Dad and Me

Dad And Me by Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part 29

I woke up fresh and alert that Saturday morning as I usually did. I was really looking forward to seeing how my scheme to further my "breaking" of a free man had progressed. But then I had the other thought, that sick realisation that I also had to do something with dad. I hate it when I can't "see" what's the right thing to do - perhaps it's because it happens to me so infrequently; I mean, I never shirk from implementing things, however unpopular they might be, as long as I know that what I'm doing is right, which is almost all the time. And I'm usually so decisive that I have no time for self doubt: so on those rare occasions, like this, it's a terrible blow to me as I not only cannot act, but I can't see how to progress things to clarify the position.

Still, I pulled on my baggy swimming shorts, and went down to the pool area where I'd told Jeff to meet me. The usual routine was in progress - the Mexican slave, Juan, was making his way slowly up and down the sides of the pool with the sweeper, and Jeff said "Why's he naked?"

"Why not? It's warm down here, well, at least most of the year. He's very easy on the eyes, don't you think? He's got a good tan, so he won't get sunburned, and, anyway, as you'll see later, almost all the slaves who work out of doors are naked as it saves so much money on clothing."

"Oh come on, sir, just a pair of shorts...."

"Multiply that by hundreds, Jeff, as that's how many niggas we have here. Then add in the cost of keeping them clean - I mean, it's easy to hose down the niggas every night, but you'd need laundry and stuff for shorts, if they were to be kept smart."

"But it's not right, sir..."

"Not right?"

"To make guys work naked... It's not decent...."

"Jeff, you're clearly an innocent in the world of slaves! Firstly, you're correct, of course, it's not right for men to work naked. But these are not men, they're slaves. It's time you realised that different rules apply to men and slaves - think of a horse, pulling a wagon: you wouldn't put it in shorts, or a T, would you? Well, it's the same for a slave: a slave is just an animal, like a horse, and he has no need of clothes for modesty or anything. The only time we clothe slaves around here is when they're doing something hazardous, like.. Well, I'm not sure. But if it was hazardous, and there was a danger that the slave would be at risk, then they'd get some sort of protective clothing to protect my investment. Oh, like, for example, when they're cutting stone - they get protective eye goggles."

"And secondly, the slave is not actually naked. He's wearing a slave collar, if you look. And that's all a slave needs - a collar like that tells everyone else that its wearer is a slave, and then, as I've explained, that's sufficient."

"He's got that big tattoo on his back, sir.... A bit like yours...."

I knew this would come up one day, and so I said casually "Oh yes, for some of the slaves here I like to have their names tattooed like that: it's easy to forget who's who, and if I'm out here and want to order the slave, it's sometimes easier to have a name.

Some of us kids at High School thought it was kind of cool to pretend to be slaves - you know how kids revolt against their parents and try to do stuff to deliberately shock them - well, we all went off one day and had our names tattooed on our backs. There was a real row that night, I can tell you... My parents were really pissed off...."

Jeff nodded, but I'm not sure he believed me. "And that tattoo on his butt?"

"That's not a tattoo! That's a proper brand, seared into the flesh. It's the 'M' for Manderleigh: didn't you notice it's embroidered on your sheets, and the towels, and the china at the table last night.... On most of the objects around here? We have all the permanent slaves done - it makes them truly understand that they're here for life, as branding them with an ownership mark like that makes it much more difficult to sell them on."

"Doesn't it hurt?"

"Oh no, provided you don't touch the branding iron as you press it into the slave's butt...." I laughed, at my somewhat feeble humour.

Juan looked as if he was finishing, so I said "How many lengths? Or do you want us to swim on until one of us gives up?"

Jeff looked really uneasy, as he said "Twenty? I don't think I can do all that many... These Speedos...."

He was tugging at them, and I smiled, inwardly, as I'd ordered the ones he'd brought from New York to be surreptitiously replaced with a pair two sizes smaller. He seemed uneasy, tugging at the waistband, in a feeble attempt to get them higher up. My other plan had worked, too, as he went on "...and those slaves, Amos and Andy.... They shaved me...."

"As I'd expect! That's what slaves do in the mornings..."

He blushed. "No, sir, last night.... I'd had a few glasses of wine when I went up, as you know, and when they came into the shower I couldn't really stop them.... They were jabbering away to each other, and before I knew what was happening, they were.... were cutting away at my pubes! I tried to stop them, but they just treated it as if it was a joke - well, I was a bit unclear, I suppose, with the wine, but they didn't seem to take my 'stop' as a command...."

"Oh, well, no harm done! In fact, most men around here like it. I take it they shaved your balls, too?"

"Yes, how did you know?"

"Look, it's hot and humid down here in the summer. Most men find it cooler and less sweaty to have their balls shaved and their pubes trimmed a bit - didn't you find it easier to shower this morning? And you can wear smaller Speedos and stuff, in the heat, as there's no risk of the odd pubic hair straying above the waistband... I expect that as you're freshly arrived from New York the slaves just thought they were doing their job, and you'd appreciate it."

"Well I don't..."

"Oh, come on, Jeff! When you felt your balls this morning, didn't they feel different, better, silkier, nicer to the touch?"

He just looked at me, so I went on "There's another sort of tradition around here.... You can swim naked if you want to. There are no ladies around...."

"No, thanks..."

"You really are inconsistent! You say you can't race me properly because of your Speedos, and when I suggest the normal solution, you don't want to take it.... What's the matter? I've seen your dick and your ass enough times, after all - and you were happy enough to flaunt your dick in front of Tony and Miles, even! So why not strip off and really enjoy your swim, or are you afraid I might beat you in an endurance trial? Is that what it is, you're scared of being beaten, so you don't want to start, and you're making this feeble excuse about the Speedos?"

I knew I had him, as he hated to be accused of not doing things because he was afraid. As I watched, he pushed the Speedos down, and I at once saw that Amos and Andy had done a great job: not only did his dick now look magnificent, lying against his bare balls, but they'd artfully trimmed the extent of his pubes, and its length, to really make Jeff look sexy. Even more than usual his body now looked like something you see those models displaying on porn sites on the internet.

"So lets' swim!", he said , trying to sound nonchalant. "Until one of us gives up!".

With that he jumped into the pool and began long, fast strokes. I longed to strip off and swim naked, too, as I think there's nothing better: it's so natural to feel the water against your dick and balls. But I couldn't - he was already suspicious enough about my tattoo, and if he saw the "M" on my butt, there's just no simple way I could fob this off as a "schoolboy prank to annoy my parents".

We swam on and on, and I don't doubt that Jeff has more strength and endurance than me - but he just isn't as good a swimmer, and swimming is all about minimising the water resistance and slicing your way cleanly through the water. I easily kept up with him, but with much less effort, and ultimately he had to cry "chicken" and stop. We sat there on the side of the pool for a few minutes as guys do together, then got out. I motioned the slaves away who at once rushed over to dry us, and Jeff and I stood there drying ourselves.

He went to put his Speedos on then, but I said quietly "It's private here, and you said they were uncomfortable. It's a lovely warm day.. Why not just lie here and enjoy it?"

He was going to object, so I put my hand on his shoulder and said calmly "Just lie on the lounger, and I'll tell the slaves to bring breakfast out here - let's enjoy the sunshine."

Jeff did as I'd "suggested" - exerting your physical presence, even by just a hand, often has that effect, I've found - and the slaves were soon running around carrying out the big chafing dishes with the hot food, the crystal jugs of fresh juices, the fine china platters of exotic fruits, and cold meats, and the spirit burners to keep the coffee warm. Jeff just lay there looking at all this - all ten waiters were involved, and as they were outside, they'd shed their tiny loincloths and so were entirely naked except for their collars and the thin gold chains around their hips, which somehow seemed to emphasise their taut butts.

"We can't really do this in New York", I commented, but I think these informal breakfasts outdoors are really rather nice."

"Hardly 'informal'... with ten slaves... And they're all naked...."

"Oh, who cares? Young niggas like those are cheap enough, and don't cost much to feed. And, as I explained, they're not naked. But, as you can see, as waiters they're totally shaved, not a hair on them.... It makes them look kind of boyish, don't you think?"

"How old are they, sir?"

"I've really no idea. We could ask Stryker, if you're interested - he has that kind of thing in the inventory files. But I'd think they were probably no more than twenty or so, as waiters are meant to look good, and not too old - but completely shaved like that, it makes them look a bit like kids, doesn't it? Do you remember how you were before your dick hair grew?" I laughed as I said this, and he seemed satisfied.

Jeff tucked into his usual huge piled plateful of eggs and ham and sausage and stuff, then, the morning sun and the exercise making him drowsy, he stretched his lovely body out and sighed. I ordered one of the waiters over and whispered something to him, and when he returned with Amos (or Andy - I still could never tell which was which), I sat there amused as he started to rub oil into Jeff's body.

Jeff was startled at first, but I said to him "Look, it's for your own good! If you're going to lie around buck naked like that you need some protection: the sun can be fierce down here, even in the early mornings, and you don't want to get burned."

"I can do it myself", he said, going to take the oil off Amos (or Andy).

"Oh Jeff, don't be so stupid", I chided. "The slave's an expert! You need to get that sun oil spread evenly, or else you'll go all blotchy."

He didn't seem to have an answer to this, so I sat there, seeing the slave's big, black hands running over Jeff's lightly tanned body and stark white butt. I wished it was me doing that, but I'm a patient man, and I knew that rushing it at this point could set me back possibly months, so contented myself with just the sight, rather than the sensation. All the same, when the slave's fingers disappeared down the tight crack between Jeff's butt cheeks, I did feel like getting up and going to take over!

We use a special rapid tanning oil as a lot of the new niggas are sensitive to the fierce sun (yes, even niggas can get sunburned until their hides have been exposed enough), so I knew my plan to get Jeff nice and evenly tanned was starting to work. We'd need another couple of weekends, probably, but I felt I could bear to sit there and watch his body as it gently toasted. Even though I was still troubled about how I was going to deal with dad later, I had the prospect of seeing Jeff turn over to look forward to - was he going to let the slave rub the oil into his dick and balls, I wondered.

Jeff still had a lot to learn about the use of slaves, evidently, as when he did turn over about half an hour later and the slave, noticing this, at once came up to oil him, Jeff allowed him to massage the oil into his torso and legs, but when the slave made any movement at all towards his dick and balls, Jeff stopped him! Still, peering around the newspaper, so that he wouldn't see me looking, I did have the pleasure of seeing Jeff massage the oil into his own dick - and I thought I detected a slight erection forming as he worked away. I was certainly erect - just the thought that it could be me stroking the oil into his dick made me hard!

I can never really lie in the sun just doing nothing - I like to be active, doing something physical, or working away at stuff connected with the bank. But Jeff was different - he just lay there, his head nestled in his folded arms in the way that men do, soaking in the heat and just "cooking". Even though he was a feast for the eyes, there's a limit to the amount I wanted to sit there and observe his body, and after I'd finished the papers, and worked for a bit reading some proposals that were being made for projects that the bank might become involved in, I was bored. Finally, I could stand it no more, got to my feet, slapped Jeff on his butt to stir him, and said "Let's run! I don't want to sit here all day doing nothing."

He got to his feet and stretched, his dick jerking slightly into the air as his body tightened, yawned, bent over once or twice to touch his toes and get life into his body, and said "Sure, sir. I'll go and get my stuff."

"You don't have to, you know... You could run like that: it's only guys around here, and slaves. It would save you from getting hot and sweaty."

"No way, sir! It was great to swim like that, but if I really run, without support, my balls will ache. I don't know how all those niggas of yours can work like that..."

"Oh, they get used to it. It's only because American men are used to wearing jocks and stuff that there's a problem when they don't. If you'd always run and exercised naked, like the ancient Greeks did, you'd have no problems at all. In fact , they tell me that it's a bit uncomfortable for the newly-enslaved for the first few days, but after that, it's perfectly normal and they don't notice it at all - your balls adjust."

"Well, sir, I'd still rather have some shorts, but I'll leave my shirt off. I haven't got two or three days, and I don't want sore balls tonight!"

I smiled in agreement, thinking that one day he would certainly be naked, all the time, But I could afford to be patient, to get what I wanted. We told the slave to scoot off and fetch Jeff's shorts, therefore, and a couple of minutes later we were ready to set off.

"I'll take you around the plantation - well, some of it. After that swim we don't need more than about four miles - is that OK with you?"

"Yes, sir, of course."

"Good. Well, as we go you'll see a lot of my niggas working away in their coffles. And I'm going to tell you now that you must not interfere! I know you're sensitive to the way that slaves have to work sometimes, but my overseers have a hard enough time as it is controlling them without any interference from a free man. So if the overseers are "encouraging" them with a whip, that's the way it is: slaves get whipped if they don't work, and overseers get paid to get the niggas to work, OK? This place hardly makes a profit as it is, and if the niggas aren't made to really pull their weight, it would be hard going for me. So whatever you think, don't say anything, and don't interfere, is that understood?"

Jeff looked at me, and said, slowly "If you say so, sir..."

"Yes, I do say so, Jeff. Now, come on... let's run!"

Actually I wasn't all that used to the plantation - I rarely went out into the fields, preferring to stay in the pleasure grounds, as, after all, I did pay Stryker to manage things generally and I didn't see the need to get involved in every detail. So it was probably as interesting for me as it was for Jeff to see the niggas toiling away, neatly coffled together by their collars. And it's surprising how many niggas one overseer can supervise when they're linked like that - there's no danger of them running off, after all, and if the coffle isn't turning out enough work, it doesn't matter that much which one of them you lay the whip in to as they're all equally "guilty". As we ran, though, Jeff seemed strangely silent whenever we went past an overseer who was using the whip - he's normally calling out to me to "keep up" and "shift your ass" and "faster" and stuff like that, but he was tight-lipped past the coffles. And it's not as if they were getting a serious whipping - not one where you really punish a slave by taking the bull whip to him! No, the overseers just use the short, thicker "encouragement" whips that sting and smart when they strike and make the lazy fuckers know that they're being punished; but they're not designed to break the skin, as out in the fields all the blood would cause a problem with the flies and so on.

When we got back I dived straight into the pool to cool off, and Jeff joined me. I didn't swim much, though, and we stood in the deep water, our hands resting on the edge so it was no effort to remain there.

"So, Jeff, do you like the place?"

"Manderleigh? It's fantastic, sir. But the slaves...."

"What about them?"

"Well, all these slaves... And the way they're treated...."

"Jeff, without the slaves, Manderleigh would be no more! There's no way I could afford the salaries of free men to do all the work around the place - it's bad enough having to fund Stryker and the other overseers, when they are at least getting the niggas to work and produce things. If I had to pay the cooks, laundresses, bath servants, gardeners and all the others needed to keep a civilised life going here, I really couldn't afford it. Manderleigh would have to be shut up, and a bit of our heritage would be lost, lost for ever. In the last century most of these big places had to be given up, and they fell into rack and ruin - you do care about history, don't you? This place dates back to the 1800s, and it's one of the very few left that's still functioning properly as it did then - that's an awful lot of heritage you seem willing to toss to one side!"

I was warming to my theme now, and went on "And what's wrong with the way the slaves are treated here, anyway? They're properly housed - the slave barns are all watertight to keep the rain out, and they have fresh straw every night to sleep on. They're properly fed - use your common sense: there's no point in not feeding a slave well, as his work output falls. And they're only punished when they don't work to their maximum capacity. That's a pretty good life for a slave, you know. And I'm not like some owners - I let all the niggas keep their balls, even though they'd be easier to control if they were neutered, as some owners do: so all those bucks are still men, and can fuck each other for pleasure. It's not a bad life for them at all - and what would be the alternative? In the old days all these uneducated niggas would be on welfare, and they'd eat unhealthy food and get really grossly fat, and die young. They now live out long, healthy productive lives. So don't feel sorry for them, Jeff- the alternatives could be a lot worse!"

"But you have some white guys as slaves, too. That Mexican..."

"Strictly speaking, the Mexican doesn't count as a 'whitey', as they're known. Genuine 'whiteys' are really rather rare, as they're so expensive. I do have a couple of them here, but that's about the limit to what a place like this can afford! And it's been really beneficial having Mexican slaves, you know: in the old days the Mexicans used to breed like flies, then try to get across the border into the USA to find work. They were piss poor in Mexico, and when they got here, they took any kind of badly-paid work they could find. Once it became known that illegals would be enslaved, the Mexicans got the message and cut their birth rate so that they're not all born into poverty and there's enough space for them to live in Mexico with their families."

I paused again and went on "And as for the genuine whiteys - well, that's their own fault! They're criminals, mostly, enslaved rather than spending time in jail. And if you've read anything about jails earlier in the century, you'd know they were pretty vile places to be in: locked up in a cell twenty two ours a day, with most white guys ending up as 'bitches' to niggas in there for gangsterism and drug running. It's probably far better to be a whitey slave than some big nigga's bitch in one of those old prisons. But, as I say, don't feel sorry for them: it's their own fault! We all know the law, and If you choose not to obey it, you'd better be prepared to take the consequences."

I guess Jeff knew he wasn't going to get anywhere with this argument, so he kind of shrugged, and hauled himself out of the water to sit on the edge of the pool for a moment - as he did so, the thin wet cotton of his running shorts pressed itself close to his body, and I saw his dick and balls properly outlined, with the dark shading of this trimmed pubes showing through the white.

We ate lunch by the pool, although Jeff did not strip off and just sat there in his running shorts as they dried on him. We only ate a light salad and fruit, although Jeff had a beer with it, and as we were drinking coffee afterwards Stryker came up. I offered him coffee, but he declined, and went on "It's just to remind you, sir, that there's a studding this afternoon.... I wondered if you wanted to attend?"

"Oh no, Stryker. Not another one!"

"I think you perhaps might want to, sir. It's an elderly lady who's bringing her two maids to be covered, and she ought to be properly entertained...."

"Oh Stryker, lay on a cup of tea for her, or something! I don't want to waste my afternoon being polite to old women, and watching the studs fuck a couple of niggas again."

"Sir, the elderly lady is the aunt of one of the state senators... It's said she has considerable influence with her sister, the senator's mother, and she in turn really calls the shots...."

"Ah, Stryker, thank you. Looking after my interests, as ever. The bank is proposing a big agricultural loan to the state, and a friend in high places is always welcome. I think this elderly lady needs to be shown that she's special: make sure there's a sumptuous buffet, we'll have champagne as well as tea - let's not presume she's straight-laced. And I'll personally act as her host."

I got to my feet, and went on "And so I'll have to go and change! I can hardly turn up for an old lady just wearing shorts, can I? After all, there'll be enough male flesh on display as it is!

There's a whole lot of my clothes at Manderleigh, suitable for every occasion, and down there it's expected that "visiting" requires some degree of formality and smartness. Consequently I changed into fresh cream linen slacks, a dark green silk semiformal shirt with a complementing Hermes tie, and a light linen jacket. I met the elderly lady - who was in fact expensively dressed in the latest fashion and who evidently had her hair cut and styled in a most exclusive salon - and handed her out of her limo and escorted her up the front steps, giving orders to Stryker to have the two nigga bitches taken out of the trunk and sent directly to the studding barn. She was in fact a stimulating conversationalist - although I thought she was testing me constantly - and we sat in the large reception area for a few minutes with a glass of champagne "to revive you after the journey", as I put it.

"Well, Mr Masters, you certainly do yourself well here", she remarked as we sauntered across the manicured lawns towards the studding barn. "This place is even bigger than my nephew's."

"Yes, ma'am. And I'm sure he finds it a terrible expense, as I do. But I'm sure he's like me - he likes to uphold the old traditions. That's so important, don't you think?"

"Yes, Mr Masters. Tradition is very important, and I'm glad you believe it. So often we get Yankees coming down here and not understanding our ways.... My nephew constantly has to battle to make sure that unfavourable laws aren't passed that impinge on our way of life. That would be a terrible shame, don't you think, Mr Masters?"

I began to see what she was getting at, and replied "Indeed, yes. None of us would want to go back to the old days totally, though. We have to take the best of the past, and meld it with the best of today. But I'm glad your nephew is so concerned - although it must take a lot of his time and effort."

"Yes, he devotes himself to it."

"Quite so. And that must make it hard to focus on business. I know how difficult it is to keep places like this going - the expenses are dreadful. I think your nephew and I should meet and discuss matters like that, if you understand me. I do appreciate him devoting himself to government and trying to preserve our way of life, and he might perhaps be interested in hearing more of the business world, how the bank plans to promote certain schemes down here, schemes where I think the senator's local knowledge might be invaluable... Perhaps he might even agree to act as a consultant to us, in some of his very precious spare time, for a suitable fee, of course.... The bank always pays for its advice."

"Ah, Mr Masters, I can see that my decision to use your studs might be profitable in more ways than one. I'll talk to my nephew, and perhaps the next time you are down here, he, his mother and I might call on you?"

"It would be more than a pleasure, ma'am. I'll get my chief overseer to talk to the senator's aides so that we can set a date when I can truly show you what Manderleigh hospitality is like. Or perhaps you'd prefer to come to New York? Meetings there are easier for me. My jet would be at your disposal, of course, so the journey is relatively painless. And you'd all be most welcome to stay at my place: there are ample suites, and we can accommodate your personal slaves in the slave quarters easily. And although the scenery can't compare to our gorgeous countryside here, many of my visitors find the view of the park entrancing. And it's so convenient for the shopping, the theatre...."

"Ah, Mr Masters, you clearly know the way to a woman's heart! I think we'd all be delighted to accept your kind invitation to a few days in New York. I need to see my couturier and milliner..."

Just at that moment we reached the studding barn and went in. There was that usual tingle of excitement in the air that you get when something exciting is about to happen, with the very faintest scent of "sex" making its presence known. I was pleased to see that Stryker had everything ready, as I really didn't want to entertain this harridan for too long, and her two niggas were already on the studding frames, stripped and tied down. Dad and Chas were there, too, cuffed and blindfolded as usual. Both of them were rampantly erect, so perhaps Chas was at long last adjusting to his role in the world!

I wasn't so pleased to see that Jeff was there too, though - I didn't mind him watching from the balcony, but he was hardly dressed properly for meeting a southern society lady: unlike me he had no clothes to change in to, and so he was in shorts and a T.

"Two studs, or three, Mr Masters?", the old lady enquired archly. And stepping over to Jeff, she rested her fingers on his muscular biceps.

Jeff gave her one of those lazy smiles that he specialises in, and said "No, ma'am, I'm Mr Masters' personal trainer. Those two there are the studs.... But if you'd rather, perhaps I could oblige....."

"Mr Masters employs you as a trainer? You're a free man?"

"Yes, ma'am. "

She turned to me and smiled "Well, Mr Masters, another example of your taste.... And your wealth. Can I use your trainer to explain to me what's going on?"

"He's a free man, ma'am, as you heard... But I think he'd be happy to oblige..."

So there we were! She seemed to enjoy having Jeff explain the finer points of studding to her - not that he knew much about it, and I'd be surprised if she wasn't more experienced than him. But she seemed to like having this strong younger man dote on her, and she kept resting her hands on him and smiling at him seductively. Still, at least I didn't have to make conversation as Stryker took dad and led him through the usual process of "introducing" him into the first bitch and then slapping his butt to get him started. I always enjoyed seeing dad in action, as you know, and watching his thighs and butt pound up and down made me realise how much I'd missed him since my last visit. I really had intended to meet his this afternoon and "fix" things, and had genuinely not known about this studding that Stryker had arranged. Still, I could always do it tonight, after dinner - but then, perhaps dad would feel I was having him brought into the house so he'd have to stay the night.

No, I'd leave it until the morning: once the slaves had stood through the tedious religious thing, I'd take dad aside - there'd be time enough then.

I was so wrapped up in these thoughts that it took dad's cry of "Yes......." as he shot to bring me around. And then it had to be me who explained to the lady why Chas was immediately "introduced" into the same bitch as Jeff didn't have any idea, of course. I think I told her that it was "Part of the Manderleigh service, to make sure you're not inconvenienced by not having your nigga unfertilised for another month. And it's at no additional charge, of course."

Whilst dad and Chas were "rested" before the second bitch was covered, I strolled with Jeff and the lady around the pleasure grounds, pointing out the rare plants in the shrubberies and so on. She seemed capable of drinking a remarkable amount, as we were followed around by two of the waiters in their tiny loin cloths so that our glasses could be refilled, and a fresh bottle of Veuve had to be hurriedly sent for at one point. We all laughed as we watched the young slave race across the lawns, his dick and balls flying as he went.

"He'll be sore tonight, according to your theory, Jeff", I said, to make conversation, and then we had to explain our earlier conversation to the hag. "Oh, I wish I'd been at your pool this morning", she commented, arching her eyebrows as if this somehow made her more desirable. "Two handsome young men like you.... Swimming naked...."

"No, only me, ma'am...", Jeff cut in. "Steve - Mr Masters - is a bit shy and wears big baggy swimming shorts!"

She actually rested her hand on my butt as she cooed "Oh, Mr Masters, who'd have thought it - a big lusty young man like you, shy...."

In spite of my revulsion, knowing of her importance, I just smiled, thinking of how surprised she'd be if she knew that not so long ago I'd been a stud, too. Fortunately I saw Stryker signalling to indicate that it was time for the second studding, so we were able to wander back to the barn.

Afterwards, when we'd escorted her to the limo and watched as her two bitches were loaded into the trunk, then waved goodbye as it sped off down the drive, Jeff looked at me.

"Sir, we were talking earlier about the treatment of slaves... Those studs....."

"Yes? What about them?"

"Well, it can't be right.... Using them like that... "

"Jeff, you still don't get it, do you? There's nothing 'right' or 'wrong' about using a slave any way you want. They're my slaves, I own them, and I can do what I choose with them. There's no 'right' or 'wrong' in using a slave this way or that, any more than it's 'right' or 'wrong' to use my jet, or my limo, or anything else I own."

"But what do they feel about it, sir?"

"I don't care, and, to tell you the truth, I don't know. But they're both criminals, I seem to remember from their records. One for tax fraud, the other for drugs. So I expect they understand that they deserve it."

"Oh, come on, sir! You can't believe that. How on earth could they believe they 'deserve' to be humiliated like that?"

"Jeff, are you calling me a liar?"

"No, sir, of course not! I just think you don't understand."

"Jeff, I do, believe me."

"Sir, with respect, I think you don't understand...."

"Want to bet on it?"

"Sure!"

"OK then - a month's salary says that one of those studs really believes he's treated fairly."

"I can't afford that, sir...."

"Well, I'll pay you an extra month if he doesn't say that he deserves what he's got, and he likes the life.

If it's different, you'll pay a forfeit."

"A forfeit?"

"Yes, I'll think of something. But I know you're trying to save, so it won't be money."

"How do I know the slave won't say whatever you tell him, sir?"

"You can meet him privately, if you like. Get him to whisper to you, if you're worried about Stryker or me overhearing. And I'll t trust you, Jeff, to play fair - meet the slave in private before dinner, and then come and settle your debt to me!"

End Of Part Twenty Nine