remain good friends, really good friends, to this day,
and we are still, I suppose, legally man and wife.

It was indeed a terrible thing to have to "do the
deed", and it wasn't made any better by Steve's
behaviour on our wedding night!  For the ceremony
itself I'd made him wear skin tight, low slung,
dazzlingly white jeans and a kind of bolero jacket in
white, that just scraped his pecs and left most of his
torso bare, and  that displayed his upper body to the
best advantage.  He didn't like all the guests seeing
him like this (it was the "event of the season", and
over a thousand invited business contacts milled
around on the lawns and in the marquees where the
banquet was served), and he particularly didn't like
the way I insisted he wore a collar made of fresh
white daisies and blue cornflowers which, I think,
accented him perfectly.  This effect was repeated in
bands of flowers around his bulging biceps, and I
thought he was the very perfection of an owner's slave
attendant during the wedding ceremony.  But Steve
plainly hated it, so after the ceremony and the
banquet, long after midnight when the bands were still
playing for the remaining guests, he was, to say the
least, unhelpful when we were together in my dressing
room.

"Shall I come in and wake you in the morning, Rob?",
he asked with a big smirk.  "Or will it be your wife
jerking you off tomorrow morning when you wake up with
that usual hard-on of yours?"

"No way!", I said, scowling.  "Go over to the 'cabin'
tonight, and amuse yourself.... Make yourself scarce!"

"No, Rob.  I'll stay here in the dressing room, in
case you need any help.... Or advice.....?"

Well, as I said, it didn't make for an easy time of
it, and I was trembling with an unpleasant
anticipation and an acute embarrassment when I went
through into the bedroom -  Steve dared to slap my
butt as I went, saying "Go to it, tiger!  Remember,
fuck her hard....".  But my wife and I are both
civilised people, and we did it with, I may say,
decorum if not enthusiasm.


___________________________

I timed it so that Steve's two sons were two years
older than mine - I wanted my sons to grow up with
their own loyal personal slaves, as I have explained,
and I thought it best for Steve's sons to have some
degree of maturity, and training, before I gave them
to my sons.  Initially, when they were pre-teens, they
seemed to get on well enough, but as the hormones cut
in relationships between the four boys seemed to
deteriorate a little.  I tried to correct matters, and
had my sons Ray and Rusty cane the slaves Stu and Sam
to try to beat some obedience into them, but, if
anything, that seemed to make matters worse.

I used to really worry about this as it seemed that my
plan was falling apart a little, but as we lay in bed
talking about it, Steve was always reassuring.  "It's
natural for kids of their age to fall out", he told
me, "But they've been raised together, they've always
known each other, and things will settle down".

Stu and Sam seemed to be really jealous of Ray and
Rusty, though, in all sorts of stupid ways.  They
resented being made to run around naked when Ray and
Rusty had jeans and Ts, even when, as I explained, it
was much better for them to be able to swim naked and
not have to wear swimming shorts as Ray, and Rusty and
I did - it was a kind of "swings and roundabouts"
thing, I argued, but they just wouldn't see it.  And,
sure, they didn't have toys of their own, but Ray and
Rusty were really generous lending them theirs.  They
hated working in the fields, too, as they got older,
and again couldn't see that Ray and Rusty had to spend
tedious hours in the school room rather than running
around in the open air, using their bodies as men are
meant to.

Suddenly, though, all seemed to go calm and quiet and
all four of them changed to being the best of friends
again - so much so that I felt really excluded, as  my
sons no longer wanted to sit with me in the evening,
but after dinner raced out of the dining room.  I was
so worried that I took Ray on one side and demanded to
know if he was doing something that was totally
forbidden - teaching Stu or Sam to read or write, or
allowing them to watch the news channels, for example.
 He looked at me kid of slyly but swore that he'd
never do anything like that - our education system had
at least emphasised to free youths that slaves were,
as  I have explained to you, to be kept in ignorance
of the wider world.

That night in bed I was talking to Steve about this,
and he just smiled.  "Oh Rob, you're so naive
sometimes, I do wonder how you get on!  You spend so
much time worrying about he business, your fortune,
and everything, that you forget the things that drive
real men, men like me!"

I grabbed one of his nips and twisted it hard, which
made him squirm and yelp a bit, and after we'd stopped
laughing and were once again in each others arms with
our dicks pressed close together, I asked him what he
meant.

Instead of replying, he pulled me out of bed, and
naked as two slaves, as he gave me no time to dress,
he led me down the corridor to the new "nursery" wing
which we'd added once the boys were born and which was
now, effectively, their private domain.  He opened he
door to Rusty's room and the bed, and the truckle bed
beside it where Stu slept, were both empty and clearly
had not been slept in.  Then, putting his fingers to
his lips to indicate I should be very quiet indeed, we
crept along to Rob's room.  Steve turned the knob so
slowly and so quietly and then nudged the door open,
inch by inch:  he showed me, and I could hardly not
cry out in surprise.  There, on Rob's bed, were all
four boys lying in a heap, totally naked, intertwined
together.  It was almost impossible to make out who's
arm was who's, and which leg belonged to which boy.
Almost the only easy way to make sense of it was to
see that my sons' asses were of course stark white
against the deep tan of the rest of their bodies,
whereas Steve's sons were tanned all over!

Steve pulled me back, and slowly closed the door.  We
crept away down the corridor and he whispered "They've
discovered sex, Rob, and that's why they're so
friendly with each other again!"

"How long have you known?"

"Oh, a couple of weeks - Sam and Stu came to stay at
the 'cabin' with us when you took your boys to New
York for a couple of days.  Well, young guys like that
couldn't go all night without jerking off, could they?
 And of course I found they'd done it to each other as
they were still almost glued together with dried cum
when I woke them in the morning - I slapped their
asses to make them wake up, and they cried out as
their pubes were stuck to the skin of each other with
the cum."

He'd been laughing when he said this, but seeing my
serious expression, gripped my arm tight, almost
hurting me.   "Please, Rob.... They're kids.... Please
don't punish them...."

I reached up and kissed him.  "You are stupid
sometimes, Steve!  I grew up without  anyone to have
sex with, and if it hadn't been for the Revolt, I'd
never have found you, and all that you bring me.  I
didn't want that for my kids.... I wanted them to have
a good sex life from the moment they were able.....
And a life-long love and friendship.... And Stu and
Sam are ideal."   I kissed him again and went on
"Look, Steve, you and me, we're proper friends, right?
 So whether it's by heredity, or environment, so will
Rob, Rusty, Sam and Stu be.  What more could we want
for any of our sons?"

_____________________

I still miss him.  It was so sudden.   I was by the
pool with the four boys - I still think of them as
that, even though they now have kids of their own,
and my grandsons are sixteen and seventeen.  Ray and
Rusty had long before seen the wisdom of my plans, and
had in turn followed my example and bred companions
for their sons using Stu and Sam as sires.

Steve was doing his usual "commanding" thing, making
the four young lads practice their diving and swimming
endlessly, as he kept telling them that otherwise
they'd never have great bodies.  It truly was
remarkable how both Steve and I bred true - there was
no doubting which of the four lads in the pool were my
free grandchildren and which were Steve's slave ones,
even if the latter had not been naked, as of course
was Steve.

As I lay there relaxing after a hard day's toil
administering the enormous empire our breeding
operation had grown into, I couldn't help but have a
stirring of lust for Steve as I saw him climb the
steps to the high diving board he'd persuaded me to
have installed some years before.  Even though his
hair was now grey,  his body was still toned and
honed, and you could easily have mistaken him for the
brother of his sons, rather than their father.  He
stood there on the high board, breathing deeply and
preparing himself physically.  Then, with that perfect
air and grace which he was capable of, he leapt
lightly upwards, and dived down, executing two perfect
spins as he did, his lovely dick flying in the
sparkling air as his body gyrated.

I can still remember how we all cheered as his body
went into the water knife-straight, hardly making a
splash or ripple - a perfect dive.  We watched as his
body went down and down, but then he didn't turn and
strike out for the surface.  At first we thought he
was fooling, but after a few seconds Sam and Stu cried
in alarm, and they and Ray and Rusty all dived in to
see what was the problem.

The vet said it was an embolism.  It could have
happened at any time.  Steve would have not felt any
pain.  He was dead, probably as he hit the water.  I
suppose that if he could have chosen how to die, he
would have wanted it to be like this:  in his prime,
his magnificent body still causing all us other men to
envy him.

It's those of us who are left who feel the pain.  He
was the love of my life, and when he died it was as if
a light went out somewhere, which has never been
re-lit.  I think about him every day, and I sometimes
fervently wish I was a Christian or something so I
could believe that one day, in the big ju-ju's palace
in the sky, we'd once again meet and make love as we
used to.  But those consolations are for the foolish
and unsophisticated, and I know that I had my time
with Steve, and that will have to suffice me.

I'm not sentimental, and so Steve has no grave.  After
the vet finished the autopsy and told me of the manner
of his death, I allowed Steve's body to join those of
the other dead slaves and be shipped off to the
fertiliser factory.  He needs no permanent memorial -
his memory lives on in my brain, and now, I hope,
reader, you too will know something of this
extraordinary man who was protector, friend, lover,
and slave to me.

The End.
Pete Brown   petebrownuk@yahoo.com
London, Dublin, Budapest and Amsterdam.  February-May, 2007