Steve Grows Up
By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part 1
We'd always been dirt poor as I grew up. Not for me the school trips and vacations that the other kids went on, and I never had expensive toys at Christmas or birthdays. It was happy, though, and that's saying a lot these days. But mom and dad loved me, and I had a happy childhood, and as I got older and "knew" things, I realised that mom and dad loved each other too - not only was there my five brothers and sisters to prove it, but in our little house next to the forge it was difficult to avoid hearing mom and dad going at it enthusiastically at least twice a week, even though they were "old" - well, dad was only thirty eight, I suppose, and mom a bit younger!
Dad was the blacksmith on the plantation, and he was very good at his job - he dealt with the endless streams of niggas who had to be collared and cuffed when they'd been bought, or when their harsh life of exercise meant that their collars needed renewing as their muscles had swelled, he shoed the owner's horses, repaired the ploughs and other agricultural implements, made decorative ironwork to go around the place, and all the other stuff that a craftsman could do. I supposed he worked almost seven days a week to support mom and the six of us, and that was why there was never any money around, and why we didn't have even a beat-up old car (although I suppose that was understandable as after the oil disaster and with the way prices were, only the rich could afford those really). Still, life for us kids was good - we had enough to eat, mom and dad were always there to play games and stuff with us in the evenings as we rarely watched TV, and I could roam the plantation with its rich fields, shady groves of trees that were left to provide cover for the birds and foxes the owner liked to hunt (and where the niggas were occasionally allowed to sit out the really scorching heat of midday in August), and two enticing streams that fed the ornamental lake, where it was permitted to swim.
I really do remember childhood as idyllically happy, and mom and dad really worked at it - in spite of being very busy in the forge, dad always found time to make us some toy or other for birthdays, and even thought they were not as exciting as proper electronic ones, his skill and ingenuity always managed to turn out something to amuse us all. They discouraged me from going to play with the kids in the big house, though, or to go down to the local village very often, but it didn't seem to matter. The only real upset I remember in my childhood was when I was about to start school, and mom took me there on the first day, looking rather shabby in my patched but spotlessly clean clothes. The head teacher turned us away, in spite of mom's protests, and there was a lot of discussion (which I wasn't allowed to listen to) that evening between dad and Mr Straughan, the Overseer from the plantation who generally ran things around there. The following day a letter was delivered to the house by a sweating nigga who had carried it from the big house, and the day after that mom took me back to the school, this time rather triumphantly handing the letter over to the head teacher.
Most kids get bullied at school, I suppose, and at first I was really miserable as the other kids teased me about my old clothes, my lack of toys, the way mom packed my sandwich for lunch in simple paper rather than in bright plastic lunch boxes, and the way I had no sweets and cookies to eat. But I soon discovered that I was stronger than most of them, even kids a couple of grades higher, probably because I'd done so much running free as I was growing up and hadn't sat slumped in front of the TV all the time. And when I discovered a best friend, a kid of my own age, Rob, it all became a lot easier.
I was always expected to help mom and dad around the place in the vacations, of course - there was always the vegetable plot to weed, or dad's forge to tidy, or, as I got older, I could take a turn on the bellows to blow the fire so dad could do even more work. Rob used to like to come and visit - his mom dropped him off, as they had a small electric car, but she never stopped to talk to my mom, which seemed a it odd. Rob also invited me back to his place, but I couldn't go very often even in the long summer vacation as mom had to take me there on foot, and collect me later. Rob and his parents lived in the village in what seemed like a huge place (but not as big as the big house), and Rob even had the luxury of a bedroom all of his own - I had, of course, to share with my brothers in our tiny place. Still, whilst I was there his mom was nice enough to me and she gave me stuff I never got at home - canned cola, cookies, ice cream.... It was almost like heaven. My mom wasn't very pleased, though, as she said that all this stuff was bad for me and that I'd get fat (but I think she was worried that we couldn't give Rob this stuff when he came to call, as we couldn't afford it). And she didn't much like the way that Rob's mom sent me home with parcels of his cast-off clothes - they were too small for me, as I was already bigger than Rob, but they were great for my brothers, I thought.
Dad's a really impressive figure of a man - six four, two thirty pounds, and all of it muscle. Not those puffed-up muscles you see body builders with, but long, lean rangy muscles that you only get from really hard work - and work in the forge was hard, with all the pounding he needed to do with hammers and stuff. It was obvious that I was cast in the same mould, as I began to shoot up, and, with the exercise I did and with helping around the place, I too got that same lean, rangy look. It was natural therefore that I tended to do well at track and field, and easily made the football team in each year at school. Rob was not such an athlete, but I tended to make him train with me after school before I had to go home to start working, and we generally "kept up". I found the physical things easy, but keeping up with class work was really hard as we had no PC, and no phone so I couldn't phone class mates for help. But I helped Rob out with training, and he could always be relied on to point out where I was stuck in math, or to "suggest" words I might use in an essay, or project. And so it was natural, when my body hair started to grow, that Rob and I would compare notes - he was far more sophisticated that me from watching all that TV, and told me that the erections I was getting were perfectly natural, and that I should try jerking off. And then when he saw my shit-eating grin the next day after a really huge load had been shot on my first time, he slapped me on the back and said that we were both men together now.
I was worried about jerking off as I wanted to do it about four times a day, and thought it might harm me, but Rob assured me it was OK and that if I didn't, I might get "wet dreams" which, he pointed out, would be pretty tough on my younger brother Cliff as we had to share a bed! Still, as time went on I was able to pass on the good advice to Cliff, and after that I wasn't quite so worried that he'd wake up in the middle of the night and know what I was doing - by the time I was fifteen and he was thirteen it was his jerking off that was keeping me awake. And then it was girls, of course. Some of my class mates spent all their time scheming and plotting about how to get a fuck, but it seemed easy for me. There never seemed to be any lack of girls who wanted to fuck with me, and I put it down to the fact that I'm pretty well hung, and they all wanted a nice big dick inside them and were willing to put out for me even though I never had any money to take them to the movies or anything, and could only meet them fleetingly, when mom or dad didn't need me to work.
At the end of term before my sixteenth birthday, which was due in the vacation, there was another of those odd moments like when I'd initially been turned away from infant school - we'd just finished changing after the last game of the season and all of us were together in the showers, when the captain suddenly slapped my butt and said "Well, I guess that's the last time we'll see Steve like that!". Everyone else laughed, as if they were sharing some private joke, but wouldn't explain it to me, and neither would they say when another of the guys skinned back and said "And what about this?", to hoots more laughter. That night I managed to get all my chores done and Rob came over and we sat by the stream, just shooting the breeze. When I asked him about the incident that afternoon, he just muttered "Oh, you know how the guys are - the usual horse play...."
"Rob, tell me!", I said, seeing the shifty look in his eyes. "Come on, is there something wrong with me? You can tell me - we're buddies, have been for years...."
Rob just looked even more shifty though, and just said "Look, Steve, you'd best ask your dad.", and absolutely refused to say any more. As luck would have it mom and dad had already gone to bed by the time I got back - they tended to do this as the liked a long evening of sex, and, anyway, dad was almost always exhausted from work - so I didn't have time to ask. And the next day I kind of forgot about it, as now I was expected to really do almost a man's work around the place and the care of the vegetable garden was entirely mine (it had been expanded over the years as I got stronger so I could dig more, and we had more mouths to feed), and I also had to work with dad in the forge - he was letting me beat the first "rough drafts" of some bits of iron now, which was doing wonders for my muscles!
About a week before my sixteenth birthday Rob and I had a serious row! It was a hot night and when I'd finished work and had dinner, he called for me and he and I went down to the lake and decided to "skinny dip". As we lay next to each other on the bank after we'd raced up and down a few times (I'd beaten him, of course), Rob turned on his side to look at me as I lay there sprawled on my back, and then reached out and gently took my dick in his hand! I shot upright, and shouted "Cut that out!".
"Steve, aren't we buddies...? I just thought it might be fun to jerk off...."
"I'm not a fag, Rob! And I didn't think you were. But now I think about it, I've been screwing every girl in sight all year and telling you about it, and you've never once related an experience to me.... Fuck me, Rob, you're a fag! You've never been with a girl, and now you're trying some fag trick on me...."
"Steve, don't, please. We're buddies...."
I was so fucking cross I got to my feet, pulled on my T and shorts, and stalked off. I kind of expected that Rob would come around the next day and apologise, and we'd make it up, and although I'd never let him use me like that, we'd still spend time together. But he didn't come, and the next day was my birthday, when I felt sure he would. But he didn't, although there was a card from him with a scrawled message inside "Good luck for the rest of your life, boy. From your ex-buddy Rob", which I thought was a bit odd. I would have asked mom and dad for time off to go down to the village to talk to him, but they'd got all sorts of special things for me - my brothers and sisters had all made me presents, we all sat down to lunch together, which was most unusual, especially as dad even stopped work for an hour and so the niggas who needed collaring just had to wait, and then, an almost unheard of luxury, there was a cake at about five o'clock!
At about six Dad told me to go and shower really thoroughly, and mom handed me a pair of worn but really crisp freshly laundered jeans and a snowy white T, and I wondered what surprise they had in store for me. I came down and found dad in the same kind of warn but laundered jeans, still towelling off his body as he was speaking to mom. I always liked the way dad's jeans kind of stayed up by themselves as his butt muscles were so strong that he needed a size bigger than his waist demanded, so as he stood there you could see all his six pack moving inside the waistband. I was a bit like that, too, although on dad the effect was enhanced by the strong treasure trail that ran from the thatch on his chest down across that washboard to disappear down into the jeans. Funnily enough, I'd never seen dad naked, but I guessed from the prominent bulge in the front and the outline down his right thigh that my own well-sized dick and balls took after his! Dad pulled on a T then - white, like mine, the colour enhancing his tan.
Then he and mom embraced and kissed, and mom broke away and came and did the same to me.
"Steve", she said, almost crying "You're a man now. Be proud of yourself, son, and don't do anything foolish."
"Mom, do I ever...?"
"Steve, you're sometimes too headstrong. Now I want you to calm down, and tonight, do as dad tells you - it's in your own best interests. Promise me, Steve, please...." She sounded as if she really was going to burst into tears.
"Sure, mom, anything you say", I said as lightly as I could as the emotion that seemed to be building was getting to me and I could feel a lump in my throat. So I hugged her again, and then stood back.
I though they'd give me the surprise present or whatever then, but instead mom made me say goodbye to al my brothers and sisters, and dad then slapped me on the back, saying cheerily "Come on then, son."
"Where, dad?"
"We've got an appointment at the big house. Now, let's move, as Mr. Straughan said we must not be late as the Colonel will not tolerate being kept waiting."
"The Colonel? You mean we're going to see the guy who owns the place?"
"Yes." Dad's not always known for being talkative, but now he was extremely taciturn.
"Dad, what's going on?"
He didn't answer, and strode off and I followed. After a few hundred yards he slowed so that I was next to him, and he put his bit arm around my shoulder. "Son, I want you to promise me that you'll do as you're told. You've been a good son, but you're a man now, Steve, and I don't want you hurt. So promise me, OK?"
"Dad, what is all this? First mom, and now you...."
"Steve, just promise, please."
I shrugged my shoulders, and muttered "OK, sure....", and we walked on together, up the hill, to where the big house stood, its white marble pillared front glowing softly in the evening sun. It was the very picture of elegance and wealth, and was renowned for being the biggest and best house around here, and the plantation surrounding it as the most profitable. I'd never been in there before, and was really curious as to what it would be like. I suppose I'd expected that dad would march right up the front steps and bang on the big double doors, but as we got closer there was a discrete sign on the driveway that said "All deliveries and slaves to the rear", and we went around the back.
Just inside the rear entrance was the "business office", and Mr. Straughan was in there, reading papers and typing things into his PC. He looked up when dad tapped on the door, and said "Ah, blacksmith.... And this is Steve?"
"Yes, sir" dad answered, and I was a bit surprised as dad usually didn't call people "sir". He knew Mr. Straughan's name, and so I would have expected him to say "Yes, Mr. Straughan" at the most.
"Did you follow my instructions precisely, blacksmith?" from Straughan was followed by another "Yes, sir" from dad, and this was getting curiouser and curiouser - why was he calling dad "blacksmith" and not "Mr. Masters", which was his name?
"And does he understand he is to obey?"
"Sir, that's hard.... He's only sixteen, sir, and boys of that age...."
"Men of that age, you mean, blacksmith. He's no longer a boy. He's a man. And a man has to take the consequences of his own actions. So I do fervently hope you've impressed on him how important it is to obey."
Dad went to say something else, but Mr. Straughan got up from behind the desk and said "Still, it's too late now - if he starts to misbehave, we'll have to take appropriate action. Now, come on, we mustn't keep the Colonel waiting."
We went up a long flight of what I took were "service" stairs as we passed a couple of niggas carrying stuff, and the stairs themselves were in rough cement and the walls painted just a dull, drab green. Mr. Straughan opened a door and we went out into a wide corridor that was evidently a part of the house intended for free men, as it was wide and airy, the dark oak floor gleamed in the light, crystal chandeliers were suspended from the ceiling, the walls were hung with paintings in the modern style, and huge green palms in ornamental pots added a faintly exotic air. Mr Straughan stopped outside a door that was "guarded" by a nigga - a guy about my own age but a couple of inches shorter, although more impressively muscled, as if he had been specially "trained" to have big pecs and a six pack stomach. He was wearing only a pair of skin-tight pale blue slave shorts, cut very, very high up the leg and with the waistband so low that it seemed they must fall off his hips altogether - and I was surprised that his pubic hair was not curling over the top. The nigga turned to knock on the door as we approached, and I was astonished to see that the top inch at least of his ass crack was exposed, and the shorts seemed to be cut in such a way that they went down into the valley between his butt cheeks, so emphasising his superb musculature.
We heard a curt "enter", and the nigga opened the door, and bowed to Mr Straughan to indicate that he should enter.
"The Colonel" had always conjured up for me the image of the sort of man I once saw on the side of a fried chicken restaurant we went to on one of very, very infrequent "treats" we had as a family, but this man was not at all like that. He was fifty or so, I suppose, but dressed casually in a polo shirt and chinos with gleaming leather loafers on his feet. He looked tough and strong, as if he took care of himself, and his thick black hair was neatly cut into what Rob would have called a "fashionable" style for an older guy. I thought he might shake dad's hand or something, but he didn't even get up and sat there on a big deep brown chesterfield, one of a pair flanking a huge ornamental marble fireplace which, this being summer, was filled with exquisitely arranged fresh flowers.
"Ah, blacksmith.... And the first of your progeny", he began. I thought that was an odd word to use, but he continued "Steve, this one, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir", dad answered quietly.
"Quite so. Such a pity my father, the old Colonel, was not here to see this - I remember him being quite excited about this day even when you first came here all those years ago. He was quite looking forward to it. No matter- his loss is my gain."
He looked across at me, and said quite casually, as if it was the most normal thing in the world "Steve, let me take a look at you. Take that T shirt off."
I went to protest, but dad reached out a hand to grab my arm. "Steve... Do as you're told! Remember what we discussed."
Very perplexed, but a bit intimidated by this commanding man the Colonel, and with dad agreeing, I reached down for the hem of my T with both hands and pulled it up over my head and stood there. I didn't know what to do with it, so I let it drop to the floor.
"Excellent!", the Colonel said, as if to himself. "Your genes seem to be coming through, blacksmith. Were you like that at his age?"
"Probably a touch smaller, sir", dad said quietly, and again the Colonel said "Excellent!", and then, to me, "And now the Jeans, Steve. And those sneakers and socks whist you're at it."
"Sir.... Dad....", I protested, but dad looked at me and hissed "Do it, Steve!".
So, blushing with embarrassment I hopped around from one foot to another as I pulled off my sneakers and socks, then undid my jeans and pushed them to the floor and stepped out of them. Look, I'm not embarrassed about changing in front of other guys at school - why should I be - I was a stud, after all, and had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of and I knew most of the other guys envied my body and especially my dick. But it's a bit different when you're the only one who's stripping, and there are three grown men watching you!
"I don't think we need those cotton boxers, Steve. Be so good as to remove them, too", the Colonel now said, and this time I managed to stutter "No way....".
The Colonel looked enquiringly at dad, a half smile on is face, and dad turned to me and was quite insistent now. "Get them off, Steve! Now!", he almost snapped, and I was so surprised that I pushed them down over my hips, and stepped out of them. I just couldn't understand why dad was not standing up for me, and was letting all this happen.
"Excellent, Steve!", the Colonel said. "Now, would you pose for me - you know, flex your biceps, pull in that belly of yours, do some of the things those bodybuilders do on TV..."
Well, I hadn't seen much TV, but I used to get "second hand" copies of some of the men's health magazines from Rob when he'd read them, so I knew what he meant.
It felt really odd to be posing like that, naked, in front of this man, and I could feel my blushing getting deeper and deeper.
"Excellent", he said again, and then "And now turn around and let me get a back view...."
This time dad was already glaring at me, so I didn't argue, but what did I have to lose anyway now? I turned around, and just stood there.
"Have you ever seen a picture of that Greek statue called the discus thrower, Steve?"
"No, sir."
"Well, you do track and field, don't you? Pretend you're about to throw a discus for me, would you?"
This was getting weirder and weirder, but I twisted my body half around and down, conscious of the strain in all my muscles, and that would be sort of showing them off to the man.
"Thank you, Steve. Really excellent.", the Colonel said again. "And congratulations, blacksmith, on having such wonderfully strong genes. But I've almost forgotten what you look like - please get naked, so I can make a proper comparison between you and Steve."
I almost gasped, as I felt sure dad would tell him to fuck off, but instead dad just stood there, then slowly pulled his T over his head (and I could again admire his fantastic belly as all his muscles stretched as his arms went up, and again it was wonderful how the waistband of his jeans was so lose around it). Then dad took off his own sneakers and socks just as I had, as we all watched the subtle interplay in his musculature as he moved from foot to foot, and then he shed his jeans, stepping out of the puddle of thin fabric as it lay there around his feet.
Dad was wearing white cotton boxers, and I could see the outline of his dick faintly through them as it hung down his right leg, but as he looked at the Colonel, who nodded, dad pushed these down over his hips and stood there as naked as I was.
To tell you the truth I was interested - although dad had a great body he never displayed it around the house and even when he'd come in from a hard day's work and showered and mom was calling that supper was ready, he always wore at least his boxers around the place and never just had a towel or anything around him. Now I was amazed to see that dad didn't have a 'skin - he was just like all the niggas around the plantation. There was always that old joke circulating amongst the guys at school - you know, the one that starts "How do you tell a nigga in the dark...." and that goes on to say feel his dick, as everyone knows that owners always have their niggas 'skinned. So it was a real shock to see dad like this - I mean, we weren't members of some strange religious cult or anything, so why had he been done like that?
"Stand close together so I can get a proper comparison", the Colonel said, "And put your hands behind your necks so I can get a good view." I looked at dad, and saw that he was complying, so what else could I do but follow his example? It felt really odd standing there next to dad, completely naked, especially as holding my hands behind my neck really did make me feel vulnerable - there was no way I could quickly drop them to cover my dick, and the way it almost forced me to thrust my chest out and my pelvis slightly forward meant that I knew that my body was even more on "display" than usual.
"Excellent!", the Colonel said again. "Now turn around, so I can compare the back view."
As we rotated, I almost gasped in shock, because there, on dad's left butt, was a huge "S" burned into the skin - not a tattoo, but a brand. But obviously an old one, as you could just see the deep red of it standing out in stark contrast to the white of his skin. I began to get a horrible sick apprehension in my stomach - dad might have been 'skinned for some strange medical reason, but there's no way a man would wear a slave brand, is there? Everyone knew that a man with an "S" on his butt had to be a slave - all the niggas were done that way. My instinct was to shout out, to ask him, but I was a bit scared of the Colonel and Mr. Stryker. But I lost my chance, as the Colonel told dad and me to face him again, and we turned once more.
The Colonel got to his feet now and came and stood in front of me - he was shorter than me, but even so he seemed in some way to radiate power and control. Perhaps that's the way a naked man always feels when he's standing there in front of an immaculately dressed older man. And now the Colonel reached out and gently, very gently, ran the tips of his fingers down from my shoulders across my pecs, then on down across my belly, to stop just at the top of my pubes. I almost shivered as it was a bit like being tickled, so light was the touch of the Colonel's fingers. "Excellent skin texture", he muttered to himself, "he will be a real pleasure."
I'd wanted to move back as those fingers slid over me, to try to get away, but I didn't dare. The room was almost eerily silent, and I could hear the ticking of the ornate clock on the marble mantelpiece. The Colonel reached out again, and is fingers now almost caressed my left nip - I've got big, dark aureoles, like dad, and his finger first traced the perimeter, making me almost shudder as it brushed against the hairs of my chest that grew up to the edge of it. Then, to my utter astonishment, the fingers actually touched the tit itself, and now I did make a noise - I've got really sensitive nips, and even when I was with one of my girlfriends, I couldn't bare her touching them. "Shhhh! Calm down", the Colonel said softly, and as his fingers continued to touch the nip, it went hard, and erect. The Colonel's fingers rubbed this sensitive skin and I moaned again with the sensation - I really did want to jerk backwards, away from him, now, but with him holding me like that I just couldn't.
He continued to play with my nip, rolling it around between his fingers, and as he did so that other thing happened - I felt my dick starting to erect. I hated it. I didn't want it to happen. But what could I do?
The Colonel must have sensed this as he reached down with his other hand and now I felt his fingers sliding along my erect shaft. "Excellent", he said again, as if it was the only adjective he knew. "I like a man with a close coupling between his tits and his dick - it makes it so much more exciting."
He stopped what he was doing then and moved to dad, and did the same thing! I glanced across and down and saw dad's dick rearing upwards, too, and the Colonel commented "Another way in which your genes breed true, blacksmith - I seem to remember that you're sensitive there, too!"
Dad looked so miserable as he just stood there, and I wondered why he didn't do, or say, anything. Especially as now the Colonel was stroking dad's dick, and then cupping dad's big balls in the palm of his hand. He stood there, holding dad, and reached out and cupped my balls in his other hand! I couldn't bear it and almost shouted "No!", and tried to pull back, but the Colonel's fingers tightened around my balls, and I knew it would be totally foolish to move.
"Easy, Steve", the Colonel said reassuringly. "Look at your father - why can't you just be like him, and allow me to inspect you properly?"
Well, I didn't know what to say, or to do, did I? I was flushed bright red with the embarrassment and shame by now, and so I just stood there, as if frozen.
The Colonel let us go then, but looked at dad and said "Blacksmith, I'm disappointed! You've let yourself go - the last time I had you here your balls were nicely smooth so I could appreciate them properly. I don't blame young Steve here for all the hair on him as I wanted him ' natural'. But it's not good enough, for someone with your experience!"
"I'm sorry, sir...."
"Sorry isn't good enough, blacksmith. You know that. You will have to be punished later. But for now...." He turned to Mr Stryker, and said "Take them down to the preparation chamber in he basement - I've given orders already for what's to be done to them. "
Mr Stryker called out "OK, you two, follow me...", and I bent down to pick up my boxers, but he snapped "You won't be needing those! Leave them." Well, I didn't like the idea of walking through that house stark bollock naked, but dad didn't seem to mind, so what was I to do? He and I followed Mr. Stryker out of the room. We went back along the broad corridor, and I was very conscious of the way my dick was bobbing up and down as we went at quite a brisk pace, and I could hear the "slap, slap" that our bare feet made on the polished wood. It felt so very strange to be amongst all this luxury, naked, and I know dad felt my embarrassment as he put his arm around my shoulder as we walked along, and muttered quietly "I'm sorry, Steve. But hang in there. It's not so bad, really, and it will all be over soon...."
I didn't know what he meant, but having dad's arm around me and his body warm against mine was somehow comforting. If dad said it would all be OK, it probably would be, I knew - he'd never let me down when I was a kid, after all.
We went back down the "service stairs", but instead of stopping at the ground floor where we'd come in, went on down to the basement. This was covered in the same dull paint as the rest of the service stairs, and lit by cold fluorescent tubes in the ceiling - a far cry from where we'd just come from. Mr. Stryker led us through a maze of narrow passages until we entered a bare room with concrete walls and a concrete floor, where four big niggas were hunkered down against one wall, talking to each other. As Mr. Stryker came in they scrambled to their feet and stood there in a row.
Mr. Stryker turned to dad and said "The Colonel has ordered that you two be cleaned up generally and got ready. You know what's coming - make sure your son doesn't do anything stupid, or else I will be forced to punish him - and you don't want that, do you?"
"No, sir", dad said, sounding very glum and now with his body kind of slumped, as if in misery. "Well, he's your son, so make sure he behaves!", Mr. Stryker emphasised again, and turned and left the room.
End Of Part 1