THE SLAVE REVOLT
By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part Sixteen
When we arrived back at the demesne I ordered the bitch to be taken away to the quarantine cells in the hospital block - however reliable a dealer you use, you can't be too careful, I think. After all, I had a lot of extremely valuable stock on the place, including lot of very young, maturing, vulnerable pups, and it just isn't sensible to risk one of the contagious diseases being brought in. I didn't get where I was today by not planning in advance and considering all the risks of an enterprise, and when you're breeding slaves, disease figures very highly on the list of things that can go wrong.
Steve was really curious about the bitch, but I fended off his questions with a general shrug, and made a few remarks about "needing to breed from different lines occasionally", and once we'd eaten and gone to bed, I think he mostly forgot her. I hadn't, though, and the next morning I sent Steve out of my office - ostensibly to get more exercise, as I claimed I'd felt some of his belly muscles to be less than perfect last night, so really firing him up to go and wear himself out. I called in my overseer and gave orders for a few modifications on the estate.
At one end of the stables block - where we still kept a few horses, but now mostly where the drays and ponies for our personal transport lived - there was a small, self contained space that had been used as a store, or something. I'd noticed it one day and squirreled away in my memory the fact that it was there, against the day I had a use for it. It wasn't large - perhaps five metres by three or four - but it seemed big enough for my purposes, and I ordered that a wood burning stove should be fitted, a simple sink with a cold water tap added to the outside by the door, and that the whole place should be whitewashed with a simple coat of whitening to freshen it up a bit. I ordered it to be furnished with a double bed, a couple of simple chairs and a small table, and for a small selection of plates, mugs and cooking utensils to be provided. In effect I created the simple, rustic rural cabin that the early settlers in our part of the world would have lived in (or do I mean existed in?).
Fortunately the bitch I'd purchased was an unsophisticated country girl and so when she was released from quarantine and I'd had her branded and inked with her asset number, she seemed quite at home in the simple space - indeed, she even seemed to relish the fact that she had things of her own (although, of course, strictly speaking, she had nothing as all the things in the place belonged to me, as did she). As we were about to go to bed that night and Steve was following me to the staircase, I stopped, and said, "No, just a minute... Follow me".
We went across the yard and through the stables - it was gratifying to see the drays were all curled up together, as slaves who work together like that need to really understand each other. Steve was looking puzzled. I stopped to inspect a couple of the ponies - they always sleep in their stalls with their wrists cuffed to the walls, to prevent them jerking off, as I always consider it desirable for a pony to "show" hard when he's working, and the lack of sexual stimulation certainly helps achieve that. Steve grinned a bit as he saw the ponies' dicks standing up from their bodies as they lay there, and he said to me perfectly casually that they were in superb condition and it would be good to fuck them.
"Oh come on, Steve! If we want to fuck other guys, there's lots of the house slaves who're better - more refined. These ponies are a brutish lot, you know: they are so keen to have sex when they're allowed that there's no refinement at all: just stick the dick in, fuck away, and finish...."
"I though you liked it a bit rough sometimes....", he said, digging me in the ribs. "And those house slaves are all young lads - nice enough bodies, but not hard and muscled like these ponies. Their asses, with all that running, would be a real fuck....."
"...anyway, we haven't got time for that now... Come on......", I countered, and we went out through the rear doors. I didn't knock before pushing open the door of the new "cabin", as I thought of it, of course. I owned it and everything in it, including the bitch, and she had no reason to expect privacy from her owner. She was standing there with her tunic pushed down so that her breasts were exposed but her loins were covered, washing herself in a small tin bowl propped on the table - her breasts were smeared with soap suds, and as Steve and I came in she gave a little gasp, and tried to cover herself.
"OK, Steve! This is where you're sleeping tonight. And, as you know, this is a virgin bitch, and I expect that status to have changed by tomorrow."
"No, sir, please...."
"Steve, shut the fuck up, will you? You know that when I have made my mind up about something I won't change it, and there's simply no point arguing with me. I bought this bitch for you, and tonight I expect you to make proper use of my gift."
"Sir, please, it's not right...."
"Not right? What's not right, Steve? " I paused for a moment and before he could say anything else I went on "Let me tell you what's not right! It's not right for a slave to argue with his owner! Particularly not about important matters. I've bought this near-whitey bitch and I want to breed pups from her who are even nearer to being a whitey. And, as we all know, you're a pure-bred whitey stud.... So you need to get stuck in."
"Sir, please...."
"Steve, stop it! You will fuck her as I command. And it's not as if I'm ordering you to do something terrible - you're always telling me about how great it is to fuck a bitch when one of those disgusting films comes on the TV when we're watching it together. And when we were at Scabbard and Drass last week you seemed quite excited by this bitch: your jeans were tented in the most outrageous way. And when you stripped and came to bed that night, I could see the hard patches of pre-cum on the inside of your jeans, where you'd leaked everywhere!"
As I said this I turned to the bitch and snapped "Clean that soap off yourself, get naked, and in the bed."
At least she was properly obedient! She tried to do it without facing us, seeming not to want to continue washing her breasts as Steve and I watched, and when she had finished and went to remove the tunic that was still covering her nakedness, she turned her back on us, then scurried over to the bed with one hand covering her sex and he other attempting to hold her breasts under control. She lay there then, the thin white sheet pulled up to her chin, and Steve and I stood there, looking at the outline of her body that was really only half concealed.
"OK, stud - you next!", I said, giving Steve a friendly slap on the back (he barely winced as the scarring from the flaying had really mostly completely healed). "Get out of those clothes, let the little lady get a look at the delights she's going to experience, and then get stuck in!"
"Sir, please, no...."
"I've told you, Steve, that I won't have a discussion about this! It's not a request, it's an order. Get stripped off, get in bed with the bitch, and start to fuck her. Or shall I send for some of the breeding masters from the studding sheds on the estate? I understand they sometimes get a new stud who isn't willing to perform, or who doesn't know what to do, or whatever.... And they've developed techniques for making it happen. We can soon have her on a studding frame, and they can do with you whatever they do...."
Steve stood there looking doubtful. I didn't want any of that, of course, as this was meant to be fun for Steve, and my plans for the pups involved having Steve constantly involved as their sire. So I decided to try a different tack. "Hey, perhaps that's the best thing.... If you don't know what to do, the breeding masters will soon show you how. I think you've not been telling me the truth all this time, hinting at your prowess with women when you were in the marines, and all the time not really knowing what to do. Still, a little demonstration, and you'll be fine......"
"Don't be so stupid, sir! Of course I know how to fuck a woman! All marines do."
"So get naked, show her your body, and get stuck in!"
Steve looked really uncomfortable, embarrassed, even. He shuffled uneasily from foot to foot, and I snapped "Come on, man, it's not as if I haven't seen you naked hundreds of times before. And she's only a young bitch - there's nothing to be scared of!"
"I'm not scared ,sir!", he rapped back. "But, you know, when a guy fucks a woman, well, it's kind of... Kind of private...."
"So you don't want me to watch, is that it?"
"Yes, sir, I mean no, sir, I mean... Please, sir, if you leave me alone, I'll do it, sir."
"You'll do it anyway, Steve! I don't bargain with you, you know that. Now don't be stupid, Steve! You're surely not embarrassed in front of me! Think of all the times we've fucked. Surely you can't be ashamed of having me watch you.... And I want to see you in action with a bitch - I don't often get to see that ass and those big thighs of yours actually pumping away. And you know it would be kind of educational for me - I know about sex with women theoretically, but I haven't actually seen it done 'in the flesh', so to speak...."
"Sir, please, sir, don't make me do it. She's young, sir, and I've got to be gentle. And I need to take my time, show her there's nothing to be scared of... And if you're watching, sir, I'll be all nervous and worried, and...."
"You, nervous? Oh come on, Steve! I've never seen you nervous about anything! But at least you're now agreeing that you are going to fuck her. Indeed, I can see you're almost ready for it - those shorts are positively obscene, the way your dick is pushing at them...."
Steve flushed red as he tugged at his shorts, trying to make the very visible presence of his dick a little less obvious, but slave shorts aren't like that, are they? They're designed to display a slave, rather than conceal him, and he had no success. I smiled at him, slapped his butt this time as I didn't want to hurt him, and said "Well OK, then.... This time, the first time, you can take her in private. But I'll want to see you two at it at some point, you know."
"Am I going to fuck her a lot then, sir?"
"Oh yes, Steve! I want pups, as I said. Good, strong, healthy whitey pups. I selected her as she's so pale, and with your whitey heritage, the pups should be almost pure whitey. And you're both above average height, you've got a superb body and I guess she has, too.... I'm looking for really special pups."
Steve's eyes saddened for a moment and he whispered "I don't think it's right, sir... Making me breed, then selling the pups..."
"And why not? You're my slave, aren't you? I own you, I own every sperm in the fountains of semen you produce, I own the bitch... So of course I own the pups. And as they're mine, not yours, Steve, I can do with them as I like."
He was going to argue with me again, so I said quietly "Now, stop all this fucking argument! Strip off those clothes, and let me at least see you in bed with her. "
As I watched, and as I'd seen him do so many times before, Steve gave that little shrug he does when he gives way in an argument, then pushed down his shorts and stepped out of them, and peeled his T up and over his head. I always like to see him do this, as his belly muscles tighten so agreeably and his dick just jerks upwards, too as they do so - especially when, as on this occasion, he is erect. And in spite of what he'd said about not wanting to do it and so on, his body betrayed him: I could clearly see a bead of pre-cum hanging there jewel-like on the end of his dick.
As if to preserve her modesty Steve did not throw the sheet off but instead lifted one corner cautiously and slid his magnificent body into the bed, and then, as I watched and generally encouraged him, he put his arm around the bitch and pulled her close to him. She didn't seem to object, and I really did wonder whether she was a virgin - one of her hands snaked down underneath the sheet and took hold of his dick, and that's not something I think an inexperienced young girl would do, is it?
Steve lay there rigid and silent for a few moments, but I sensed that once the skin of the bitch was in contact with his, he could hardly contain himself. I stood watching them, wondering if he'd break first and begin before I left, but then I felt a bit sorry for him, gave him a cheery wave, and left them then and went up to my bedroom. There was a new waiter that I'd been thinking of using, and it's hard with Steve always there as he gets jealous. I took advantage of his absence therefore and had them send the boy up to me and he was indeed amusing for an hour or so - he had a real talent for sex, it seemed to me, and it was a nice change to have a very lithe, young body to play with rather than Steve's solid musculature.
It was just as well I sent the boy away after I'd finished, though, and slept alone: when I woke in the morning, there was Steve, kind of hunkered down by the side of the bed, staring at me. I know it sounds an odd simile, but those of you who have ever owned a hound dog will know just what he looked like - he was kind of smiling as if he'd done something special, kind of worried that I'd be cross, kind of ashamed at what he'd done.... but was in no doubt that if it was on offer, he'd do it again. I blinked my eyes open and muttered "What the fuck time is it? I thought you'd be screwing your bitch...."
He grinned openly now, still looking a bit hound like.
"Well you know, Rob, there's only so many times a guy can do it, even a stud like me.... And I know you're useless in the morning - if I wasn't here to wake you up, none of the slaves would dare do it.... And you've got some big meetings today, you said...."
I could tell at once that things were right between us and last night had gone well. Outside the bedroom he did of course always call me "Sir" or "Master" to show the respect I deserved, but here it was generally "Rob" unless he was pissed off at me about something when he deliberately and sarcastically would say "sir" to emphasise to me he was doing it unwillingly. And you notice he said "none of the slaves would dare do it" and not "none of the other slaves would dare do it" - we were equals once more, as he wasn't thinking of himself as a slave.
He knows I'm always very hard when I wake up, and, still hunkered down, his big hand suddenly snaked out and slid under the sheets and grabbed my dick. He was smiling at me as he went to put his head under the sheets to follow his hand with his mouth, but somehow the thought of having him suck me this morning, when his mouth had been all over the bitch, seemed faintly repulsive. So I jerked away and threw myself out of bed and went into the bathroom, saying "No time, big boy.... Tonight...."
Later that day, after my meetings, I found time to go to the gym with Steve, and then to go and sit by the pool as I watched him race up and down - something he always enjoyed and which always put him in an excellent mood. When he'd finished and came and crouched by me, the water running off his magnificent body as he dried in the sun, I reached out and stroked his dick and teased his balls in the way he liked. "Listen carefully, Steve", I said. "I'm going to tell you something, something important, and I don't want you to interrupt."
So I explained my plan to him, and then he continued to crouch there as I held his dick with one hand, and now allowed my other to stroke the strong muscles in his neck. "You may not like it now", I ended, "But wait for a few years, and then I think you'll agree that I've done the right thing by you."
As my plan unfolded over the years, Steve did indeed understand that I'd done my best for him - he was, after all, a slave, and nothing could alter that. But a slave could have a reasonable life with a considerate owner like me, and could enjoy many of those things that are normally considered the preserve of a free man.
I insisted that Steve spent at least one night a week with "his" bitch, and never made him enter the studding sheds to cover others, and never allowed other slaves (or the overseers and managers and other free men on the estate) to interfere with her. She was soon pregnant, of course, and fortunately that pup, and the one she bore a year later, were both males and there was none of the trauma that can sometimes arise when a slave is aborted (and which I could certainly have expected from Steve if we had needed to do that to one of "his" pups). I had her spayed when Steve was accompanying me on one of my business trips so that he could continue to take his pleasure with her, and indeed I insisted he spent more time in the "cabin" as the pups grew up: I didn't have them work in the sorting sheds or the fields with the other pups, and instead they generally helped around the place and grew up with a "proper" mother and father around.
Although conditions in the "cabin" were primitive, it was no worse for them than it would have been for those sturdy pioneer kids growing up in such conditions in the early stages of our great country. I never enquired about what they did as they got older and were in the "cabin" as Steve fucked the bitch, but I assume he sorted something out - Steve makes a lot of grunting and shouting as he's fucking, and I couldn't imagine he could easily suppress that: his kids probably learned about sex from a very early age. I wanted young slaves with a sound appreciation of a home life, who were used to a loving, stable relationship with others, and who could be as "normal" as it's possible for bred slaves to be - they would, after all, always be slaves and would die as slaves, but I wanted some element of the essential "wildness" that only comes from a slave who is enslaved, rather than who is born in the slave sheds, in them.
My father and I had long argued an the subject of my own marriage and the production of heirs, as you know.
Personally, I think we could have found some free woman who would have been prepared to be artificially inseminated by me to produce sons, but dad said this was absolutely not right. His heirs were to be "born in wedlock" as he so quaintly put it.
In the end it was dad who settled the matter - through his business contacts he found an "heiress" - someone who, like me, was so insanely wealthy that marriage with an "heir" was the only possibility, to avoid gold diggers and fortune hunters: there are disadvantages to great wealth, you know. We knew it was a marriage of pure convenience as it was something both our fathers wanted, and we were civilised enough to know that once we had produced he necessary "heir and a spare" we could both go our separate ways. Indeed, we remain good friends, really good friends, to this day, and we are still, I suppose, legally man and wife.
It was indeed a terrible thing to have to "do the deed", and it wasn't made any better by Steve's behaviour on our wedding night! For the ceremony itself I'd made him wear skin tight, low slung, dazzlingly white jeans and a kind of bolero jacket in white, that just scraped his pecs and left most of his torso bare, and that displayed his upper body to the best advantage. He didn't like all the guests seeing him like this (it was the "event of the season", and over a thousand invited business contacts milled around on the lawns and in the marquees where the banquet was served), and he particularly didn't like the way I insisted he wore a collar made of fresh white daisies and blue cornflowers which, I think, accented him perfectly. This effect was repeated in bands of flowers around his bulging biceps, and I thought he was the very perfection of an owner's slave attendant during the wedding ceremony. But Steve plainly hated it, so after the ceremony and the banquet, long after midnight when the bands were still playing for the remaining guests, he was, to say the least, unhelpful when we were together in my dressing room.
"Shall I come in and wake you in the morning, Rob?", he asked with a big smirk. "Or will it be your wife jerking you off tomorrow morning when you wake up with that usual hard-on of yours?"
"No way!", I said, scowling. "Go over to the 'cabin' tonight, and amuse yourself.... Make yourself scarce!"
"No, Rob. I'll stay here in the dressing room, in case you need any help.... Or advice.....?"
Well, as I said, it didn't make for an easy time of it, and I was trembling with an unpleasant anticipation and an acute embarrassment when I went through into the bedroom - Steve dared to slap my butt as I went, saying "Go to it, tiger! Remember, fuck her hard....". But my wife and I are both civilised people, and we did it with, I may say, decorum if not enthusiasm.
I timed it so that Steve's two sons were two years older than mine - I wanted my sons to grow up with their own loyal personal slaves, as I have explained, and I thought it best for Steve's sons to have some degree of maturity, and training, before I gave them to my sons. Initially, when they were pre-teens, they seemed to get on well enough, but as the hormones cut in relationships between the four boys seemed to deteriorate a little. I tried to correct matters, and had my sons Ray and Rusty cane the slaves Stu and Sam to try to beat some obedience into them, but, if anything, that seemed to make matters worse.
I used to really worry about this as it seemed that my plan was falling apart a little, but as we lay in bed talking about it, Steve was always reassuring. "It's natural for kids of their age to fall out", he told me, "But they've been raised together, they've always known each other, and things will settle down".
Stu and Sam seemed to be really jealous of Ray and Rusty, though, in all sorts of stupid ways. They resented being made to run around naked when Ray and Rusty had jeans and Ts, even when, as I explained, it was much better for them to be able to swim naked and not have to wear swimming shorts as Ray, and Rusty and I did - it was a kind of "swings and roundabouts" thing, I argued, but they just wouldn't see it. And, sure, they didn't have toys of their own, but Ray and Rusty were really generous lending them theirs. They hated working in the fields, too, as they got older, and again couldn't see that Ray and Rusty had to spend tedious hours in the school room rather than running around in the open air, using their bodies as men are meant to.
Suddenly, though, all seemed to go calm and quiet and all four of them changed to being the best of friends again - so much so that I felt really excluded, as my sons no longer wanted to sit with me in the evening, but after dinner raced out of the dining room. I was so worried that I took Ray on one side and demanded to know if he was doing something that was totally forbidden - teaching Stu or Sam to read or write, or allowing them to watch the news channels, for example.
He looked at me kid of slyly but swore that he'd never do anything like that - our education system had at least emphasised to free youths that slaves were, as I have explained to you, to be kept in ignorance of the wider world.
That night in bed I was talking to Steve about this, and he just smiled. "Oh Rob, you're so naive sometimes, I do wonder how you get on! You spend so much time worrying about he business, your fortune, and everything, that you forget the things that drive real men, men like me!"
I grabbed one of his nips and twisted it hard, which made him squirm and yelp a bit, and after we'd stopped laughing and were once again in each others arms with our dicks pressed close together, I asked him what he meant.
Instead of replying, he pulled me out of bed, and naked as two slaves, as he gave me no time to dress, he led me down the corridor to the new "nursery" wing which we'd added once the boys were born and which was now, effectively, their private domain. He opened he door to Rusty's room and the bed, and the truckle bed beside it where Stu slept, were both empty and clearly had not been slept in. Then, putting his fingers to his lips to indicate I should be very quiet indeed, we crept along to Rob's room. Steve turned the knob so slowly and so quietly and then nudged the door open, inch by inch: he showed me, and I could hardly not cry out in surprise. There, on Rob's bed, were all four boys lying in a heap, totally naked, intertwined together. It was almost impossible to make out who's arm was who's, and which leg belonged to which boy. Almost the only easy way to make sense of it was to see that my sons' asses were of course stark white against the deep tan of the rest of their bodies, whereas Steve's sons were tanned all over!
Steve pulled me back, and slowly closed the door. We crept away down the corridor and he whispered "They've discovered sex, Rob, and that's why they're so friendly with each other again!"
"How long have you known?"
"Oh, a couple of weeks - Sam and Stu came to stay at the 'cabin' with us when you took your boys to New York for a couple of days. Well, young guys like that couldn't go all night without jerking off, could they?
And of course I found they'd done it to each other as they were still almost glued together with dried cum when I woke them in the morning - I slapped their asses to make them wake up, and they cried out as their pubes were stuck to the skin of each other with the cum."
He'd been laughing when he said this, but seeing my serious expression, gripped my arm tight, almost hurting me. "Please, Rob.... They're kids.... Please don't punish them...."
I reached up and kissed him. "You are stupid sometimes, Steve! I grew up without anyone to have sex with, and if it hadn't been for the Revolt, I'd never have found you, and all that you bring me. I didn't want that for my kids.... I wanted them to have a good sex life from the moment they were able..... And a life-long love and friendship.... And Stu and Sam are ideal." I kissed him again and went on "Look, Steve, you and me, we're proper friends, right?
So whether it's by heredity, or environment, so will Rob, Rusty, Sam and Stu be. What more could we want for any of our sons?"
I still miss him. It was so sudden. I was by the pool with the four boys - I still think of them as that, even though they now have kids of their own, and my grandsons are sixteen and seventeen. Ray and Rusty had long before seen the wisdom of my plans, and had in turn followed my example and bred companions for their sons using Stu and Sam as sires.
Steve was doing his usual "commanding" thing, making the four young lads practice their diving and swimming endlessly, as he kept telling them that otherwise they'd never have great bodies. It truly was remarkable how both Steve and I bred true - there was no doubting which of the four lads in the pool were my free grandchildren and which were Steve's slave ones, even if the latter had not been naked, as of course was Steve.
As I lay there relaxing after a hard day's toil administering the enormous empire our breeding operation had grown into, I couldn't help but have a stirring of lust for Steve as I saw him climb the steps to the high diving board he'd persuaded me to have installed some years before. Even though his hair was now grey, his body was still toned and honed, and you could easily have mistaken him for the brother of his sons, rather than their father. He stood there on the high board, breathing deeply and preparing himself physically. Then, with that perfect air and grace which he was capable of, he leapt lightly upwards, and dived down, executing two perfect spins as he did, his lovely dick flying in the sparkling air as his body gyrated.
I can still remember how we all cheered as his body went into the water knife-straight, hardly making a splash or ripple - a perfect dive. We watched as his body went down and down, but then he didn't turn and strike out for the surface. At first we thought he was fooling, but after a few seconds Sam and Stu cried in alarm, and they and Ray and Rusty all dived in to see what was the problem.
The vet said it was an embolism. It could have happened at any time. Steve would have not felt any pain. He was dead, probably as he hit the water. I suppose that if he could have chosen how to die, he would have wanted it to be like this: in his prime, his magnificent body still causing all us other men to envy him.
It's those of us who are left who feel the pain. He was the love of my life, and when he died it was as if a light went out somewhere, which has never been re-lit. I think about him every day, and I sometimes fervently wish I was a Christian or something so I could believe that one day, in the big ju-ju's palace in the sky, we'd once again meet and make love as we used to. But those consolations are for the foolish and unsophisticated, and I know that I had my time with Steve, and that will have to suffice me.
I'm not sentimental, and so Steve has no grave. After the vet finished the autopsy and told me of the manner of his death, I allowed Steve's body to join those of the other dead slaves and be shipped off to the fertiliser factory. He needs no permanent memorial - his memory lives on in my brain, and now, I hope, reader, you too will know something of this extraordinary man who was protector, friend, lover, and slave to me.
The End. Pete Brown petebrownuk@yahoo.com London, Dublin, Budapest and Amsterdam. February-May, 2007