Date: Thu, 10 Jun 2004 22:13:27 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: You Can't Be Friends With A Slave, Parts 3-4

The next two chapters of my story, which you're
running in gay/male authoritarian.

Thanks...  Pete

YOU CAN'T BE FRIENDS WITH A SLAVE, Part three

By Pete Brown  petebrownuk @ yahoo.com


HAND-OVER

Underneath the court was the area where the prisoners,
and slaves, were  processed.  Officer
Hughes made me stand there, naked, as he dealt with
some paperwork.  All around me other officers were
bringing and taking prisoners to the courts above, and
the guys looked at me almost pityingly - it was clear
they all knew I was a slave, because of my collar, and
the fact that I was bare.  Mind you, it was clear that
sometimes things had gone badly wrong - at least one
of those guys who'd stared at me with disdain were
subsequently brought back down, naked like me, with a
heavy iron collar around their necks:  I guess their
defence had failed to work!  They looked as if they
were in shock.  At least I was prepared for it, and
was doing it by my own choice.

It was actually quite cool down there, as the air
conditioning hummed away, and I suppose it was because
I wasn't used to having so much bare flesh exposed
that I started to get cold.  It was also irritating
that Hughes didn't even bother to glance at me - it
was as if he just knew that, as a a slave, I'd stand
there obediently until he chose to do something about
me.  And where the fuck was Billy-Joe?  I must have
been here at least twenty minutes, plenty of time for
him to make his way down here and collect me.

Finally, I could stand it no longer.  Turning to
officer Hughes, I said, as friendly as I could as I
thought that from our earlier conversations he
basically a nice guy "Hey, man, how about letting me
have a coat or something, or even a blanket?  I'm
fucking freezing standing here, and, you know, I'm
naked and...."

He stopped what he as doing, and the next moment he
raised his arm and slammed me with a tremendous
backhand across the left side of my face.  As I
staggered with the sheer surprise of it and cried out
in alarm, a second blow hit me on the right side.  I
stood there, swaying.  I was in shock.  No one had
ever used physical violence on me before.  My heart
was racing, my head was reeling, and I was too amazed
at what had happened to do anything.

"There's your first two lessons, slave!", Hughes said,
quite casually as if he did this every day. "First,
you don't speak unless you're spoken to.  Slaves don't
interrupt free men.  And secondly, you keep a
respectful tongue in your head when you do speak.  You
call your owner 'master', and all other free men
'sir'.  Do I make my self clear?"

"Look, I was only trying to...."

A third blow almost knocked me off my feet.  "You're a
slow learner, aren't you, slave?  I think you're in
for an interesting time in the next few weeks if this
is how long it takes you to understand the proper form
of address.  I asked you if you understood how to
speak to a free man... Now, try again....."

He raised his arm threateningly, ready to strike
again, so I just muttered "Yes, sir."

"That's better, slave.  Now, two more things you
should remember.  Firstly, you're not naked.  You've
got your slave collar on, and that's all a slave
needs.  Your owner may elect to allow you to wear
clothes, but it's not essential.  A slave has nothing
to be ashamed of in being naked - that's an emotion
that only free men can have.  Your body is your
owner's, and if he chooses to display you, it's of no
concern to you."

He looked me up and down, and went on "Actually,
you've got no reason to be ashamed anyway.  Even if
you were a free man, I'd like to see you display
yourself.  You obviously look after yourself, you've
got a real man's body, no fat, long legs, good pecs,
and, as for your dick... , you must know you're above
average in that department, and your balls complement
it well, swinging low like that."

I felt myself blushing again, as I wasn't used to
having men talk about me in these terms.  Well, I
mean. Even if you happen to see another guy in the
locker room, you don't go up and start discussing the
size of his dick, do you?

Hughes carried on speaking.  "And, remember, your
bodily comfort is of no concern to anyone now, slave!
I don't care if you're fucking freezing, or roasting
with the heat.  If I tell you to stand there and wait,
that's exactly what you do.  Understand?"

I saw his arm twitching again, so I just muttered
"Yes, sir".

"And change your attitude, slave!  When you're
replying to your owner, or other free men, we like to
hear a nice crisp response.  If you speak to me one
more time in that sullen way, I'll really tan your
hide.  Understand?"

"Sir, yes!".  I got it right this time.

I stood there then, as officer Hughes went on with his
paperwork.  I still felt cold, and there were those
little goose bumps breaking out all over my body.  I
started to tremble slightly, almost shivering, but
decided it was best to try to endure it rather than
interrupt officer Hughes again.  I kept looking at the
clock, and this irritated Hughes as he said "Keep
still, boy.  I can't bear to see slaves twitching
around like that.  And I think it would be better if
you assumed the display position - it's good practice
for you.  So hands behind your neck, feet spread....."

I did as I was told, and he glanced up at me.  "That's
right, slave.  But one more thing -  keep your head
bowed, and your eyes down - look at a point about a
metre in front of you.  That looks more servile, and
most owners like to see their slaves like that."

Standing like that I couldn't now easily see the
clock, but if I tried hard, I could just make it out
in the corner of my eye.  An hour had now gone by
since I was brought down from the court - where the
fuck was Billy-Joe?  Why was he keeping me waiting
around like this?

At long last Billy-Joe did appear.  He went up to
officer Hughes with a piece of paper, and said "I've
come to collect Steve Harris.... I was told to ask for
Officer Hughes..."

"I'm officer Hughes, sir".  Hughes was now in the
polite, courteous mode he had been in when I'd first
met him!  He clearly had a different way of dealing
with men than he had with slaves.  "...but there's no
Steve Harris here, sir.  I have a slave who used to be
Steve Harris, but the free man with that name vanished
when the enslavement order came into force."

"Quite so.... Quite so...", Billy-Joe said.  "So
where's the slave Steve....?"

"Billy-Joe, thank god.. .where the fuck have you
been...?"

I was writhing on the floor.  It felt as if someone
had thrown a pan of boiling water over me.  My skin
was on fire, and all my nerves were screaming in
agony. I was shouting and crying - my throat felt raw.
I wasn't sure that my bladder hadn't released, as
there was wet on the floor.

Hughes stood over me, and pushed the sole of his
leather boot down onto my belly.  "Lie still, slave.
And shut that fucking noise, unless you want another
dose of my discipliner!"

I did as he said, as best I could.  I lay there in
horror, wondering how long it would take my skin to
re-grow after this scalding.  I heard officer Hughes
say to Billy-Joe "I'm sorry about that, sir, but your
slave has been difficult all morning.  I've tried
milder discipline on him, tried to explain the proper
mode of address for slaves, but it looks as if you
have a real dumb one here... So I thought it best to
reinforce the message with a little demonstration for
him of the discipliner.  I'm, sure you'll need to buy
one for this slave, sir, as he's such a dumb fuck.
Effective, isn't it?  There's no permanent damage of
course as it directly affects only the nerves, and
he'll recover within about ten minutes.  But if he
understands that persistent breaches of the rules will
result in a ouch of the discipliner some times, it
will make him think twice!"

What a bastard that Hughes was!  And it was him who
was the dumb fuck - I'd been to college, a good one,
got a good degree, had a responsible job.... And all
he could do was hold down some low-level guards job in
public service.  Still, it was his boot pressing don
on my belly, and he had this discipliner thing... And
he did at least have a uniform, whereas I was nude.

I wondered what I must look like, sprawled there,
still twitching feebly, with the weight of a leather
boot pressing into my belly.  I could see Billy-Joe
staring down at me, and then, to my astonishment, I
heard him say "Thank you, officer.  That's good
advice.  But the slave is mostly going to be living at
my father's place, and he, the Colonel, tends to
believe in less hi-tech methods of disciplining the
slaves -  the tawse, the strap, the whip... He says
they were good enough for his father, and they are
good enough for him.  Still, it seems to work - we
never have the slightest problem, and we have the best
behaved slaves for miles around.  Still, I think you
can probably let him get up now - I think he'll have
learned his lesson, and remain silent."

Hughes' boot came up off my belly, and I struggled to
my feet.  The pain was going away, and apart form the
odd involuntary twitch, I was back in control.

"Hey, Steve", Billy-Joe began.  "You look fantastic,
man... You always did have a great body when we were
rooming together, but you seem to have got even
better.  You look fucking great...."

"Sir, can I....."

There were two resounding slaps on my butt.  I jerked
forward, feeling my dick and balls fly through the
air.   Hughes snapped "Don't interrupt, slave.  And
this gentlemen is your owner, remember?  So you
address him as 'Master'.  I'm listening, slave, and
any more of this nonsense and I'll not just paddle
your ass, but I'll have the discipliner on you again.
Now, assume 'display'."

I stood there, looking at the floor, and Billy-Joe
said "OK, Steve, what's the problem?  You can speak."

I faltered.  It seemed so unnatural.  This guy was my
roommate from college.  We were buddies.  But I
managed it.  I stuttered out "Master.....   Please may
I have something to wear?  I'm cold, and, well, you
know... naked."

Billy-Joe just laughed.  "Aw, come on, Steve, boy!
You look great.  It seems a pity to cover it all up.
You don't know how many times I lay awake at night
waiting for you to come in from a bar, or, more
likely, from fucking some bitch, so I could see you
slip into bed naked.  And now I can see it all, not
just an occasional flash.   Still, I suppose so...
Officer, do we have anything to cover the slave?"

"Perhaps you could wait, sir.  I've got all the
paperwork here authorising his collection by you, but
you have to do a physical check before I release him -
certify that he's not been damaged whilst he's been in
our custody.  If you want to get on with that, sir,
I'm sure we can find him some slave shorts somewhere."


His eyes almost glittering, Billy-Joe advanced on me.
He reached out and rested his sweating palms on the
top of my shoulders, and lightly massaged my neck with
his thumbs.  I went to move back, as I hated the
thought of being touched, but Hughes snarled "Stay
still, boy.  It's only your master's hands on you!".

I kind of shuddered inwardly, and tried to compose
myself as Billy-Joe carried on his probing of me.  His
hands moved down and rested on my pecs, and he stirred
them around slightly so that I got a ripple of
sensation going through me as his palms excited my
nipples.

He used both hands down the side of my body, almost
pressing his thumbs in between my ribs, then flat palm
again over the ridges of my belly.  Then he was around
behind me, and I could feel his sweaty hands tracing
the big muscles in my shoulders, before he kind of
cupped my butt in his two hands.  He lifted his hands
up, as if trying to move my butt, and he must have
been standing so close to me as his breath puffed in
and out on the base of my neck.

"Fantastic, Steve...  I always thought you had a butt
to die for - no wonder the women went wild when you
went ventured forth in those tight jeans of yours....
But you've been working on it.  Really nice muscles
here...."

"...and here", he went on as his hands slid down my
flanks and thighs.  It almost tickled as his fingers
disturbed the wiry hair on my legs, and I moved
slightly.

He came around to the front of me again.  "Now, the
'piece de resistance', as the French would say!"

As I watched from my down-cast eyes, horrified, not
daring to move in case officer Hughes punished me,
Billy-Joe reached out with his hand and cupped my
balls in it!  I went to move backwards, instinctively
- well, you do, don't you, as your balls are so
precious, and at once Hughes snapped "Easy, boy!
Stand still whilst your owner is inspecting you!"

Billy-Joe moved his hand up and down, and I was on the
edge with suspense as one false move on his part and I
knew I'd be in agony - well, I mean, having a guy's
hand probing at your balls is risky, isn't it?

"Fantastic, Steve!"  Billy-Joe was almost whispering.
"I've always wondered what those big low-hangers of
yours would feel like.  They're great.  And I think
they're full of spunk, aren't they?  When did you last
jerk off?"

I wasn't going to answer  that, was I?  I mean, a guy
doesn't tell his best buddy things like that.  So I
just stood there, until officer Hughes growled "Your
owner asked you a question, slave..."

"Two days ago, master."

"Hey, Steve, and I always thought you were an ace
stud.  I always imagined that you'd be jerking off at
least twice a day, even when there wasn't a woman
around!  Two days ago.... "

"Master, look, I've been worried.  I didn't feel like
it..."  It's funny, isn't it, how a guy feels he needs
to defend his virility even in circumstances like
this.  But my comments were cut short as Billy-Joe now
had my dick lying in the palm of his other hand.

Now I've had women hold my dick before, of course -
not a lot, as I find the ladies don't generally like
to play with a guy in the same way as I like to play
with them, but some.  So  I thought I knew what a hand
felt like - but this as quite different.  Billy-Joe's
palm was sweaty, and he cradled my dick in it, almost
appreciatively.  I went to pull away again when he
started to squeeze around the end of my foreskin to
make my dick head emerge, but officer Hughes again
growled "Easy, boy!  Hold steady there...."

Because I was in the display position my eyes were
down and I could see my bright pink dick head emerging
from its protective sheath, all moist and ready for
action,  as Billy-Joe squeezed away.  Then I almost
shouted out as Billy-Joe suddenly raked his finger
nail right across it, catching my piss slit on the
way.  He let go of my dick then, and held his finger
up to his face, as if inspecting it.  "I've always
wondered what a guy's dick juice is like, Steve, when
he has his head covered all the time as you do.
Interesting...."

Just then the phone rang, and officer Hughes went to
answer it.  Although he was only a short distance away
he turned his back to us as if he didn't want us to
hear what he was saying.

"Billy-Joe, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Hey, Steve, just as the officer said... Inspecting
you, to make sure they haven't damaged  my property."
He said it with a kind of smile, so I supposed he was
joking.

"Fuck it, man!  You don't do that kind of crap to a
buddy... Playing with my dick, fondling my balls...."

"Oh come on, Steve, be sensible.  It's not your dick
any longer you know, strictly speaking.  It's mine.  I
own it.  I own you.  Remember?"

"Cut this shit out, will you, Billy-Joe?  I'm your
buddy, remember?  The guy you roomed with at college?
We're only doing this at your suggestion...  And,
anyway, why are you keeping me here naked like this?
And what the fuck have you been doing ?  It's over an
hour since the case was over and you could have been
down here before...."

"Steve, get real!  Sure, we roomed together.  But we
need to take this slavery thing a bit seriously - it
is the foundation of our society, you know!  And
what's the problem with being naked?  Not that you
are, anyway, as you've got your collar:  a free man
might be naked, but a slave can't be, by definition,
as he's collared.  And in your case, it's especially
silly, as you've got a great body - I'd have thought
you'd have liked to show it off a bit to other
guys...."

"Billy-Joe!  Cut the crap, will you?  Tell me you're
joking... Look, let me get dressed, and then let's get
out of her, and go and talk this out.  I've been here
long enough - what kept you, anyway?"

"Oh, I ran into an old chum in the corridor upstairs,
someone from school days who I haven't seen for ages.
We needed to catch up, that sort of stuff.  And he's
invited me to a great party tonight..."

"You left me here, so you could shoot the breeze...?"

"And why not?  A man can't be expected to ignore his
friends you know, Steve.  We don't do that down here -
we're sociable folk in this town, and two
acquaintances can always find the time to catch up."

"...even if his best buddy is standing shivering with
the cold?"

"Well, I didn't expect it to be cold.   And it's not
as if you've got anything else to do today, is it?  So
a little wait would hardly inconvenience you!"

"Billy-Joe, please....  Get me some clothes, and let's
get out of here.  I want to go to your place and have
a shower, change into some proper stuff, try to forget
all this...."

Just at that moment officer Hughes came up again, and
Billy-Joe asked him about clothes.  "There's some
standard slave shorts in the pile over there, sir.
They're from slaves who have been brought in and
stripped for the court for re-sentencing.  If you'd
like to use them for the slave, be my guest... Tell
him to go over there and pick out a pair.  But don't
you want to inspect his anus, sir, to make sure there
has been no tampering?"

I thought he was going to do it.  I really did.  I
thought my best buddy was going to make me bend over
so he could look at my hole!  Officer Hughes was
indicating his desk to me, as if suggesting that I
should go and lean on it to make Billy-Joe's task
easier.  I felt myself almost begin to lose control.
It didn't matter how much they punished me, I couldn't
let this happen.

"Here's a glove, sir", officer Hughes was saying to
Billy-Joe.  "These new slaves are never cleaned out
properly, and if you're going to inspect him, I'd
recommend you wear a latex glove."

"Hey, Steve... Have they been playing with your hole?
Anyone tried to fuck you?"

"No, master".  I almost shouted.

"We'll skip that part of it then", Billy-Joe said, and
as I relaxed, he added "...at least for the time
being.  Come on, Steve, go and get some shorts..
.you've been whinging on long enough about being
naked...."  Billy-Joe turned to me and nodded and
pointed, and I stalked off across the floor, feeling
it cold under my bare feet.

The pile of shorts was just that - a heap of the
standard off-white rough shorts you see slaves wearing
everywhere.  They seemed to be in only three sizes
when I looked at them - small, medium and large - and
it was obvious that they had all been worn before and
not laundered.  As I picked them up and examined them,
I could see faint piss stains inside some, and even
"skid marks" in others!  I sorted through all the
"large" ones, and couldn't find any really clean ones,
so I walked back over to where Billy-Joe and officer
Hughes were talking.

I stood and waited for them to acknowledge me - Hughes
was fingering his discipliner suggestively - and when
Billy-Joe tilted his head to indicate I could speak, I
said "Master, all those shorts are soiled."

"Hey, boy, they're slave shorts, worn by slaves,
right?  Most of the slaves who come in here are so
scared of what's about to happen to them that they
can't help dribbling a little piss... Now, get the
fuck back over there and pick a pair, or, I'm sure
your owner won't mind you carrying on being naked.
You're pretty easy on the eyes ,after all!"  Hughes
turned away from me immediately he'd said this, to
signal the end of the conversation.

What was I to do?  Was it better to be naked, or to
wear a pair of shorts that had been around another
guy?  I sorted through them again, and I knew there
was no way I could bring myself to wear the
skid-marked ones.  But there was a pair with only a
small amount of piss stain, that looked relatively
clean on the outside, too.  There didn't seem to be
any other choice, really, so I pulled them on.

God, it was great not to be buck naked again!  But the
shorts felt so odd.  They were cut much shorter in the
leg than any free man would wear, of course - as a
free man myself all my shorts were at least down to
the knee, and these cut off high on my thigh.  And
there was no underwear, or any pouch built into the
shorts, so the rough cotton rubbed directly against my
dick, balls and ass.  The cut seemed strange, too -
although they were roomy enough so that the simple
elasticated waist slipped over my hips easily, once on
they seemed to stretch tight over my ass.  And at the
front my dick seemed to be pressed into my thigh, and
I felt certain you cold see it's outline through the
thin fabric.

I walked back towards Billy-Joe and office Hughes, and
waited again.  When Billy-Joe again "noticed" me, and
mindful of officer Hughes'  discipliner, I said, as
respectfully as I could, "Master, are we about to
leave?"

"Ah, yes, Steve, I meant to tell you there's been a
slight change of plan.  I told you that I ran into an
old friend earlier today, and so I've decided to go
off to his party tonight.  I won't be able to take you
down to the Colonel's estate myself, so I've arranged
transport."

"But Master... You said that I'd be living here in the
city, in your apartment...."

"Change of plan there, too, Steve!  I think on the
whole you'd do better in the country.  It's healthier
for a slave there.  And the Colonel grows all his own
meat, fruit, vegetables and eggs -  it's all pure and
natural... A great place for a slave to live.  Much
healthier than the city.  And there's a whole lot more
room for you to move about in - you wouldn't want to
be in a small city apartment all the time, only able
to exercise in the park.  I've talked it through with
the Colonel's overseer, Straughan, who I think you met
on your last visit - he's going to accommodate you
there.  I go down there quite often at weekends, so it
will be easy to keep in touch."

"Billy-Joe, that wasn't what we agreed, you said...."

I was writhing on the floor again, as Hughes simply
touched his discipliner to my naked chest.  I was
moaning and shouting and my limbs were thrashing
around, and Billy-Joe and Hughes just stood there and
watched, until my body came back under control again.

"You've got a difficult one there, sir, if you don't
mind me saying so.  If I were you, I'd send him off to
one of the slave breaking places - they work wonders
with guys like him.  After a couple of weeks he's come
back a respectful docile, obedient slave.  My brother
in law works at one, and I'd be happy to give you his
card.... Sometimes he tells me about how they do it -
it sounds fun, well, at least for the guards.  I'm
even thinking of giving up this job and going to work
there myself."

"Thank you, officer, but I don't particularly want
this slave broken - well, at least not like that. I've
seen some of the slaves who come out of those places -
sure, they obey, but they've lost something... some
spark.  And I want this slave to be functioning
properly, so he's fun to be with, if you understand
me."

"Quite so, sir.  I wish I could afford a piece of ass
like this...."

"Anyway, we have seventy slaves at the Colonel's, and
adding an extra one won't be a problem. And he won't
cause too many problems either, I'm sure.  But thanks
for the offer."

Turning to me, Billy-Joe said "I'm coming down next
weekend, Steve.  Straughan will see to you until then
- he's a good man, and he's going to look after you
properly."

"But Master...."

"Shut the fuck up, slave!  Do you want another taste
of the discipliner?"  Officer Hughes positively spat
this out.  "Your master has told you what he has
arranged, and you dare question it?  Now, 'display',
and keep quiet!"


I stood there, powerless to do anything else because
of the officer's weapon, and just watched as Billy-Joe
signed to say he had inspected me and I was in good
shape, and then signed the "transference of property"
form to assume ownership and responsibility for me.
He shook hands with officer Hughes then, and simply
walked away, without even saying goodbye to me.  Look,
I like to try and make allowances for my buddies, and
it must have been difficult for Billy-Joe - he was,
after all, brought up with slaves and was used not to
seeing them as people.  I guess he'd just forgotten
that I wasn't a proper slave, and so had simply walked
away as he would have from one of his normal slaves.

Once he'd gone, Hughes came and stood in front of me.
He reached down and fondled my dick, through the thin
fabric of the shorts.  I knew better than to try to
pull back, and just stood there, hands still clasped
behind my head.  As he stroked at me and felt for my
dick, I started to have an erection:  oh god, please,
not now, I thought.  This guy will think I like this
sort of thing.  He'll think I'm some sort of fucking
faggot.

"He's a lucky man, your new owner", officer Hughes
then said, almost conversationally.  "I wish I could
afford some prime man flesh like you.  You're
everything a male slave should be - good body, big
dick, and I can feel that you're ready for anything -
just one touch, and you're hard!  And I guess you're a
virgin, too - no one's ever been up that ass of yours.
 Man, what fun your owner's got in store."

"Still", he went on, "No time for that now.  Come on
to the loading bay as the UPS guys usually come about
this time."

There were several slaves waiting in the loading bay
area, and as I stood there, cars and vans gradually
came up and tool them away.  Officer Hughes had
firstly commanded me to stand at "display", but after
a few minutes when it was apparent that the UPS van
must be late, he allowed me to stand at "Rest" - I
still had my feet slightly apart, I had to have my
head bent and my eyes focussed about a metre in front
of my feet, but I could clasp my hands behind my back
- one hell of a lot more comfortable, I suppose.  I
guess I should have been grateful for this kind of
consideration, but all I could do was seethe with
indignation about the fact that Billy-Joe would rather
go to a party tonight, and leave me here for some sort
of van service to deal with.

When the UPS van did arrive it was kind of a
mini-truck.  The driver got out, and called out
"Picking up a slave, serial 86607016...."

Hughes replied "Over here", and the UPS man with his
palm PC came over.  He totally ignored me, and asked
Hughes to verify that the slave was really the right
one, and then, as a double check, he reached up and
swivelled my collar around a bit so that he could read
it.  "Yep, this is the one.  We've had a few problems
lately with picking up the wrong slave, and the owners
haven't even noticed for a few days... So many of
these blacks and Hispanics all look alike, and when
they're being shipped to join field gangs, or to the
mines, no one really notices.  Still, that wouldn't
happen with this one, would it?  Handsome brute, and
so unusual to get a white guy."

He and Hughes then proceeded to complete the
paperwork, and they never spoke to me or asked me to
verify anything.  I realised that, to UPS, I was just
another object to be shipped carefully from place to
place, tracked, handled, and delivered properly.  I
wasn't a man, someone who could make decisions for
himself about travel, I was just like a dumb animal
being moved around by its owner.

"OK, boy", the UPS guy said.  "Over to the van, and
let's get you secured."

"One minute", I heard Hughes say.  "Slave, drop those
shorts."

"Sir?"

"You heard me, boy, drop those shorts.  They belong to
the state, and they don't leave here."

"Sir, I'd have to travel naked..."

"You fucking well don't listen, do you?  You've been
told already that a slave is never naked as he's
wearing his collar.  And, anyway, it doesn't matter -
slaves don't feel shame.  Now, drop them, unless you'd
like a little does of the discipliner...."

Reluctantly, I slid the shorts down over my hips, and
let them fall to the floor.  The UPS guy gave a low
whistle when he saw me.  "Wow... This is one hot
slave, one valuable property!  Look at how he's hung!
And that butt!  Is he fuckable?"

"No", Hughes said, a smile playing over his lips.  "I
know the reputation you delivery guys have for making
sure the stock is still in good order, but you'd best
not try this one:  he's only been enslaved today, and
he's not broken in yet.  And, if I was his owner, I
would want it to be me who took his cherry - I think
there'd be a swift complaint to your employers if his
owner finds he's not really tight, first time
around..."

I listened to all this incredulously.  Did the drivers
really fuck the slaves in transit?  But, at least I
had nothing to worry about.  And, of course, I knew
that Billy-Joe wasn't going to "take my cherry":  at
college he'd been just as much of a ladies' man as I
had.

The tarmac almost burned the naked soles of my feet as
I walked behind the UPS man to his truck.  I'd almost
got used to being naked in the controlled environment
indoors, but here, in the open air, it all felt
different.  How many pairs of eyes were staring out at
me from the windows that lined the back of the court
building?  And the hot sun felt strange on my body -
well, I guess I'm used to it on my back as I often
slip my shirt off in the heat, but not on my bare
butt, and certainly not on my dick.  The UPS man
opened the back door of the truck, and motioned me
inside.  As well as the usual jumble of parcels and
packages, there was a kind of cage - about the size of
a telephone booth.  The driver opened the gate to it,
and motioned me in.  When I hesitated, he slapped me
on the butt and told me to get a move on.  Well, what
was I supposed to do?  I went in and stood there, and
he slammed the gate and locked it.  I couldn't sit
down or anything as it was too small, and I just had
to stand there, looking  out at him through the bars.

"OK, fella.  It's going to take about an hour, so
whatever you want to do, you can hold it in.  If
there's any piss on the floor, you'll lick it up.  You
slaves are really like animal sometimes - I even had a
slave crap in there last week!  Make sure you don't do
that - you won't like the taste.    With that, he got
out and slammed the rear door, and a moment or so
later the van stirred into life and, together with all
the other packages, I started on my journey to my new
home.

End Of Part Three

YOU CAN'T BE FRIENDS WITH A SLAVE, Part four

By Pete Brown  petebrownuk @ yahoo.com


ARRIVAL AT THE ESTATE

Well, I suppose it wasn't all that bad in the cage
inside the delivery van.  At least there was no one
else looking at me.  And I suppose being naked might
even have helped - the aircon didn't run in the cargo
section, and it was a hot day outside.  As the sun hit
the roof of the van, the temperature soared, and I was
soon sweating like a pig.  At least I could hold on to
the bars as the truck swayed from side to side as we
sped along.  I got crosser and crosser at Billy-Joe,
though - would it really have hurt him to give up
going to a party, so that he could take me out and
re-introduce me to the Colonel, and to make me feel
welcome on the estate?

My mind wandered to the other times I'd been there -
two of three times during vacation periods at college
Billy-Joe had invited me to accompany him to his home.
 I remembered the huge, colonial-style mansion with it
s tall white pillars along the front providing a shady
colonnade.  The wide corridors, their old wooden
floors lovingly polished for generations, and the
smell of the lavender from the wax.  The
well-proportioned, elegant rooms, with their antique
furniture.  The exquisite food served off fine china
and crystal.  The supremely comfortable beds, with
freshly-laundered and starched sheets every night.
Perhaps it wasn't going to be so bad after all - if I
had to live somewhere as a slave, the Colonel's
mansion was almost certainly better than sharing
Billy-Joe's apartment in the city.  I remembered, too,
how helpful and courteous the slaves were, and how
perfectly they performed their duties, as if they had
been painstakingly well trained. - as I've told you,
our family wasn't big on slavery, so I wasn't used to
the amazing levels of personal service I received
there.  Whenever you needed something, it seemed to
appear.  And if you wanted to go riding, or do any
other sport, it was a real pleasure not to have to
prepare the horses, or clean the equipment afterwards.

Of course I'd invited Billy-Joe to my home in
Hertford, too.  I almost felt ashamed at our standard
of living compared to that which Billy-Joe enjoyed.
Although dad was really quite well off, we just didn't
compare with the luxury at Billy-Joe's.  Mind you, he
seemed to enjoy these visits to Hertford even though,
once he'd suggested it, I'd told him he couldn't bring
his personal slave valet with him.  I think he valued
the continuing comradeship that we had at college, as
he shared my bedroom as we slept in the twin beds.
Mom offered him our guest room, of course, but he
seemed to prefer sticking close to me, even though we
were a bit cramped there compared even to what we had
in our college dorm room.

I wondered what sort of accommodation I'd have in the
big house - I guessed it was unreasonable to expect
that I'd have the same luxurious room I'd had before,
with a private sitting room, private dressing room,
huge bedroom, and enormous tiled bath and shower room.
 Well, I mean, presumably this type of thing was
reserved for the Colonel's occasional guests who were
"week ending", as I'd been.  No, I thought it more
likely that I'd have some sort of normal bedroom and
private bath, and I wondered how I'd get along sharing
the public rooms with the Colonel - on my earlier
visits I'd used the dining room, or course, the family
breakfast room, the billiards room, the library, the
huge formal drawing room, the pleasant little "snug"
with it's oak-panelled walls and masculine tartan
curtains.... I'd need to be careful I didn't upset the
Colonel by appearing to abuse the privileges of a
long-term house guest, I knew, and I wondered if there
were some little services I could render him to show
him how grateful I was.  Without money, there was of
course no way I could offer to pay for any of it, but
perhaps he'd value a companion to play chess with, or
perhaps he'd like someone to talk to in the long
evenings:  I'd observed on my visits that neither the
Colonel nor Billy-Joe were big TV fans, and so the
evenings could drag a little. I'd need to really hone
my conversation skills, I thought, if I was to be
properly appreciated as a good guest by my hosts.

When the van slowed and finally stopped I started to
worry, though: I sincerely hoped one of the slaves
would come in to the van with the UPS guy and give me
a wrap or something to wear - I didn't like the idea
of mounting the imposing front steps to meet my host
when I was bare-assed:  it might get the whole visit
off to a bad start.  I needn't have worried, though,
as when the door was opened I couldn't see the mansion
at all  - we seemed to be in some sort of totally
enclosed courtyard, with "service buildings" - that's
the best way I can describe them - running along all
four sides.  There were lots of doors opening into
what might be offices, or store rooms, and I thought
that we'd probably come around to some kind of
"service entrance".  Well, at least I'd have a chance
to smarten up and dress, before meeting the Colonel.

The UPS man unlocked my cage, and snapped that I
should follow him.  I jumped down from the back of the
van and almost yelped as the sharp gravel of the yard
cut into the tender skin of my naked feet - it would
be good to be wearing proper shoes, or even sandals,
again.  He went into one of the rooms - I suppose he
made deliveries here often - and, indeed, it did seem
to be a kind of "receiving room" - there was a black
slave in crisp white shorts with the Colonel's logo
sitting at a small desk, and he and the UPS man
proceeded to exchange paperwork - I was being "signed
for", just as if I was a package being delivered to
the house.  The slave got to his feet and ambled over
to me, twisted my collar around to read the number
engraved on it, checked the papers, then thanked the
UPS man.  Even though he was the "customer", I
couldn't help but notice how respectful he was to the
UPS man, calling him "sir", and bowing slightly, and
keeping his eyes cast down.  It was, I supposed,
another example of the Colonel's perfectly-trained
slave force, who knew their place and were always
conscious of the need to treat free men with dignity
and respect.

I looked at the slave when the UPS man had left, and
said "I'm the new guest here... Fetch me some clothes,
before anyone comes to meet me."

"Mr Straughan will be here in his own good time, man!
He always greets new slaves.  And until then, you stay
naked ", the slave said.  Unlike his conversation with
the UPS guy, the slave was looking me straight in the
eyes, didn't call me "sir", and had a far from
respectful tone in his voice.  I realised that he
probably didn't understand that I wasn't a proper
slave - arriving naked and collared, he probably saw
me just as a regular slave, like himself.

"I don't think Straughan will be pleased if he finds
out you've kept me here like this...", I started.  I'd
met Straughan on my previous visits, and knew that the
reasons why the Colonel's place ran so perfectly was
stemmed largely from Straughan's fanatical attention
to detail, and his firm control of the slave force as
it toiled away in the house and on the estate.

"Hey, man, I don't think Mr Straughan would be very
pleased if he heard a slave referring to him as
'Straughan'.  He's got a quick temper, and that crop
of his can hurt if he lashes out at you.  We'd best
just wait here patiently for him."

I'm not sure I liked this black slave referring to me
as "man", but it wasn't worth arguing with him.  Once
Straughan arrived all this would be sorted out, as I
knew Billy-Joe would have called him and told him to
look after me.

The slave dropped into the "rest" position and, after
a few minutes, when I'd paced around the room, looked
out of the window, and generally fidgeted around in my
impatience to get out of there and on to the next
thing, he hissed at me in a half-whisper "Hey, man,
you'd best keep still, and assume 'rest', like me.  If
Mr Straughan comes in and finds you pacing around,
you'll get punished.  Slaves here who are not working
are supposed to assume 'rest'.... Best do it, and
avoid a beating."

"Oh, don' worry about that.  Mr Straughan and I have
met before.  He's expecting me, I'm sure, and things
will be very different when he comes."

"Man, you can say that again!  I know he's expecting a
new slave, and that's why I'm here.  And you'd better
believe things are different with Mr Straughan around
- he's a real hard master, I can tell you: You've
probably not had a slave master like that in any of
your other places...  Look, man, it will be best for
you if you just do as I suggest, believe me.  Just
relax, and assume 'rest', and maybe it will go OK for
you."

"Don't worry, slave, there won't be a...."

I never finished that sentence, as at that moment the
door opened and Straughan came in.  He was just as I
remembered him - late fifties, thin, wiry, only about
five seven, but immaculately dressed.  I seemed to
recall that he'd had military training, and he
certainly had that air of a long-serving  former
soldier:  ramrod straight back, impeccably neat
clothes, neatly-trimmed hair, and that general air
that says "look at me - I'm proud to serve my country,
and show respect for it by being  properly turned
out".  His thin features, though, suggested that he
could be harsh, even cruel, if he was disobeyed or
crossed, and I felt that I wouldn't have liked to be a
raw recruit in any unit that he was in charge of.

I took a step towards him, held out my hand in
greeting, and said "Straughan!  Good to see you again.
  Remember me - Steve Harris... I've been here several
times before with Billy-Joe.  You always ran a tight
ship, and it's going to be a pleasure living here
almost full time...."

He totally ignored my hand, not holding out his own in
return, and, indeed, giving me a withering look from
his cold eyes as if I was some kind of small dead
rodent a cat had dragged in.  "Slave, say one more
word without being addressed, and I'll have the guards
in here to take you out and flog you."

That stopped me in my  tracks.  Was it possible
Straughan had misunderstood something, had got me
mixed up with some proper slave who was arriving?
But what should I do - if I interrupted him, he might
actually do that before I could stop him - I'd seen
that he had a quick temper when dealing with "slaves",
and was not slow to act.  So I almost bit my tongue,
and just stood there.

"That's better, slave", he went on.  "Calm yourself.
And assume 'display' - you do know what this is, don't
you?"

I assumed the position, muttering "Yes, Straughan,
but..."

"One more disrespectful word, and it's a flogging!
I'm 'Mr Straughan' to you, boy, or, usually, 'sir'.
Now, let's understand each other  - no, you'd better
understand me.  Listen carefully, as I'm only going to
tell you once."

"I told your owner, Master Billy-Joe, that it was not
sensible to have you here as a slave.  All the slaves
here are owned by the Colonel, and subject o my
control and discipline as I'm his Overseer.  But he
would insist, as he says his apartment is too small
for two men to live together in.  I told him having
some strange sort of 'quasi-slave' here would cause
discipline problems - the other slaves wouldn't know
how to treat you, wouldn't know how to refer to you if
you spoke to them, and would start to get uppity if
they saw a slave getting special treatment and
privileges.  Master Billy-Joe thought he knew best,
though, and phoned his father, the Colonel, and talked
him around:  so you're here, whether I like it or not,
even though I think it's a fucking stupid idea."

"I spoke to Master Billy-Joe on his cell phone a few
minutes ago.  I told him that we needed to agree how
you were to be treated.  I told him about all the
potential problems, but he didn't have time to discuss
it - he was dashing off to some party or other.  I
told him I couldn't look after you until we had
reached an agreement, but he was in such a rush that
all he could say was 'Look after Steve properly,
Straughan.  You know how to do these things.  We can
sort out any problems at the weekend', when, I
understand, he's planning to visit."

"Great, Straughan.  So, look after me.  Get me some
fucking clothes, then show me to my room in the main
house, rather than keeping me here in this dismal
place....  I'm just doing a period of voluntary
enslavement you know, keeping a low profile until
things calm down with my -ex.  I'm just doing a
five-year stretch, or, at least five years and one
day, max, the judge ordered and extra day.  But I'm
sure Billy-Joe will release me long before then...."

Straughan seemed to cock his head to one side as I
said this, but I might as well not have bothered.  He
just continued  "I reminded Master Billy-Joe again of
the potential difficulties and problems, and all he
could say was 'get off the fucking line, Straughan,
I've got other calls waiting.  And I'm late already
for my party.  Just do what you think's right.'   So,
you see, he's left it to me.  Now, follow me...."

At fucking last, I thought!  What was he going on
about?  I wanted clothes, a good hot shower, a cold
beer.... Was that the right order?  Straughan strode
through the door by which he'd entered, and I
followed, noticing how his small, tight ass moved
easily under the stretched fabric of his jodhpurs - I
wondered why he wore those, rather than standard
trousers, but then took in that he had knee-high brown
leather riding boots on, boots that shone in the light
as if they were polished for many hours each day.

The next room was stark - the building blocks of the
walls had just been painted over, the floor was plain
poured concrete, and fluorescent tubes in the ceiling
lit everything with a harsh bright light.  Two huge
black slaves were standing there - they had at least a
couple of inches on me, and probably fifty pounds.

"Wash him!", Straughan said to the slaves, and they
advanced on me.  One held the end of a hose pipe in
his hand, and when he was close to me, he released a
jet of water at my chest.  It was icy cold, and I
shouted "What the fuck....?"

Straughan said to the other slave "Slap him!", and the
guy at once back-handed me across the left side of my
face, just as Officer Hughes had done.  I staggered
backwards, fell over and lay sprawled there on the
floor, arms and legs all akimbo and feeling horribly
exposed as my dick and balls flopped around.  The
first slave just turned the hose on me and played the
water up and down my body.

"Keep a civil, respectful tongue in your head,
slave!", Straughan said.  "The Colonel does not
tolerate foul language from anyone, least of all from
a slave. Now, get up, and let Charlie and Coon get on
with their work - we need you clean, to be able to
induct you."

I was going to protest, but one of the slaves had his
arm up threateningly again, ready to strike  My face
was almost numb from his first blow, and I didn't want
a repeat.  So, the shower was cold, rather than hot,
but it was a hot day... I'd survive.  But then both
blacks took a bar of soap and started to rub me all
over with their sudsy hands.  I've never liked other
men touching me, and this was dreadful, and had never
even washed the back of a buddy after a match at
school or college. Now not a square inch of me was
left uncovered by the soap, and they didn't seem to
mind at all having to soap my balls, or run their
hands down my ass crack, or even to retract my
foreskin.

That's not on, is it?  I mean, you can't have a guy
sliding his hands down your ass, and you certainly
can't have someone fiddling with your 'skin.  So I
went to push the slaves' hands away from me.
Straughan saw this, and nodded, and one of the slaves
grabbed my arm, spun me around so that my back was to
him, then slapped my butt hard, twice, once on each
cheek!  It stung like hell - he was, as I've said, a
big guy, and hugely powerful.  The sound of the slaps
resounded around the room like pistol shots, and my
whole body jerked with the sheer force.  Not only
that, but it was fucking humiliating - it was rather
like when your mom or dad had reached out to spank you
if you were naughty at the mall or in a restaurant - a
quick spin around, then two swift blows on your butt.

"Stand still, slave", Straughan called out, "And let
Charlie and Coon do their work.  I'm a busy man, and I
haven't got time to stand here and watch slaves play
around - I want you processed nice and quickly and
those two know what they're doing."

I was horrified, mortified, ashamed, angry... I really
don't know which emotion was worst.
All I could do was stand there as the two big blacks
finished soaping me, then spraying me with the cold
water to wash it away.  They seemed unaffected by the
water - perhaps they were used to showering in cold
water, who knows.

My ordeal wasn't over yet, though, as a small stool
was dragged into the centre of the room, and they
pointed to it, indicating I should sit.  Straughan was
watching impassively, and the slaves looked ready to
slap me again, so I did.  There was a buzzing, and
then a tickling as my hair fell down my body, landing
on my thighs and in my crotch as I sat there.  They
were using a fucking battery-powered clipper on me!

I tried to jump up, but one of the slaves had his
hands on my shoulders, and I was held there. I wasn't
going to let them cut my hair off!  Look, don't get me
wrong, I've never been one of those guys with really
long hair, in a ponytail or anything.  No, when I was
at school and college I always had it reasonably short
as it was much easier after playing sport to get it
dry.  And since I'd started working, I'd had it in a
neat executive cut.  In fact, I'd only been to the
barbers a week before, so my hair was in great shape.
I was rather proud of it, actually - it's strong and
wiry and a really dark black.  That bitch Chantelle
was always running her fingers through it and telling
me how sexy it was.

"Cut that out!", I yelled, and Straughan was at once
in front of me.  As the black's hands continued to
press down on my shoulder he took his riding crop -
I'd noticed that today, as whenever I'd seen him
before, he always carried a leather riding crop with
about two inches of pliable leather on the end of it -
and struck me with it, once on each nipple.  I
screamed, as it was so unexpected, and it hurt!  A
hard, spikey, cruel pain shot through me.  Straughan
stood there watching me, then casually lowered the
crop so that the leather end was prodding and probing
at my balls.  I stirred uneasily on the stool, but
couldn't move because of the insistent pressure on my
shoulders.

"Slave, that's the last warning you get.  I'm sure you
know that slaves are not allowed to initiate speech;
slaves respond when free men question them.  And when
you do respond, it is civilly, politely, and in a
suitably humble way.  Slaves here do not shout 'Cut
that out!' at the tops of their voices, when it is
clear that a free man has ordered them to be clipped.
If there is any more unseemly interruptions or unruly
behavior on your part, I will order Charlie and Coon
here to hold you upside down with your legs apart, and
my crop, which has just teased your nipples, will be
thrashing your testicles, and your anus.  Do I make
myself clear?"

"Yes, sir!"  I responded in what I hoped sounded an
enthusiastic way, as I could see from the cruel set of
Straughan's features hat he almost relished the
prospect of beating me sexually.  When a thin smile
half-played across his lips, I felt it safe to press
on "Sir, please may I ask though why my hair is being
shorn off?  I only went to the barbers last week...."

"The Colonel prefers slaves to have close-cropped
hair.  All the slaves here have short hair.  You are a
slave, so you have short hair.  Short hair enhances
the appearance of most slaves - shows that they work
hard and have no time for senseless grooming.  It
makes them look hard, and tough."

"Please, sir, although I entered voluntary
enslavement, I'm not really a slave... So do I need my
hair cut?  Won't it look silly, when I meet the
Colonel's other guests?"

Straughan almost broke into laughter.  "Don't worry
about that, slave!  No one will think you look silly.
And if you are introduced to any of the colonel's
guests, the hair on your head is the last thing
they'll be looking at, believe me! And you are a
slave, you know - that collar around your neck says it
all.  Now, sit still, and make no further
interruption."

The clipping then continued, and I could tell from the
amount of hair falling on me that it must be very
short indeed.  One of the slaves finally spent a few
moments trimming away at the nape of my neck, and at
my temples - I could tell from the feel of the cold
metal against my skin that parts of me must now be
completely devoid of hair.

The clipping stopped, and Straughan spoke again.
"There.  You'll be surprised how much better you look.
 In fact, having your temples cleared away really
enhances your look of virility."

I couldn't help myself.  I reached up and ran my hand
across my head - it felt like a tooth brush, it was
now so short!

"Stand up!", Straughan ordered, and I did so, brushing
the hair away from my body.  The slave with the
clippers came and knelt in front of me, and the next
moment they started buzzing again.

I couldn't help myself.  "No, leave my pubes
alone...", I shouted, and tried to back away.

This time Straughan's blows were to my butt.  The
slapping had been bad enough, but the  leather end of
his riding crop, wielded with all his force, was
different again.  The pain was intense, harsh, and
all-pervading.

"Stand still!", Straughan snapped.  "We don't want any
accidents with those electric clippers.  The slave is
attending to your pubic hair - all slaves here have it
neatly trimmed.  And the balls and ass crack are
always totally hair-free.  And I mean ALL slaves, even
those who still think this is some sort of game where
they get special treatment.  You know, slave, I rather
hope you keep protesting - I haven't had an
opportunity to give a slave a good whipping on his
sexual organs for several weeks - the Colonel dislikes
gratuitous violence and cruelty, and I can only do it
when as slave has been particularly unruly."

So I stood there as the clippers hummed, and felt the
indignity of having my dick lifted up whilst they
scraped across the surface of my balls.  The slaves
teased and stretched my sac to ease the passage of the
clippers, then, as a final indignity, gestured at me
and pressed me down to lie across the stool where I'd
been sitting.  I felt my butt being prized apart, then
the cold steel of the clippers slide up and down my
crack.

Finally, when the clippers were turned off, Straughan
told me to raise my arms above my head.  He came and
picked at my pit hair with his fingers, teasing it out
to see the length of the longest strands.  I flinched
slightly as the hair pulled at the sensitive skin
there, and Straughan again said "Easy!  Stay Still!
I'm only testing to see how long this growth is under
your pits - the Colonel doesn't like to see it
protruding when slaves are working.  Yes, in your
case, just a little trim...."

He gestured at the slave, the clippers started up
again, and most of my pit hair went.  He then ran his
finger through the thatch on my chest, running his
palm along my skin and then raising it so that the
chest hair trapped between his fingers was pulled out
to full length.  Another nod, and the clippers ran
over my chest shortening all of it almost to a
stubble.  Then I thought he must be finished, as his
hand ran over my belly, and he tried to pull the hair
up there.  Although I've got a pleasant growth of hair
all over that area, it seemed to satisfy Straughan,
though, and he seemed content to let it be.  At last,
I thought, now I can get some fucking clothes on.

They weren't finished yet, though.  A cut-throat razor
was produced from somewhere, and the slaves slid that
down my crack, too.  Then I had to stand again whilst
they scraped away the stubble from my balls.  It
tickled and tingled, but I didn't dare move, with that
sharp, exposed blade so close to my manhood.  I wanted
to tell them to stop.  I wanted to tell them they had
no right to do this to a guy.  But when I looked at
Straughan he was standing there watching, that thin
smile on his face, and his riding crop tapping up and
down in the palm of his hand.  Somehow I just knew
that he wanted to use it, that he just needed some
excuse to lash out again at my nipples, or my butt -
or, perhaps he'd even try to hit my balls, as he'd
threatened to. With two big black guys and Straughan
all working to control me, there didn't seem anything
I could do about it, other than to feel ashamed, and
angry.

Once the shaving was over, Straughan came and stood in
front of me.  Just as officer Hughes had done
yesterday, and Billy-Joe, he casually reached down, as
if it was the most natural thing in the world, and
cupped my balls in his hand.  It felt somehow cold,
and clammy.  He rolled my balls around stretching the
skin of my sac between his palm and his thumb, as if
testing for something.  Finally he muttered "Perfectly
smooth, so no reason to discipline the slaves", and
let me go.

"Follow me", he ordered, curtly, and strode out. I
walked after him, and as I went out into the corridor
there was a full length mirror.  I almost recalled in
shock at what I saw - instead of my usual handsome
self, there was this creature with a slave collar,
cropped hair, and with his balls obscenely exposed:
taking away most of my pubic hair and then shaving my
balls clean had made the so prominent - they hung down
behind my dick so pink-looking.  And my dick looked
even bigger than usual, too.  I began to realise that,
to someone that didn't know me, I now was a slave:
they'd  take one look at my body, and just think that
I was no longer a free man.

Straughan must have seen me halt - did the bastard
have eyes in the back of his head?  As he turned
around and said "Yes, slave.   It is you.   Now we've
removed all that filthy hair from you we can really
see what we've got to work with.  And I  can see
there's a lot to be done.  Now... Here...."

He'd picked up a pair of slave shorts from a pile in
the room, and tossed them to me.  Like the ones at the
court they were almost obscenely short compared with
anything a real man would wear, and again they felt
tight across my butt, and squeezed my dick.  What made
them worse, though, was that on the front of the leg
was the Colonel's house logo.  I've never wanted to go
into the army or anything, and I hate uniforms and
being made to wear the same things as everyone else,
especially when they're marked in some way with a team
or school name.  Now I was wearing exactly the same as
the other slaves, and the Colonel's mark was on me,
too.  As I walked along I couldn't help looking down
and seeing the logo almost marching along ahead of me.

Straughan took me down a corridor and finally opened a
door made of steel bars.  He motioned me inside, then
closed the door and I heard a lock click.  A quick
look around showed that I was in a small bare room,
with the same painted building-block walls and a
concrete floor.  The only furniture was a very narrow
bed - well, not a bed, really, more a kind of pad on
the floor, about six feet long, covered in leather.
There was a tap in the corner, above a hole in the
floor.  "Water from the tap if you're thirsty.  Piss
and crap into the hole if you need to.  And here...."
 He tossed a single blanket into the cell.  "This is
to cover you tonight - don't sleep in the shorts, as
you'll need them tomorrow, and if they're creased,
we'll let you go naked instead."

He turned to walk away, and I could bear it no longer.
 "Please, sir, Mr Straughan, sir...."

"Yes?"

"Sir, please - I'm supposed to be Billy-Joe's friend.
He asked me to look after you...."

"Free men aren't friends with slaves!  And I am
looking after you.  I've had you cleaned and trimmed
so you won't be out of place.  You've got a bed for
the night, and tomorrow we'll have you down to the
slave doctor for a proper medical examination - we
don't want you bringing any diseases or anything onto
the estate, do we?"

"But Mr Straughan, sir... Surely Billy-Joe meant for
me to live in the house..."

"Keep a respectful tongue in your head, slave!  He's
not 'Billy-Joe'.  You refer to him as 'My owner'...
Don't forget it!"

"Sir, surely 'my owner' intended me to live in the
house... I've been a guest here before...."

"I don't know what he intended, slave, as he could not
be bothered to take the trouble to discuss it.  All he
said was to take care of you, and that's what I'm
doing - taking care of you, in the same way I'd take
care of any newly-arrived slave."

"But I'm not a real slave, I did it voluntarily..."

"Yes, run that by me again..."

"I agreed to a period of voluntary enslavement, for
five years, sir, with Master Billy-Joe as my owner. He
said it was for the best, to avoid problems with my ex
girlfriend.  It's now five years and one day, I know,
but that hardly matters..."

"Quite so.  But you are a real slave, you know.  The
court has approved your enslavement order, and you've
been collared.  That's all that's needed."

"Yes, but I'll be free in five years..."

"Five years and one day...."

"Yes, sir."

"Well then, it won't hurt you to wait until the
weekend, will it, for all this to be sorted out.  And
in the meantime, we'll just do all the things we
usually do to newly arrived slaves, to make sure
they're fit and healthy.  Now, just relax, your food
will be along soon, and then get some rest - I'd think
that after all the worry of going to court and
everything, you're probably exhausted."

Straughan strode off, again without saying good-bye or
anything, and I just sat there on the edge of the low
pad, cradling my head in my hands in despair.  I've no
idea how long I sat there like that, until a voice
called out "Hey, boy..."

I looked up, and there was one of the two giant blacks
outside the gate, now dressed in slave shorts, as I
was.  I got up, and went over to him.

"Hi, man.  I'm Charlie.  The other one of us is Coon.
We work together, usually in the house, to keep
order."

"Steve."

"So, Steve, what did you do to get here?"

"Well, it's a long story... What about you?"

"Illegal immigrant.  From Jamaica.  They caught me.
Guilty. Enslaved."

"And Coon?"

"Bred to it.  Born on a slave farm somewhere
hereabouts, then sold at 16 to the Colonel, who
'brought him on' - had him exercised and fed well,
then realised he was very much the same size and shape
as me, who he'd just bought at auction.  So he paired
us, and made us kind of guards in the house.  Keep the
waiters and valets in order, that sort of thing."

"Still, you're lucky", he went on.  "They don't have a
'Steve' here currently, so you'll be allowed to keep
your name. I used to be a Rob, but there was already
one of those when the Colonel bought me, so he decided
to call me Charlie.  It takes some getting used to,
I'll tell you, to lose your name."   I was learning
more and more about slavery all the time - who'd think
they'd deprive a guy of his own name?

Charlie pushed something through the bars.  It was a
steel dish with a lot of broken biscuit-like things in
it.  "Here, eat up..."

"What the fuck's that?"

"Hey, man, don't you know anything?  It's slave chow -
packed full of energy, protein, vitamins, minerals...
Everything a slave needs to promote good body growth,
retain vitality and fitness, and grow big and strong."

"I can't eat that.  Perhaps someone could bring some
of the organic fruit and stuff the Colonel's so famous
for..."

Charlie roared with laughter!  "That's funny, man.
You must be a real wit.  The only time us slaves get
to see any of the stuff grown on this place, organic
or not, is when we're tending it, picking it, and
packing it!  It all gets sold, except that used for
the master and his guests.  Us slaves eat slave chow,
morning and night, every day, without any change.
Now, eat up."

"No, I'd rather have nothing."

"Listen, man, you'll never get anything else.  And
it's not allowed to leave anything.  As you go down
the feeding line in future you get a weighed amount,
and you eat it, all of it, else you're punished.  Most
of us are so fucking hungry all the time we're glad of
it, and would willingly take more, but they measure
and weigh us, then dish out just exactly the right
amount every day.... My belly could always do with
more.  So fucking eat, else I'll have to call Mr
Straughan, and you know he's waiting or a chance to
beat your balls."

"Does he often do that?"

"Often enough that most of us know it's not something
you want happen to you!  Just eat, will you, or he
might blame me as well."

I took a piece of it in my mouth and chewed.  It was
tough, and very crunchy.  If there was a flavour at
all it was faintly meat, faintly fish, and faintly
"old" vegetables.   I munched away, and swallowed.

"There, not so bad, was it?  Now, finish the fucking
lot."

Charlie stood there as I forced it down.  Actually,
there wasn't all that much of it, and I could imagine
that it would seem even less after a hard day's work.

Charlie took the bowl off me, and winked at me.  "Hey,
I'm looking forward to getting to know you...
Intimately."

"I'm not staying here, slave.  I guess you may see me,
in the big house, once Billy-Joe has sorted out
everything with Straughan.  So I don't think we'll be
getting to know each other very well..."

"We'll see!  You're off to the doctor tomorrow,
right?"

"Yes."

"Well, that will be a whole lot of fun for you!"  He
walked away, laughing slightly.

I hadn't been worried before, but I was now.  But I
did sleep that night, from sheer exhaustion, in spite
of the narrow, hard bed.

END OF PART  FOUR