`FATHER AND SON'
A Short Story

This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over
the age of eighteen years

Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris):  March 2011

"The characters and ideas contained in this story are the
writer's and shouldn't be used without permission. Please respect
the integrity of the story and don't rewrite."

Luther had told me I'd be impressed with Darnell's Slave Emporium
and he isn't wrong. He'd told me everything about the building is
tasteful and my dealings would be handled with the utmost
discretion and privacy. The Emporium's understated street façade
hides the fact that it is a clearing house for whitey slaves and
the opaqueness of its frosted glass windows shield its interior
from the curious eyed of the casual passer-by in the street. I am
impressed and my confidence grows.

Personally, I'd always considered the slave trade as sordid and
those who worked in it as my social inferiors.

It isn't that I am opposed to slavery. Not at all! Such a thought
never enters my head. It's just that I have always viewed the
`pedlars of human flesh' as boorish and uncouth. Well, that is
how they always appear to me in their shonky, television
advertising.  But then, I don't know any slavers personally and
my contact with them has been very minimal.  Mainly, it has been
limited to the municipal slave markets which I consider to be
smelly, unsavoury places and I seldom venture into them.

I really hate the malodorous squalor of these markets. And I
agree with my good friend Luther Thomas that the municipal
slave-markets leave much to be desired. Usually they have poor
quality stock; rejects that the upmarket slave boutiques refuse
to handle. And they stink to high heaven!

There is something about the whitey's metabolism that offends my
sense of smell.  Should I be successful in buying a slave today,
then I will ensure that he keeps himself clean and his body
odour-free.

I am in the market for a domestic slave and acting on the advice
given to me by my good friend Luther - he'd recently purchased
two slaves from here, one for himself and one as a Christmas
present for his nephew, Max - I have come to Darnell's Slave
Emporium to peruse their stock.

Written on the outside of the building is a sign which tells me
that Darnell's are purveyors of the finest slaves and inviting me
to inspect their stock at my leisure. However, I do see that I am
too early and the hours for viewing the slaves are between 10.00
AM and 3.00 PM.  As it is only 8.30 AM, I decide to continue on
to my office and to return later during an extended lunch break.

As I turn to walk away, the door opens and I am pleasantly
greeted by a young, white slave of impeccable appearance. He
falls to his knees and presses his forehead to the ground as a
mark of his respect to me as a Black Superior.

I order him to his feet. I would prefer to look into the slave's
face as I speak rather than at his upturned ass.

"Stand up, slave!"

"Sir, thank you. Can I be of assistance to you Sir?

"I doubt it boy! I have come to inspect and perhaps to buy a
slave. But I see that I am too early and that the slaves aren't
available for inspection until 10.00 AM."

"Sir! Please come in and allow me to fetch my master. I am sure
my master will want to speak to you about your needs, Sir!"

I scrutinise the slave and I like what I see. He is stark naked-
this is after all standard practice for all whitey slaves - and
he is a delight to the eyes. He stands at about six feet tall and
weighs approximately eleven to twelve stones and his body is
muscular without it being excessively so. He moves with an easy
grace and as he does so, the muscles of his glabrous body ripple
and flex in a most delightful way. He possesses a flawlessly
smooth, ivory skin, an angular face with an aquiline nose and
lustrous grey-green eyes. When he smiles - and he does so often -
his full red lips part to show the pearly whiteness of his teeth.
Unusually he has shoulder length jet-black hair tied back into a
ponytail.  I am surprised by this; most slave owners of my
acquaintance have the heads of their slaves closely cropped. But
I'm not opposed to it. Somehow his hair style suits the slave.
And I estimate his age at somewhere between the early to
mid-twenties.

I remember Luther telling me how he was greeted by his new slave,
Ben on his arrival at the emporium and how he'd been instantly
smitten by the slave to the extent that he knew immediately that
he wanted to own him. I can't say this slave has a similar effect
upon me but it is obvious he has been especially chosen to serve
as a `meet and greet' slave for the emporium's owners. And I have
to admit; he performs the task admirably. He treats me with
respectful deference and is unfailingly polite and I can't fault
him. If he is a sample of the stock offered by Darnell's Slave
Emporium, then I am impressed.

Of course I'm not aware that the slave's actions are being
monitored on CCTV which will be reviewed by his master at the end
of the day and should he be found wanting then he will be whipped
and returned to the pens for sale at the next scheduled auction.


The slave is canny enough to realise that being the cheerful
`face' for the emporium gives him an opportunity to impress any
potential clients - much as Ben had done with Luther.  If he
ingratiates himself with them then, just possibly, he could be
sold by private negotiation.  Better this than face the trauma of
sale by auction.

Despite his efforts, I have no interest in the slave. It is my
intention to return later when the slaves are available for
inspection and I turn to leave.

"SIR! PLEASE allow me to fetch my master to talk to you. Please
Sir!"

There is a note of urgency in the slave's voice. It is as though
he is pleading with me to stay and talk to his master.
Nevertheless, I disregard him and I'm totally unprepared for what
happens next.

The slave falls to his knees and begins to plead.

"Sir, please talk to my Master? Please. My master will be angry
when he learns that I have allowed you to leave before he has a
chance to greet you. Sir, he will punish me severely for my
dereliction of duty."

I detect the note of fear in the slave's voice as he desperately
pleads with me.  My first impulse is to ignore him. After all I'm
not concerned whether his master punishes him. If he offends his
master then, of course, he must be punished but that will be his
master's decision and it is unfair of the slave to try and
involve me. Momentarily, I experience a flash of anger at the
slave's presumption in seeking to attach blame to me for any
potential chastisement he will receive. However, I'm not an
unkind person - even to a whitey slave - and I agree to speak to
his master.

The slave is obviously relieved and to my embarrassment he drops
to his knees and kisses my feet as he thanks me most profusely.
Once more I order him to his feet and instruct him to fetch his
master.

He hurries off and returns within a couple of minutes with
Richard Darnell, the proprietor of the Emporium. I offer my hand
in greeting and introduce myself.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Cleavon Sonntag. And you must
be Richard Darnell?  You come highly recommended, Mr Darnell. One
of my work colleagues speaks glowingly of you and the quality of
your livestock. It is at his suggestion that I am here."

"And who might that be, Mr Sonntag?"

"Luther Thomas. I believe he did business with you some months
ago - around Christmas time."

"Ah yes! I remember Luther. In fact, he made two purchases from
me. One was a young Australasian slave he bought as a present for
his nephew and the other -if my memory serves me correctly -was
for his own use.  But I recall both purchases. They were prime
young whiteys; truly magnificent slaves. I wonder, have you heard
how both slaves fared?

"Yes indeed, I do know Mr Darnell. In fact, it was after I'd
visited Luther's home and saw the slave - I think his name is Ben
- when I decided I should follow suit and acquire a slave for my
use. Ben is a delightful slave -happy, courteous, loyal and
steadfast in his resolve to do all within his power to please his
Master. And those are the qualities that I'm looking for in my
purchase."

"Yes, I remember Ben. He was here for several months before I
sold him to Luther. He served as our door slave and I didn't have
one complaint about him. Quite the contrary, we received many
compliments on his pleasant demeanour and we had many offers to
buy him. But I had given Luther first right of refusal. So I take
it Luther is happy with his new slave?"

"He's very happy, Mr Darnell. He told me that Ben - unlike his
older slave, Tim required the minimum of training. He hardly
needed to cane or whip Ben who proved a willing pupil. Why,
Luther told me the other day that Ben bends over to please him."

"As he should, Mr Sonntag.  As he should! But tell me.... does
Luther still have his older slave?"

"Yes he does. Luther is very attached to his slave Tim but he did
confide in me recently that there are insufficient duties for
both Tim and Ben and that he will have to get rid of Tim to make
way for Ben. So I wouldn't be surprised if you have a visit from
him soon to arrange Tim's sale."

"I'm always happy to oblige and should Luther wish it then I'll
happily handle the sale of his slave. There's always a demand for
well-trained, docile slaves to act as a `house whitey'. But what
of the other slave - the Christmas present to Luther's nephew? 
How did he fare?"

"From what I understand, he wasn't as easy to train as Ben. I
gather there was some emotional baggage with that boy and it had
to be beaten out of him. I heard from Luther that the slave had
to be regularly caned or whipped to get him to toe the line. But
the last I heard, he has buckled down and is now quite happy in
service to his young Master, Max.  Presently, he serves Luther's
nephew as his body slave at College."

"Ah! So the slave is sampling college life. I wonder what
subjects he's studying. From what I remember about the slave he's
eminently suited for extra-curricular activities. I should think
his Master assigns lots of homework to him. And who could blame
him? That slave is superb. But tell me. How can I be of
assistance to you, Mr Sonntag? "

"Perhaps, if I tell you a little about myself it might help, Mr
Darnell."

"Please do! But let's not be so formal, Mr Sonntag. Call me
Richard."

"Thank you Richard and my name is Cleavon by the way."

"Well Cleavon! Tell me something of your background. What are
your requirements and what type of a slave are you looking to
purchase?"

"Richard, really there's not much to tell. I'm a widower and live
with my teenaged son, Du-Shaunt on a small holding on the
outskirts of town. However, the house is large - too large for me
to maintain - and I now find I have to travel extensively with my
work.  This means that my son is left alone and this worries me.
I thought if we have a slave in the household, then he could take
care of Du-Shaunt while I'm away. And of course the slave will
need to keep house and maintain the grounds. So basically, there
it is. Do you have a suitable slave in stock?"

"And how old is Du-Shaunt?"

"He's eighteen and quite involved in his college work. That's the
other reason why I need a slave. During my absences, I don't want
Du-Shaunt interrupting his studies or skipping meals."

"Ah! Du-Shaunt is quite the young adult and well able to control
and manage a house slave in your absence.  But your concern is
understandable, Cleavon. It does you credit. Please continue."

"In fairness to Du-Shaunt, I want to spend all my available free
time with him and not be tied down with tiresome house chores and
an endless routine of gardening and grounds keeping. I need a
slave to relieve me of these burdens. I have discussed this with
Du-Shaunt and he enthusiastically supports the idea to such an
extent that I have promised to let him help me to make my final
choice. That's why I'm here; to do some preliminary scouting
before Du-Shaunt and I make our final selection."

"Cleavon, I'm sure we'll find the ideal slave for you. I always
tell my clients there's a slave to suit all requirements. But
tell me more about your property. How large is it? And how big is
the house?"

"Well Richard, as I said the grounds are extensive and the house
has five bedrooms, three bathrooms and large formal and informal
living areas.  As you can imagine Richard, all this is beyond me.
I find all my spare time is spent with house work and outdoor
maintenance. Oh! I forgot to mention the swimming -pool, the spa
and sauna and the barbeque area."

"That all sounds very impressive, Cleavon. With all that to care
for you certainly do need a suitable slave to assist you?"

"Well not so much to assist me, Richard. I'm looking for a slave
who can do all the work around the house and grounds and leave me
free for my work and to allow me to spend all my leisure time
with Du-Shaunt."

"Well, we have any number of slaves capable of meeting your
requirements. In fact, our pens have just been replenished with a
shipment of new stock. Would you like to inspect them, Cleavon?"

"Of course, Richard! That's the purpose of my visit. To see if I
can find a slave to suit my needs."

"What exactly do you have in mind, Cleavon? Do you have any
particular type of slave in mind?"

"Not really, Richard! I've kept an open mind and thought I'd see
what you have on offer. But I have to admit I was quite taken
with Luther's two purchases.... Ben and the Australasian slave.
If my memory serves me correctly, I think his name was Kurt. Do
you have anything like those two boys in stock?"

"I'm sure we do, Cleavon. But to be honest, most of our current
stock is fresh off the trucks just last evening and I haven't had
time to inventory them as yet.  But other than them, we do have a
few exotics - although they are locals and not imports like the
slave, Kurt. I'm sure we can find you a slave that will meet with
your approval."

"Great! I look forward to inspecting them."

"In that case, let me take you over to our holding pens and you
can inspect the slaves in the pens at your leisure. Should any
catch you eye then I can have them removed from the pens and
taken to one of our inspection salons for closer scrutiny. But I
must warn you.  As most of them have just arrived, they haven't
yet been processed so you might find them a little on the rough
side."

"What do you mean, by not being processed, Richard?"

"Well we haven't as yet cleaned them up after their trip from
interstate. Consequently they are malodorous. They came to us in
slave transporters and I believe the trip took two days and one
night. So as you can imagine, after being crammed tightly against
one another for that period of time, they're .... How can I
describe them ....? I suppose there is no other way of putting
this delicately ..... they're pretty shitty and on the nose."

I suppose to be forewarned is to be forearmed and Richard had
done the correct in preparing me. But as we exit the calm,
air-conditioned luxury of the main building and cross the
internal courtyard to the holding pens, my nose detects the
distinctive slave odour of unwashed bodies, excrement, urine and
vomit - and crinkles in disgust. I am reminded of the municipal
slave pens that I find so distasteful.

I find the slaves' stink to be off-putting and I am tempted to
call a halt to my inspection. However, Richard has been kind
enough to allow me to peruse his livestock before the official
inspection hours and it would be discourteous of me to walk away
now. And really it isn't his fault; if I'd come later in the day,
I don't doubt that his stock would be clean and sweet-smelling.

And as if to emphasise this point, I watch as a group of ten,
heavily chained slaves are whip driven out of the holding pens
and across the yard to the ablution block. Richard instructs the
overseers to halt the slaves so that I can look at them.

At first glance these slaves are a sorry looking lot. They are
young, adult males and of course all are as naked as the day
their mothers gave birth to them.  I see confusion and fear
written on their faces and their wild-eyed expressions are those
of trapped animals. I wonder about their backgrounds and about
the reasons they are now slaves. Are they court sentenced slaves
or they are `harvested' stock gathered up by slavers raiding
their remote communities and carrying them off into captivity?

At the time of the "Great Reversal" which saw the ultimate
triumph of Blacks over the Caucasian race, many thousands of
whiteys chose not to live under our benign dictatorship and
deserted the cities they had once dominated. They retreated into
the remote, unpopulated, heavily forested and arid areas of the
planet and set up small, self-contained communities where they
now live free from Black Domination. Here they live at
subsistence level s maintaining herds of cattle and goats and
eking out just enough crops to feed their families.

Of course, the "Reversal" took place some one hundred and fifty
years ago and the former `unified' - and I use the word advisedly
- white society has fragmented even further into what can loosely
be called a state of tribalism.

I have read media reports of how these remote white tribes are
constantly at war with one another over land disputes and the
stealing of one another's females and livestock. It occurs to me
that nothing much has changed in the white psyche. The whitey
remains competitive and warlike by nature as always.

And in recent years these remote communities have become rich,
"harvesting fields" for white slaves.

Our cities are still the principal recruiting grounds for most of
our white slaves. Our zero tolerance of bad behaviour among our
white subjects ensures that the courts are a continuing supply
source of slaves to meet our affluent society's ever growing
demand for domestic servants. These urban whiteys are eagerly
sort after.  Considered to be tame, these urban slaves settle
readily into their lives of servitude and are easy to train.
Consequently, they fetch high prices at auction.

But the wild whitey slave - those harvested in the remote areas -
is a very different animal.  He is unused to contact with the
Black man and unused to our ways. Indeed, for many, their first
sighting of a Black man is usually when he is captured by them.
They remain resentful almost to the point of rebelliousness and
must be trained with an iron fist. Such a wild slave is difficult
to domesticate and in the main he is used for heavy duty work on
our farms, in our factories, mines and quarries. And they are
used to a large extent in our construction industries.

The market for this latter type of slave is a growing one and in
recent years many enterprising Black adventurers conduct
slave-raiding expeditions into these remote white areas.  It is a
high risk enterprise; these white areas are wild, lawless zones
where the Black man is seen as a predatory enemy. But the returns
are great and many slavers are prepared to risk their safety in
the interest of a quick profit. Unfortunately, many a Black
slaver has paid the ultimate cost with his life.

Far more adept are our Arab brethren. They have a thousand years'
history of slave taking and this makes them far more successful
than the Black slaver.

The Arab slavers are cunning and possess a stealth that allows
them to surround a whitey village in the pre-dawn darkness
without detection. The unsuspecting whiteys, slumbering
peacefully in their homes, are taken by surprise and within
minutes they are stripped naked and securely fastened into a
coffle.

Then they begin their long journey into slavery. The absence of
roads in the white areas mean the new slaves must be driven, on
foot and under the whips of their captors, to  distant
distribution centres where they are" sold on"  to the wholesalers
who then sell them to the city merchants like Richard Darnell.

I am curious about the origin of these ten slaves and ask Richard
if they are tame, urban slaves or newly taken wild ones.  I
suspect the latter and Richard confirms that they are. They
certainly have an air of wildness about them.

In the main they are young- I estimate the oldest to be no more
than mid-thirty at the most - and all have long, shoulder length
hair and are heavily bearded. Their chests, bellies and limbs
have a covering of body hair and this is in sharp contrast to our
domestic slaves who all have cropped heads and smooth, hairless
bodies; we even routinely remove a slave's pubes for hygienic
reasons.

Personally, I'd always preferred a slave with a glabrous body but
something about these ten slaves fascinates me. Their body hair
adds `something' to their allure and I am fascinated by it. It's
true that their body hair gives them a primitive, untamed look
but it also hints at their bodily strength and adds to their
masculine physicality. I quite like it.

All ten have superbly well-developed bodies as you would expect
from those who must work hard to survive and they are of a
uniform build and height. But that is where their uniformity ends
for each has a different hair colouring. This disparity of hair
colour in the whitey has always intrigued me. I accept the
conventional wisdom of this as another example of the inherent
`weaknesses' in the Caucasian races. It is evidence of the
fragmentation - and I would add the degeneration - of the white
man in his evolution.

I recall one lesson at school when a wise teacher likened the
evolution of the human race to that of a mighty tree. I recall
vividly that he told his students the strong trunk of this
`evolutionary tree' is the superior Black Race whose extensive
roots are firmly planted in the rich nurturing soil of Mother
Africa and  the spreading, primary branches represent our
brethren the Arabs and other coloured races. The tangle of weak,
spindly growth at the end of these strong branches is synonymous
with the fragmentation and multiplicity of the white races.

This vision of the `tree of evolution' has stayed with me. And as
I look upon these ten slaves I see the living proof of it. At one
end of the colour spectrum are the blonds while at the opposite
end are those with black hair. The hair colouring of the other
slaves varies between these two extremes.  One individual even
has bright red hair, milky white skin and a face and shoulders
covered in freckles.

I know such a slave isn't suited to outdoor labour - his tender
skin would frizzle in the sun's intensity - and he will be sold
for indoor duties. And I know some buyers would see his red hair
and freckles as a novelty. However, I don't!

But one slave does interest me. He is the oldest of the ten and I
guess him to be in his mid-thirties. What is it that attracts me
to him? Certainly he is an impressive slave with a magnificent
physique and a prominent musculature. He has a thatch of unruly,
blond hair with bangs that hang down over his forehead and a
matching beard. His strong, handsome features are dominated by
his noble nose and full red lips. And his eyes are the rich azure
colour of a sparkling sea. His chest and limbs all have a light
dusting of hair the same colour as that on his head and he has a
delightful treasure trail of slightly darker hair trailing down
over his ribbed belly to his pubes; the thick golden bush does
nothing to hide his prodigious genitalia. I notice that he is
uncircumcised and smile inwardly at the thought that he is
blissfully unaware that he is soon to lose his prepuce. In our
society no slave is allowed to retain his foreskin and our laws
prescribe that all newly enslaved whiteys must be circumcised.

The slave has broad shoulders and his back tapers down to a
narrow, trim waist that flares out into the full, rounded curves
of his muscular buttocks.  If there is a fault with the slave it
is that the deep tan of his body is broken by the lighter
coloured tan of his ass and midriff. Quite obviously, he was an
outdoor worker - most probably a peasant farmer - and worked
semi-naked.  I dislike this break between the colour of his upper
torso and his muscular legs but I consider this is a minor fault
and not irredeemable. Working fully naked in the outdoors would
soon correct this anomaly in his overall appearance.

But then I notice the slave's touching concern for a younger
slave who is chained next to him. At first, I am puzzled by this;
the notion that slaves have emotional feelings is something I've
never considered.  Momentarily, I feel sympathy for the slaves
but then I tell myself that I am moving into unfamiliar
territory. As a Black Superior, I should only ever view a white
slave as I would any other domestic animal.

The younger slave is obviously distressed and I can see that he
is crying. Touchingly, the older slave takes him into a tight
embrace and this attracts the attention of the overseers who use
their whips to separate the two slaves. Richard tells me such
displays of affection between slaves are actively discouraged.

The older slave reacts angrily and lunges at his tormentors only
to be restrained by his chains. Such defiance isn't to be
tolerated and the whips fall repeatedly on his unprotected body
until he falls to his knees in submission.

It is then that I see the striking resemblance between the two
slaves. They are as alike as two peas in a pod. Surely they are
brothers?  My curiosity is aroused and I ask Richard if this
could be so.

"It's quite possible that the two are related, Cleavon. After
all, if they are from the same village then it is highly
probable. Let's ask them, shall we?"

"Slave," Richard addresses the older slave, "are you two related
in any way?"

The slave glares at Richard with hate-filled eyes and maintains a
sullen silence. However, it is to be his last act of rebellion
and I'm sure he doesn't notice Richard's slight nod of the head
to his overseers. Reacting quickly to Richard's unspoken
instruction, they lay into the younger slave and whip him to his
knees.

"STOP IT! STOP IT!" The older slave pleads with Richard. "He's my
son! Please stop?"

To say I am amazed is an understatement. It hardly seems possible
that these two slaves are father and son. The older slave seems
too young to have sired such a well-developed son. I estimate
that the father is roughly twice the age of the son. So if the
father is aged in his mid-thirties then the son would be aged
seventeen or eighteen.  But I have to say the father is very
young looking and would pass as his son's older brother.  I
suppose these primitive whites in their remote communities do
start to procreate at a much earlier age than we do.

"Tell me boy! You were taken together?  Is that correct?"

"YES!" The older slave's answer is curt and lacks respect and
this angers Richard. Viciously, he delivers two stinging slaps;
the first to the right side and the second to the left side of
the slave's face with such force that the slave staggers under
its impact.

"SLAVE!  I own you and you will address me as Master until such
time as you are sold to a new Master. Do you understand me? Defy
me and your son will be punished in your place. Do you understand
me?"

"Yes...." The slave hesitates, but then accepts the inevitable,
"....... Master."

"Then answer me boy! Were you taken together and tell me about
your background."

I listen as the slave tells us about his capture and enslavement.
He'd been a member of a small community of white subsistence
farmers in a semi-arid area. Recently, the community had
harvested their crops and as was their custom they'd marked the
occasion with a day and night of feasting and dancing. They'd
also indulged heavily in a heady, intoxicating brew of fermented
barley and had fallen into a drunken stupor unaware that their
village had been marked as a target by Arab slavers.

Too late, they awoke to find themselves under attack and in their
drunken state they were no match for the Arabs. Within the hour,
the villagers were stripped naked and chained into two,
segregated coffles; one for the adult males and the other for the
women and children and as they were driven into their new
captivity, their village was torched.

The slave relays to us a graphic story of the long march overland
to a far distant distribution centre. He tells us of the heat,
the insects, the hunger and thirst and of the brutality of their
new Arab masters. He tells us of the heavy chains that weighed
them down and of the savage whips that kept them moving.

I listen with growing sympathy as he speaks of the dehumanisation
of his family and fellow villagers and of their relegation to the
level of animals. He tells of the shame they felt in their new
nakedness and of the lack of privacy that forced them defecate
and urinate in front of each other.

 But then he breaks down and weeps as he tells us of his pain at
being separated from his wife, younger son and daughter. The last
he saw of them was on their arrival at the distribution centre
where they were separated as he and his son were placed in the
holding pens for adult, male slaves.

Tearfully, he tells us.

"My son is all I have left of my old life and I love him. Please
don't separate us, Master."

I have to admit, I found his story to be heart wrenching; his
pain and suffering are all too evident. This is an aspect of
slavery I am only vaguely aware of and I've never bothered myself
with it. And why would I? In our society we have enthusiastically
embraced slavery as an integral part of our culture. We are
surrounded by our slaves. They are ever present yet we don't
really see them. They live side by side with us and yet we ignore
their pain and deny them their emotions.

And we never consider how we come by our slaves. That is a
subject we never discuss. Slaves appear in our auction-houses -
we take that for granted - and we never ask how they arrived
there. Perhaps we find that question as too confronting and
choose to ignore it.  It is much like the meat we buy in our
well-stocked supermarkets. As we dine on our roast dinners and
tuck into our king sized steaks do we consider the fattening pens
and the abattoirs? Of course we don't!

These two slaves intrigue me and I want to inspect them. The fact
that they are father and son fascinates me. Could it be that I,
as a father with a son of a similar age to the young slave
standing dejectedly with his father, feel sympathy for their
plight?

And as though he is reading my mind the father falls to his knees
before Richard and begs.

"Please Master let me stay with my son. Please Master don't
separate us."

The son takes his cue from his father and falling to his knees,
he adds his pleas to those of his father.

"Please Master! Let me stay with my dad. Please Master!
Please......."

It is at this moment that I decide I want these two slaves. I
tell myself that I have enough work for two slaves; the house and
its extensive grounds would keep both slaves gainfully employed.
I'd come to the market this morning to buy one slave. Now I am to
buy two - a father and son pairing.

But first I need to scrutinise them further. But their filth
covered bodies repulse me and they will need to be cleaned up
before I could touch them.

I ask Richard's permission to examine them in the more salubrious
surroundings of an inspection salon. He hesitates.

"Are you sure about this, Cleavon? Remember they are wild,
untamed slaves and I think you will have your work cut out to
break them. Let me show you some of our tame whiteys. I would
strongly recommend it. I'm sure one of them will suit your needs
better than these two."

Richard is right. The father and son are `unbroken and untested'
and it will take much effort on my part to turn them into the
docile, obedient slaves that I require them to be.  They present
me with a challenge but it is one that I want to meet. For some
unknown reason, I am attracted to both the father and the son and
I know they will sorely test my patience as I break their spirits
and bend them to my will. I promise myself that I will domesticate 
them and that I will have my own son, Du-Shaunt to assist me.

And the irony of the situation doesn't escape me. The thought of
these two slaves - father and son - serving me and my own son -
excites me. My mind is made up. I want these two slaves.

"Richard, these two boys interest me. I know they are new to
slavery and will try my patience but there is something about
them that challenges me. Richard, I need look no further. I want
these two slaves."

Both father and son have been listening to our conversation and
now they kneel at my feet and beg me to buy them. As the father
kisses my feet, his tears darken the leather of my shoes.

"Please Sir!" the father begs. "Buy us and keep us together
please Sir. You won't be sorry! We'll both serve you faithfully,
Sir!"

"Very well, Cleavon," Richard sighs, "I can see you have made up
your mind. I'll have these two boys cleaned up and taken to an
inspection room for you. But I'm sorry! Their preparation will be
superficial; just a hosing and a scrubbing down with soap to
remove the travel grime and filth. There isn't time to groom them
or to cut their hair, to shave their beards and to remove their
body hair."

"Their body hair doesn't concern me at all, Richard. In fact, I
will allow both slaves to retain it. I think it gives them an
exotic look."

I look at down at both slaves crouching at my feet. With their
foreheads pressed to the ground and their asses elevated, I watch
the nervous quivering of their powerful back muscles.

I wonder - how would I react if it were Du-Shaunt and I who were
kneeling naked at the feet of a whitey master? Would I - like
this father - beg not to be separated from my son? The answer is
plainly obvious.

Yes, I would! I would beg with all my heart and with every fibre
of my being. I would humble myself at his feet and tearfully
plead... just as this father is doing.

I love my son, Du-Shaunt that much!


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