THIS TIME AROUND EVERYTHING WAS REVERSED
By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part 4
I don't know why I fell for Zak, as soon there were other kids appearing who had a vague resemblance to me - or perhaps it was just my brain playing tricks, as some of them must have been sired when their bitch mothers were loaned out to other plantations. Probably it was because he was the first, that he had such an amazing resemblance to me, and because he came along when I was still missing Joe so terribly. I'll never forget Joe, of course, but having Zak to take care of gave me something else to focus on. And I started to see similarities about the way I now looked out for Zak, and the way Joe had looked out for me when I first arrived as a naive eighteen year old.
Even though we were slaves, I let it be known that there was no excuse for us treating each other like depraved beasts, and that if I ever found any guy interfering with any of the young pups, he'd be in serious trouble with me. I knew I couldn't do anything about the kids who were fascinated by dicks and who therefore would give themselves to the guys, but at least no kid here was going to be subject to the kind of abuse that makes me feel sick, when older guys force themselves on young boys.
It soon became clear that Zak didn't just want to snuggle up to me as he'd been cold on that first night - he saw me as a kind of "big brother" who looked after him, and every time we were about to go to sleep in the barn he'd put himself close to me. He liked to lie with his back to my front, with his head on my outstretched arm, and then to pull my other arm over him so that I was holding him close. It was difficult for me at first - I like to move around a bit in the night, and when you've got someone's head resting on your upper arm, that's hard. I didn't want to wake him up by moving as young kids need their sleep, and sometimes even my arm would kind of cramp as it was so uncomfortable. Perhaps putting the needs of someone else first was good for me, though, so I didn't mind all that much. More of a problem was what to do about erections - I'd wake up in them middle of the night and feel my erect dick sandwiched between my belly and Zak's young body, and that was really uncomfortable - I mean, I was twenty six or so by now, and a man at that age likes to jerk off when he's lying there awake, doesn't he? There was no way I was going to fuck Zak, obviously, and I didn't even want to disturb his sleep by pushing him away from me so I could jerk myself off - his deep, heavy breathing and the feel of him against me was somehow soothing and it would be a shame to disturb him. So on many nights I lay there with that ache you get in your dick and balls when they need relief, but you can't give it.
I had to get into the habit of jerking myself off before Zak came to sleep with me as I didn't even like doing that in front of him. Fortunately, most nights, he'd be off for a few minutes with some of the other young kids, and then I'd quickly and furtively lie there and stroke myself, hoping to get done before Zak came back and leaped all over me! It was sad, really, a grown man like me having to jerk himself off furtively.
Zak worried me, though, as although he could talk to me, we didn't have all that much to talk about. I decided to educate, and tell him of our proud heritage: all the technology Americans had invented, the splendour of our mighty cities with their rearing skyscrapers, the way we'd put men on the moon, the medicines and drugs we'd perfected, our houses, our cars.... And also give him some idea of his homeland - the best country in the world, stretching from ocean to ocean, the plains, the mountains, the rivers, lakes, deserts.... Then our huge cultural achievements - our art, our music, our movies, the great books our writers had produced... Zak would listen politely as I descried all this, but I could tell that it was hard for him to take it all in, and sometimes he'd just smile quietly and say "That was a good story, Steve.... Tell me again about how thousands of slaves would go to a big house to listen to those strange sounds you told me about...".
"No, Zak! They were not slaves. They were men, and women, going to a concert hall to hear musicians play great works of our cultural heritage..."
"So they were all blacks? Does our owner go there, Steve?"
"No, Zak! They were white men and women, like us. And they were not slaves...."
"But all white men are slaves, Steve...."
And so it would go on, and I realised I really wasn't making all that much progress as there was just nothing here on this flat African plain, where we were confined to the plantation, that had any elements of our culture and way of life associated with it, and this was all Zak had known. It must have been just the same for those black slaves imported from Africa to Virginia and places, who would be unable to tell their sons about their tribal life, the hunting of animals, and so on. It was worse for me and Zak, of course, as we actually had so many more achievements and so much more culture, but the principle was the same. Zak was growing up a slave, accustomed to knowing that with a white skin he was different from the blacks who guarded and controlled us, and that they had the clothes, the guns, and all the other stuff, and were the superior race because of that.
I also tried to teach him to read and write, but it was impossibly difficult. I would sweep away a small area of straw as we lay there in the slave barn and try to scratch letters into the soil underneath with a stick, and get Zak to repeat them after me: a, b, c, d.... He thought it was a good game at first and he got to know the letters so I could, for example, scratch out a z and he'd tell me its name, but he soon got bored. I was so frustrated as I knew that if he couldn't read or write he'd always be condemned to be a mere beast, using his muscle for our owner and he'd never be able to appreciate other things in life. But it seemed hopeless to me, after a time, as we didn't have any books or any real writing implements or anything like that, and so how could we pass on things this way? I got him to the point where he could scrape out "zak" in the soil, and was teaching him "steve" one day when he was so bored that he just said "This is shit, Steve. I'm not going to do any more of this crap", and turned away from me (well, all of us slaves used that kind of language, and so it wasn't surprising hat the kids did too, was it?)
"Hey, Zak, this is important. Once we've done some names, I'll show you how to write other stuff - it's really neat, you know... 'The cat sat on the mat' and things like that."
"Fuck it, Steve. I'm not wasting time on that rubbish. What's a 'mat', anyway?"
I should have know it was pretty hopeless without the cultural referents, and given up. But I persisted and told him to concentrate, and then, when he started to look away and wave to his buddies, I told him again, and then the third time I was so pissed off that I grabbed him, pulled him over my knee before he realised what was going on, and spanked him! Look, it wasn't hard - if I'd really hit him it would truly have hurt him with the power I have in my arms. No, this was more of a light slapping of his bare butt, but nevertheless he howled and shouted, and then when I let him go, he stood there sobbing in front of me.
"You dirty fucker, Steve...."
"Zak, I'm sorry, but you didn't listen to me, you weren't paying attention..."
Through his snivels he almost whined "And I'm not going to, either. This reading and writing is a load of crap, a fucking waste of time...."
"You will learn it, Zak..."
"Fuck you, Steve, I won't..."
He could be defiant like that, and he really pissed me off - I was, after all, giving up my time to try to educate him. So I grabbed him again, and this time he wriggled and struggled and tried to get away as I forced him over my knee as I knelt there, and I had to grip his neck really tight to hold him over my knee. And this time the sound of the slaps as my open palm hit his young butt echoed around the place, and several of the guys nearby sat up and watched.
"Steve's spanking his boy, rather than spanking the monkey!" One called out, and there was that coarse laughter that guys do when there's sex in the air. "Come on, Steve - get on with it - once you've warmed up his butt, let's see you up his ass...".
I didn't do any more than spank him, of course, as you know what I think about men and boys. And my spanking wasn't at all sexual - it was just the type of corporal punishment that any dad might give his kid if the kid wasn't doing well at school. But I guess that ordinary dads have their boxers and pants to cover themselves when their sons are over their knees, and I was naked, and I felt vaguely ashamed that Zak brushed against my erect dick as I let him go. I don't think that should have happened.
At first that night Zak was determined to show his continuing defiance of me and didn't come and lie close to me as he usually did, but settled himself down in the straw a couple of feet away. It was cool that night, and as I lay there I saw him start to shiver, and so I moved close to him and started to wrap my body around his to warm him up.
"Fuck off, Steve! Leave me alone..."
"Come on, Zak, you're cold..."
"Fuck off, Steve. What's it to you? You don't really care about me..."
"Zak, that's not true! You know that! Of course I care about you..."
"You hit me, Steve."
"No, Zak, I spanked you. Spanked you for disobeying me, for not concentrating on your reading..."
"Steve, it's crap, as I said. You don't 'read' yourself.... So why have I got to learn?"
"So you can understand things, Zak. If you can't read, you can't learn new things...."
"But you never learn anything new, Steve. You don't 'read'. And you're doing OK - everyone says you're a great guy, you're a good slave..."
I could have cried, because of course it was true. I'd had difficulty remembering some of the letters myself as there had been no papers or magazines or books or anything to read since I'd been here, and the only 'reading' stuff we ever saw was all in the strange foreign characters that none of us understood.
I knew it was hopeless - however much I tried, however much I made Zak work away at it, it just wasn't going to work - without a lot of stuff to read, to practice on, it was just not going to stick.
"Look, Zak, OK.... But you've got to learn that when I tell you to do something, you do it. Do you understand? I don't want to spank you, as I'd rather we discussed things and worked things out as two guys together.... But if you are rude, or defy me, then I'm afraid you'll learn the hard way that your butt really hurts when I spank it."
"So that's like when the guards cane you, isn't it, Steve? You don't do something they tell you, and they tawse you, or cane your butt. I have to do what you say or you'll spank me, and you have to do what the overseers and guards say, or you get caned!"
I felt so depressed, as of course it was true. That was my life now - obey, or be caned. And that was all Zak had to look forward to, as well - so perhaps it was a good thing that he was starting to learn to obey. His life as a slave would probably be a whole lot easier than mine. But I felt Zak's chances of "life" were slipping away.
If I couldn't teach him about America, about our heritage and culture, what would he know? All he'd understand was that the blacks were masters, and that as a white man he had to obey them completely.
About a year later I was surprised when I entered the dining room, the usual place where I "studded" for my owner and his guests, to see him sitting there with a white man - a guy of about my own age, too, but obviously not a slave as he wore clothes - jeans, a short sleeved shirt - and had no collar on.
My owner gestured for me to wait, and as usual I stood against the wall, feeling the eyes of the young white guy on me as he looked at my naked body - I couldn't even attempt to cover myself of course, as even after all this time my wrists were still bound to my collar for a studding session. My owner poured both of them another glass of wine, and in his perfect English said to his guest "I promised you a little diversion after dinner, John. Handsome, isn't he? He's been my chief stud for some years now, and he has an excellent record of confirmation."
"Confirmation, sir?", the young man asked. He was an Englishman, or, at leas, had an English accent.
"Oh, it's a technical term from stock breeding - how well his sperm 'takes' so that you do not have to repeatedly cover the bitch, and then how well he passes on the characteristics for which you chose him as a stud in the first instance. Clearly we want to select for power and strength, and he has this in abundance himself, and all the indications are that his progeny are going to have the same general characteristics."
"He's a handsome brute, too, if I may say so..."
"Quite. Well, standards of masculine beauty vary greatly of course, and no white man can really compare well besides the more striking features of us black men. But I'll take your word for it, John, as a white man yourself."
I listened almost in disbelief to the way the two men were discussing me just as if I was some piece of prize beef animal and they were two farmers, and as if I wasn't there, or could not understand them. But I knew that if I said anything I'd be punished, and it just didn't seem worthwhile.
"So, shall we proceed?", my owner asked. "I've got a nice young bitch just in season who needs covering, and if you're not offended by the sight....?"
"Oh no, sir. I'd have to pay good money to see a live sex show in London!"
My owner clapped his hands, and the guards brought in a bitch I'd not covered before - she was probably sixteen or seventeen, but judging form the way she held her body proudly and unashamed, I knew she must have been handled by the guards like this before, and she lay down on the studding bench and opened her legs without any hesitation or embarrassment. By now I was used to then just going over and getting on with it, without the need for my owner to lead me by my dick as he had done initially, and at a nod from him I walked over and stood between her legs. But then, as much as I tried, I just couldn't get an erection. I think it was the thought of a white guy, a guy my own age, watching me - I'd got used to the audience of blacks, but somehow, having someone so like me there just turned me off.
My master rapped "Get on with it, Steve....", but I just couldn't.
My owner looked very angry, and came over and began to jerk at my dick very roughly, and when even this was slow to make me respond, he hissed "If you continue to shame me in front of my guest, you'll be beaten...."
Well making a threat like that just isn't helpful when you're having problems with your erection anyway, and the thought that I wasn't performing properly in front of a guy like myself made me start to blush. My owner continued to jerk at me, and fortunately I did start to "show" properly, and he pulled me forward and inserted me into her. It was horrible, though, to have him grip my hips and then push me backwards and forwards in and out of her, just as if I was some inexperienced novice, and the red stain of shame spread from my face down on to my shoulders. After all, as a slave all I had to be proud of now was my body - I owned nothing, had no freedom, but in front of another man I could at least take pride in my masculinity - but this had failed me.
When I was finished my owner commanded me to stay in her, and I stood there, taking most of my weight on my hands, and trying not to look down into the face of the bitch.
I could hear my owner talking to his guest. "I'm sorry, John, that the stud wasn't as enthusiastic as he normally is, and I'll have him thoroughly caned later as punishment."
"Oh please no, sir, not on my account - it was absolutely stunning to see such a handsome pair in action: when I have paid to see a live show, the performers have never been as attractive as these two.
The stud in particular is absolutely stunning - I've never seen such lovely buttocks in action as he fucked: I thought they were appealing when he was just standing there, but watching the muscles play in them, and in his thighs, once he'd got going.... unforgettable. And those low-hanging balls of his - the glimpses of them between his thighs.... wonderful."
"You sound as if you're something of a connoisseur, John..."
"Well I wouldn't say that, sir. But when I knew I was going to be assigned to come here as our company's representative, I thought it best to learn about the customs of the country in case I ever had the opportunity to be entertained by someone like yourself, sir. So after I'd moved in, and established myself, I went to see two or three slave dealers. Of course it was difficult - they were all so prejudiced against a white man, but I persisted, and learned quite a lot about what makes a good slave."
"We were talking earlier, John, about the importance of establishing good personal relationships between us if I decide to do business with your company. I am indeed impressed with your knowledge of slaves - unless you are of course just flattering me....."
"Oh no, sir! In business, especially if we are to enter a close partnership, it's vital we are truthful with each other. I really am impressed with the slave..."
"How much do you want me to agree to your business plan, John?"
"Very much, sir! If you agreed, it would make my reputation in the company, and my career would take off like a rocket. I know other companies have asked you before, though, and you've never agreed...."
"Perhaps they didn't send the right men to ask me, John. But let's talk of pleasure - you definitely think the slave is handsome, with a delightful ass?"
"Oh yes, very much so."
"Well amongst my closest acquaintances we have another little custom after a studding - the stud is available for use, and it rounds off the evening in a most convivial way if we get together and use him. So you want to be in my inner circle of trusted acquaintances, John?"
I could see the young guy looking a little startled, but he looked my owner straight in the eyes and said "As I said, sir, very much so. And it would give me a real pleasure to be granted the use of your stud...."
My owner nodded. "I think, then, that we might dispense with the bitch - men can have more enjoyment together...." He clapped his hands, and the guards came in. He rattled off his native language ,which I'd never managed to learn, and the guards pulled me away from her, one led her out, and the other one pushed me back onto the studding bench, face down, and kicked at my ankles to open my legs wide.
After the guards had left, my owner said softly "Well, he's all yours now, John.... It will be a novel experience to see a white man use a slave - it's somehow disturbing. Do you know, back centuries ago it was considered an abomination for a black man to fuck a slave? It was acceptable for a white owner to do it, but not for a black. There's an interesting comparison here! " The guy John said nothing ,and I watched as he got up from the table, slipped his shoes off, then lowered his jeans to stand there in his short-sleeved shirt and a pair of black, thin, bikini briefs. My owner's eyes were on him, looking almost greedily at him, and the young guy didn't hesitate but pushed them to the ground, touching his dick to free it from where it had been stuck to his balls. My owner nodded approvingly, and watched almost hungrily as the man now unbuttoned his shirt, then cast it aside to stand there just dressed in his wristwatch and socks.
He was actually quite a fit guy for someone who was not doing continual manual labour, I suppose - a flat belly but no pronounced muscles, not much sign of fat, and with a nicely proportioned loose-limbed sort of body. It did look odd, though, as his upper body was tanned, as were his calves, but from the waist down he was deathly white as he clearly never exposed his butt to the sun. I'd got so used to seeing slaves all darkly tanned all over, as I was, or pure white, like the waiters, that the streak of white across his loins looked almost bizarre. I think my owner must have shared some of my surprise, as he said "You know, John, there's something vaguely pornographic about watching a free man like you undress - one is used to seeing free men prepare themselves to use a slave, of course, but there's something deliciously different watching a handsome free white man doing it..."
John said nothing, but just smiled. With my owner still watching him he came across the room stroking his dick, then he stopped and reached out towards me and began to force his finger up my ass. "Ah, already nicely lubed", he said to my owner. "How very thoughtful....", and with that, he was away.
I don't know why, but it was somehow exciting to be fucked by another white guy in front of my owner. I'd been fucked by Joe, as you know, and by lots of my owner's black friends, but never by another white guy as my owner watched. And I didn't know what to make of this man - I mean, he was white, visibly so, but he wasn't a slave. It seemed somehow wrong to be fucked by a white guy, even if he was "free" like my owner and his colleagues. He knew what he was doing, though, as he really went at me hard, pulling right out and slamming back into me very hard indeed, causing me to groan. And to add to his excitement he sometimes pulled right out, slapped my butt hard, and then started again.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw my owner get up from the table and shed his clothes, and advance on us. I thought at first that he was going to make me suck his dick as my own fucking continued, as I was sometimes used by his colleagues, but instead he went up behind the guy John who was fucking me. Look, I don't know if you've ever tried it, but this idea of having a "man sandwich" where one guy is simultaneously fucking and being fucked is a great erotic idea, but difficult to bring off as everyone has to try and synchronise his movements. And I don't think John was used to taking a dick as big as my owner's, either, as I could feel his body really tense as my owner entered him, and then his cries and shouts completely drowned out my more restrained ones.
They went and sat on a big couch afterwards, and sat there drinking more wine, and laughing and joking. I heard my owner say "How delicious, John - a white man who is not a slave, and yet who I used as I use my slaves." My owner called me over then, and commanded me to kneel in front of them and clean their dicks. Well it was OK, but strange, to be kneeling their licking at the white man's, but when I had to do my owner, it was absolutely foul - that John had not cleaned his ass out and so my owner's dick tasted almost indescribably bitter and foul, as his cum and sweat was mixed in with shit from John. Still, perhaps he hadn't realised that he was going to be fucked when he accepted the dinner invitation.
The two men sat together with their arms around each other's shoulders, continuing to sip wine and idly play with each other's bodies, as men do: gently fingering each other's nips, toying with their dicks, and occasionally kissing each other as they laughed and talked. It was odd, though, to see a man who could so easily be a slave being treated almost as an equal by my owner.
My owner looked at his guest and said "You know, John, you have a good plan for increasing my profits hugely, and it has been suggested by some American companies before. But when they came to discuss a potential deal with me, I realised they were not men I could do business with: invited here as you were tonight, they seemed outraged when I suggested that watching a studding provided a good after dinner entertainment and a good prelude to a business negotiation. They did not seem to like the idea of having naked slaves in here - surely they were used to seeing white flesh as they were that colour themselves?? "
John laughed softly. "Ah, sir, that's Americans for you! They're very prudish, at heart. They're still a young country, I suppose, and they just don't have the sophistication we English have in these matters. You've got to remember, sir, that we ruled two thirds of the planet once, and we introduced the slave trade - it was British merchants who saw the benefits of shipping cotton and sugar from the USA to England, then simple but gaudy cotton goods and simple manufactured items to your ancestors here, and finally, to complete the triangle, slaves from here to the USA. What we're proposing now...."
"Not yet, John! Not on to business yet. Tell me, though, how such a young man was entrusted with such a delicate negotiation...."
"Well, sir, I'm ambitious. And a lot of the older men in my company wouldn't even try it, as they feared another failure would damage their careers." John smiled as he stroked my owner's dick gently, and went on "But I think the real reason is that they were afraid - they'd heard rumours about your hospitality, sir, and perhaps they didn't want to take part in the after dinner entertainment..." He laughed out loud a little now, before continuing "Or, there again, perhaps they were worried... Worried that you might find them too attractive, and 'invited' them to stay here permanently....?"
My owner roared with laughter. "So aren't you terrified that I might simply tell the guards to take you away, collar you, and burn my ownership mark into your butt and your arm, and throw you into my slave barn? If I did that, no one could tell that you were not a slave - you do not have the proper black skin of a free man, after all."
Did John show just a little more concern? He kept his tone light, but I sensed he was worried. "Oh no, sir - you've got the power to do that, of course. But I'm more valuable to you working away to get our project off the ground than I would be as a slave - if all goes as it should, I'll make you millions, whereas if you enslave me, I'll just be worth a few hundred thousand, at the most. And I judged you to be too good a businessman to want to pass up such large profits..."
My owner roared with laughter. "You are wise, John. You think like a black man, and you fuck like a black man - I haven't seen a white man fuck a slave as well as you do before! We're going to get along well, I can see that. But take care, John - work well on this project, and make sure it delivers the returns you are promising. You have a nice ass, and I could easily have you branded and collared if the profits do not materialise - in spite of your sophistication, you are just a white man, and you could easily be turned into a slave like Steve here. In our country there is a very fine line for a man with a white skin between freedom, and being a slave."
They seemed to mostly forget about me then as they started to talk business, and I listened with some interest to what was going on. John's company was a huge supermarket group, and they'd come up with the idea of my owner's plantation growing asparagus, strawberries, and other luxury high-value crops, rather than the cotton and sugar cane and stuff we did now. The clever thing, the thing that really made it profitable, was that the planes that flew in new slaves form the USA could then fly on to England loaded with the fresh fruit and vegetables, and from there back to the USA loaded with British biscuits, pork pies, preserves, haggis, beer, whiskey and other British food products favoured by Americans. This way they'd save a fortune on having to fly empty slave planes straight back to the USA, and with a triangular trade, as had happened centuries before, there would be benefits for everyone. And, what's more, John explained to my owner, with both men almost roaring with laughter - all the produce could perfectly legitimately be described as "entirely gown by hand without using machines, so conserving the earth's resources" - this would appeal hugely to fucking stupid "ethical" shoppers who would be prepared to pay very high prices for it, without even considering how you could produce tons of this stuff without mechanical assistance!
Although both men carried on drinking, I noticed that John was an astute business man as he never quite emptied his glass, and so remained much more sober than my owner. In the early hours of the morning, too, he showed absolutely no hesitation in fucking me again, as I lay on my back holding my ankles so that he could demonstrate, for my owner's amusement, the many ways that he could "control" me with the way he used his dick on my ass.
As he was dressing and preparing to go home, and I was standing against the wall dog tired as it was so late and the weight of my collar hung heavy, John came over and ran his hands lightly over my body, pausing every now and then to feel some particular feature like my nips, or the solid ridges of muscle on my belly, or my dick. He was holding that in the palm of his hand, and idly 'skinned me back. "I must complement you, sir, on this slave", he remarked to my owner. "He was an excellent fuck, and he's beautifully hung."
"Yes, John. And you're not so bad yourself - I might yet change my mind and have you enslaved..."
Both men laughed and John went on "But you know, when I first saw him, I thought he might not be so good - first impressions count, and the beauty of this dick is really concealed when he's not erect as his 'skin is so prominent. I went to the gym in the capital two days ago, and all the bath slaves there are cut."
"Wasn't it rather bold of you to go there...?"
"Oh yes, that! Most of the members seemed to be outraged that a white guy should be using the facilities, and I heard a lot of them muttering on about a white guys' sweat staining the apparatus, and crap like that. Pure prejudice, of course. And some of them even tried to make me fetch them towels in the sauna, as they thought I was a slave with my white skin, and when I told them to fetch it themselves, and to get one for me at the same time, they just said things like 'fucking dirty whiteys oughtn't to be allowed in here with decent folk'. Anyway, I expect they'll change their views slowly, and see that skin colour isn't important, one day.... But the point of all this is that the slaves there had all been 'skinned, and they looked so much better. Now I know Steve here is erect most of the time, but when he's not, his head is concealed, and that seems to be such a pity. I'm just a little surprised, sir, that you put him on as an entertainment for your guests when some of the best parts of him are not always on show"
My owner nodded, but didn't say anything, and John continued dressing then left, and I was returned to the slave barn.
Of course all of us slaves soon started to suffer from our owner's new strategy: growing cotton and stuff was hard, but fruit and vegetables was infinitely worse. For one thing, we got four crops a year now, so four lots of hoeing, four lots of digging, and so on. And it all needed picking, too - I lost count of the number of days I spent crawling on m hands and knees across the strawberry and asparagus fields, selecting and picking the fruit. What made it particularly awful, though, was that we were not allowed to piss now as we worked - you still couldn't stop as your coffle moved across the field so you had to hold it in until the midday break, as they didn't want the fruit and vegetables "contaminated". And it was, of course ,absolutely forbidden to eat any of the fruit, as it was our owner's property and we would be reducing his profits - at midday, and in the evening, the guards came along and smelled our breath, and if there was the slightest suggestion of a hint of fruit or vegetables, we were caned. Given the blandness of our normal diet, this was a particularly harsh requirement - surely just one or two strawberries per slave would not have made that much difference
Surprisingly I was taken out again and cleaned as usual for a studding only the next night after the visit of the white Englishman - usually my owner didn't stud me on two successive days. Everything looked normal when I was taken into the dining room - my owner and some of his "regulars" were around the table as usual, and as I stood there waiting for the bitch to be brought in, they were all engaged in animated discussion, involving a lot of hand waving and laughter.
Finally my owner banged the table and said something, and it looked as if they were having a vote, and there was a lot more laughter. He clapped his hands as usual and they brought in the studding bench and I stood there waiting to see which bitch it would be tonight, but instead the big brutal guard came over and pushed me towards it. Oh well, so I was just going to get fucked - I was used to that by now and I supposed my owner's friends had been voting about which one was going first, or something.
The guard pushed me down on my back and clipped my collar to the bench so I could not move, but then it was different - he pulled out a strap and tightened it around my belly, and two more fixed my thighs securely to the bench's legs. This was going to be some weird fuck, I thought - presumably they were going just to use my throat.
My owner came and stood between my legs and his friends clustered around, and he said something to them, and then switched into English. "I'm proud of you as a stud, Steve. But something my guest said last night set me thinking, and the more I thought about it, the more I realised he was right - as a stud, you're often on display here for some time before you are used, and I think we all miss out by not getting to see you properly. I've called a number of people in the city today, and everyone agrees that the proper 'look' for a stud is to be sleek and exposed, so we're just going to 'clip' you - get rid of that unsightly 'skin so that we can see you better."
I was so horrified that I forgot all the rules of slave behaviour and blurted out "No, master, please...."
"So, Steve, it's as I suspected all these years. You have not yet acclimatised fully to being a slave. You know it is forbidden to speak unless asked a question, and yet here, in front of my friends, you shame me! I do wonder if I have done the right thing by breeding from you - although you have a magnificent body, perhaps I should have selected a slave with less spirit. A slave has no need of courage. But still, it is perhaps too late now. But let us get started."
He picked up my dick, and I tried to struggle to break free, but it was useless as the straps bit into my belly and legs. My master stared along my body, and said quietly as he looked at me "You deserve to be punished for your display tonight, Steve. I had intended to give you an injection to lessen the pain, but perhaps I will just do it as we are now - I have done this before, and whilst I may not be as quick and efficient as those doctors who routinely circumcise babies, the principle is the same..."
I watched in horror as the guard gave him a small envelope, which said "Sterile" on it, and my master tore it open to get out a scalpel, which glittered in the lights. I began to scream as he made the first incision.
End Of Part Four