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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