Date: Fri, 15 Dec 2006 16:38:48 EST
From: SANIBELBOYS@aol.com
Subject: a lesson in time part 9

This story is (C)Copyright 2006, by  TM. All World Wide Rights Reserved.
This story may not be sold or made part  of any collection without prior
written
permission.

A Lesson In Time,  Chapter  Nine


By the time we returned to the cottage, I was fairly exhausted from being out
 under the warm sun for most of the afternoon. The pony left, heading back to
the  stables and `616' was busy fixing me a cool drink; while I took my
place at the  desk and began to thumb through my briefcase for more paper and a
fresh  pen.

I had  just gotten the drink, aligned my thoughts for my notes; when my
cellphone  buzzed again. I looked at my watch and saw it was nearing five o'clock,
at the  same time seeing that the person calling me was my  dad.

I  hurriedly answered the phone, sounding like a little kid; when dad, on the
other  hand, spoke in one of his authoritarian voices. "Hello son, I'm glad
you  answered your phone. I guess you got with Mrs. Mudfart already, about
that small  situation?"

"Yes, dad I did and she was very helpful, thanks for the heads up", I
replied  with a hidden  smile.

"Well, the main reason for this call, is just to tell you like father to son,
in  some ways, to just be yourself there. Don't feel you have to be a robot
or just  a casual observer. Try, if and when the opportunity arises, to sort of
`join in'  or `pitch in' and give them a helping hand. It will allow you
some more  practical experience and exposure to the slave industry. You never
know when it  will come in handy. Just think about Mr. Alderton and how he
learned his trade  in the business from the bottom of the ladder, up to where he is
today. There is  nothing better than hands on experience, and there at
Winding Hills, they are  the best at keeping hands on. I'm sure by now you know some
of what I'm  referring  to?"

"Yes,  dad, thanks for the advice. I've seen quite a lot, but sometimes I
feel as if  I'm being kept away from some things for some strange, unknown
reason."

"What exactly are you referring to Kevin?" Dad asked with a sincere concern
to  his voice.
"Well, like  today is one of the days that they process new slaves and they
ushered me out of  the building before all of the slaves had been processed and
the next time I saw  the four men, they all looked like they'd been run over
by a dump truck", I  rattled off to dad, before he could  interrupt.

"Now, now Kevin; if it wasn't something which you imagined, it could have
been  that maybe the new slaves were going to be receiving something which the
others  thought might be upsetting to you, seeing as how this is your first
real  assignment for us. Just think of it that way, for now, and don't let it
bother  you. Just remember son, `pitch in' and `lend a hand' and your learning
experience will be most  rewarding."

"Ok dad, thanks again for calling. Call me anytime and say hi to mom and sis
for  me too, ok?"

"Yes, surely I will son... and oh... one more thing. Did they give you a
personal  boy to use as you see fit during your stay? They normally only do that with
 their guests who are there to observe their training and breeding methods,
but I  just figured that since you're my son, that maybe they afforded you the
same as  the others."

"Yes dad, they have given me a most knowledgeable slave boy for my stay here.
 He's a good cook, houseboy and tour guide dad. Thanks for asking", I
replied;  not wanting to say anything to him about me having sex with `616' last
night.

One  last, quick, farewell and my phone fell silent.

I knew what  time I had to leave the cottage to make it up to the main house
in time; so I  didn't spend much, if any, time with `616' other than letting
him administer my  enema and to give me a good scrubbing. He seemed pleased,
as usual, with his  work ethics and I mentioned to him as I dressed that we'd
have a night to  remember; once back from the main house. His face lit up as
did mine, as I  thought about mounting him tonight and allowing my seed to fill
his insides. It  would be my first time mounting another man and I was looking
forward to it, as  my cock proclaimed the same excitement as my brain  did,
We arrived  earlier tonight than the previous night; which in a way was a
good thing. I was  able to spend more quality time with all of Mr. Trumbull's
guests. I was able to  understand them all, despite their accents and some broken
English. The only one  that I had real difficulty with was the short, dark
skinned man from Mexico. I  was able to get the Asian gentleman and the Arab guy
to laugh at some of my  funnier comments I made about some of the things I'd
seen around the complex  yesterday and today.

Mr.  Trumbull along with Mr. Wilton both spent some time talking with me, as
we all  stood around and for once I even availed myself of some of the finest
wines  available. Not that I was an expert on wine, but I knew by the
fragrance and  taste that it wasn't the stuff one might purchase at their local
grocery  store.

Even  during dinner some of the guests made small conversations with me;
while a  number of them conversed with Mr. Trumbull in their native language. It
surprised me that Mr. Trumbull could respond to each of them in what sounded
like perfect dialect.

It was at  the end of the main course when I noticed some of the men talking
to Mr. Wilton  and Mr. Trumbull in their native tongue, but looking in my
direction. I didn't  feel uneasy about it, but I sorta thought it rude, if in fact
they were talking  about me, in such a way as I couldn't understand.

During the  dessert, Mr. Trumbull began speaking to the entire group of us.
It was more or  less just a general recap of today's events, including what I'
d been privy too.

To be  honest about it, I was more interested in eating my dessert, and
sipping the  fine brandy that accompanied it.

Then out of  a clear blue sky, Mr. Trumbull asked me a question. "So tell me
Kevin, would you  mind if tomorrow you could help us out in one of the areas
where we are  currently  lacking?"

"Well Sir, I've not actually been around many slaves until now, but I
suppose it  would be a pleasure to help out in any way I can. My dad said that `
hands on  experience' is one of the best ways to learn and understand the slave
industry."

"Well, your father has always been a very astute man, ever since I've known
him  and you'd do well to heed his fatherly advice, as you've had. I'm not
sure just  yet which area they will have you start out in but which ever it is I'
m sure  you'll do just  fine."

He  raised his sniffer of brandy and said, "Here's to Kevin's work ethics
and his  pending contribution to our wonderful  industry."

Everybody went into one of those `Here , here' fashions and we all swigged
politely on our brandy. For the first time since I'd arrived, I finally began
to  feel as if I was `fitting  in'.

We all  removed ourselves from the table, as some of the guest began using
some of the  available slaves to relieve their bladders or just needing a warm
mouth around  their dick.

A couple of the serving slaves came around with more trays of filled glasses
of  after dinner brandy and a very handsome, although extremely young slave
handed  one to me, as I placed my empty one on his  tray.

I  looked around to see if I could locate `616' but he was nowhere in sight.
I  figured perhaps he was helping out in the kitchen or grabbing himself
something  to eat from all of the leftovers. I was in the initial stages of
getting a  `buzz' from the alcohol and I didn't want to fall to waste, as I still
had those  vivid visions of both myself and `616' in bed; wrapped together in
the heat of  passion, with my penis embedded completely in his slave  hole.

A lot  of the conversations I was engaged in now, we more centered on what my
initial  impressions of the complex were and to what part or parts I found
most  interesting.

I had to be totally honest with the others and I spoke at length about the
impression that watching the pony slaves, and riding a pony cart gave me the
most satisfaction so far. I even went as far as to tell them that in large
cities, like where I live, pony carts would probably hinder the normal flow of
motor driven vehicles, but that one could always hold out a faint hope that
things would change; even in the bigger cities and  towns.

The  Asian gentleman explained to me that his entire country was a majority
of pony  carts and wagons. He told of how, if one needed or desired a motor
driven  vehicle that there was such a high `special usage' tax that only the
richest of  the rich could afford owning one, not to mention the double figured
fuel price;  which also inhibited many from wanting a motor  vehicle.

The  Arabian gentleman explained that pony slaves are a premium property in
his  country. There, only a select few can afford them and that such pony
slaves are  a prized possession and are `pampered' and well cared for; unlike in
other  countries.

I  could almost see the two men, glare daggers at one another; each knowing
that  what they spoke was the truth. The crux of the entire matter was that
American  born and trained pony slaves were the `current sought after commodity'
. And  apparently these two men were seeking `white' pony slaves and willing
to pay top  dollar for them.

The mixture  of the conversation along with the alcohol, seemed to heighten
my desire to be  with `616'; as I began trying to see any glimpse of him that
I could, still to  no avail.

There seemed to be no other conversations taking place except our small
group;  as several of the other men were `enjoying' the company of some of the
provided  slaves.

Mr.  Wilton and Mr. Trumbull were huddled together in what appeared to be `
deep'  conversation; with each of them casting looks into the room to see how
their  guests were getting  along.

I was  feeling pretty good, by the time Mr. Trumbull started to announce the
end of  tonight's dinner party. Unlike last night, tonight I seemed to be a
lot more  relaxed and felt more as if I was a `member' of this elite group of
individuals.

There wasn't the same `good nights' as last night however, as Mr. Trumbull
approached me, followed by Mr.  Wilton.

Standing in front of me, Mr. Trumbull looked at his watch and said, "Well it
seems that it is past midnight, so that would make tomorrow,  today."

I  wasn't sure of what he was trying to convey in his sentence, as I stared
blankly  into his face with a look of  confusion.

"Well Kevin you did say that you'd be most agreeable to helping us out today
 with a situation and I suppose now is as good a time as any to get  started."

Half dazed by his words, and the other half of me tipsy from the booze; I
just  stood there, while a strange hand covered my nose and mouth with a sweet
smelling substance.

As I began  to slump backwards towards the floor, I could feel a strong pair
of hands taking  control of me; and the last thing my eyes saw was a sad faced
`616' standing  right in front of  me.

Rolled  onto my side, I felt someone tugging at my belt from behind; then
there was a  wet cold sensation on my right rump, a quick sharp poke, and my eyes
began to  roll backwards into  darkness.

To  Be Continued...


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