Phillip's Story
 "Today, I learn the Truth about Phillip"

By: Jean-Christophe
(© 2011-2013 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 10
“The Plow-slave” 

Of late, Master has been much sterner with me. He now rigidly controls my every action and I am subject to his firm handling and even firmer discipline if the need for it arises.

I'm not sure why this is. Nor is it my place to wonder about it. It's enough that my Master considers it necessary and, as always, I accept his wiser counsel; I know all the decisions he makes on my behalf will make me a better slave and will enhance his life through my service to him. After twelve years of enslavement, I have long accepted that a Black Master instinctively knows what is best for his white slave.

Nevertheless, I do wonder why Master has suddenly become sterner. Could it be that after those twelve years of servitude I have unthinkingly become lax in my attitudes towards him and slipshod in my slave duties. Heaven forbid that this is so! But then, if it is so, Master does has the right to correct me.

I'd not noticed that I had become careless but does a slave ever know his own shortcomings unless his Master points them to him - sometimes painfully? A dutiful, faithful slave should always be alert to see that he pleases his Master and to meet his every need. Perhaps, Master considers I have failed to do this and has embarked on a programme of correction for me.

Of course there'd been that long absence when Master worked out of state leaving me alone to maintain his large house and its surrounding six acres of ground. I'd continue to carry on with my slave chores as though Master was still with me to guide and instruct in my duties. However, I know I'd failed in some areas. And this was because of my Master's absence; the truth of the matter is that without my Master at the helm of my slavery I am like a rudderless ship. During that period, I missed my Master dreadfully and I fretted for him. And if I am completely honest with myself - as a slave must be - I know I didn't live up to the high standards that Master expects and demands of me.

A slave has no personal freedoms other than what his Master graciously gives him. Prior to Master's absence, I'd enjoyed a lot of freedom; the freedom to use the internet and Instant Messenger being among them.

Lately these have been severely curtailed and the time I would previously have spent on these is now spent standing at the modified slave position facing the wall while Master relaxes in front of the TV. This is very hard for me; I hear the dialogue but can't see what is happening and this secretly frustrates me. But it is a frustration I must never show publicly. I'm forbidden to talk or to move and my time must be spent reflecting on what it means to be a dutiful, obedient, faithful and pleasing slave to my Master in particular and to all Black Superiors in general. These thoughts do impress upon me that I have no free will of my own and that I cannot give expression to anything other than what my Master allows.

Sometimes Master will leave whatever it is that he is doing and wander over to where I am standing. There he'll fondle my ass or slap it; whatever he has a mind to do. Again as I am his property, that choice is his to make. This simply re-enforces his ownership and control over me.

This has become the pattern for most nights. Once my chores are completed, I present myself to Master for instructions and he will then order me to face the wall. The periods I spend in the corner can vary considerably. They can last from forty-five minutes up to an hour and a half or even to when Master retires for the night.

In addition to this, Master is working me much harder than previously. I know Master has been told by other Superiors that he is too lenient with me and that I am more of a "pet" than a slave. Prominent among my critics are Master's father, Sir Terrell and his young cousin, Sir Jermain.

Last year, Master's brother, Sir Lachlan had acquired a white slave he named jem and I know that Sir is rigidly training his new slave. Perhaps Master feels the time is right to "retrain" me in line with slave jem. But this is just conjecture on my part. I'm not privy to my Master's thoughts or attitudes. And of course, he never discusses these things with me.

Recently Master introduced me to a new exercise program that concentrated on the strength of my back muscles, thighs and legs.

Of course Master has always been strict in his fitness requirements for me and he has always striven to keep me trim and healthy. Given his long involvement with Black Rule and white slavery Master is well-versed in white slave husbandry and instinctively knows what is best for me.

Growing up in a white slave-owning family on a farm, he knows the importance of diet and hard field work to keep a white slave both healthy and happy.

With this in mind, Master has always regulated my diet and strictly enforced it. Of course, what is normal food for our Black Owners doesn't necessarily mean that it is good for their white slaves. I am not allowed to eat to excess or to indulge in unhealthy foods and the list of foods forbidden me is quite extensive.

Occasionally, as I serve Master his dinner and watch the food he eats, I am a little envious. This applies especially as I watch him eat delicious, mouth-watering desserts, ice cream - once a particular favourite of mine - and chocolate all of which are now forbidden me.

Master, in common with all Black Superiors, takes pride in his ownership in me. He likes to see me trim, fit and much admired by his family and Superior friends. Whenever, I am inspected by any Superiors and favourably commented on by them, I see Master's pleasure in their praise. I suppose it is the same type of pleasure that an owner gets from an expensive car or some other personal possession that impresses his friends.

And really, is there any difference between me and any other of my Master's prized possessions? Perhaps I can be likened to an automobile; when the hands of a Superior examine me and glide over my naked body exploring the contours of my musculature is there any difference to those same hands following the sweeps and curves of an expensive automobile?

And like his car, Master insists on keeping me in prime condition and top working order; therefore he concentrates on my general wellbeing and fitness. I am taken to the slave veterinarian for regular yearly examinations and should I fall ill or if Master is concerned about an injury I have sustained, then I am taken to the vet as soon as possible.

It has to be said that Master takes great care of me!

To date, Master has concentrated on my general overall fitness in his exercise program for me. Master takes me to a fitness centre and personally watches me exercise to see that I am adhering to his requirements. But as I have said his regime is one that exercises the whole body rather than individual muscle groups.

Master's latest orders that I am to build up my back, thighs and legs is very specific and I wonder why he is so concerned with these particular areas of my physique. Have I, in some way, been found wanting? Have I disappointed Master or has he received unflattering comments about my general appearance from his friends?

These thoughts worry me! I would hate to think that I have fallen short of Master's expectations and caused him any embarrassment because of my body's shortcomings. As Master's slave, the last thing I want is to disappoint him and I tell myself that I will follow through on his latest instructions and work very hard to build up the strength in the nominated areas even if I am left to wonder why my Master has decided that I should.

Then Master tells me of his reasons!

Come Spring, Master is returning with me to his father's farm where I am to be put to work for a week's intensive, hard labour. More specifically, I am to be harnessed to a plow and made to pull it in plowing a field for the spring planting.

I vividly remember my last visit last summer when I had toiled naked with other slaves in the fields harvesting and crating tomatoes and cucumbers. That had been a particularly hard week of the most menial, backbreaking work under the whip of a young, sixteen year old Black overseer named Sir Jazeel. And this week promises to be its equal at the very least.

Master, in ordering me to strengthen my back muscles, thighs and legs, is preparing me physically for my week's labour. Now I must prepare myself mentally and emotionally and I have a couple of months to do so.

I've never been shy of hard work outdoors. In fact, I enjoy what I like to call fieldwork maintaining the six acres of gardens, grounds, BBQ area and swimming pool surrounding Master's home. But the week harvesting vegetables in the summer heat and cold rain was very different to what I am used to and I had found it very hard. And yet, despite the long hours, backbreaking labour and Sir Jazeel's whip, I had found the week "rewarding". In a strange way - perhaps only a fellow slave will understand what I am saying
- there'd been a sense of achievement in carrying out the duties allocated to me by Sir Terrell. I suppose the true slave always likes to think that he has pleased his Master and certainly I felt great satisfaction in knowing that I had worked to the best of my ability to please both my Master and his father.

Whatever my feelings about Master's plan, they are of no interest to him and so I simply accept that Master's decision is final and I must now prepare myself for the return visit to Sir Terrell's farm and whatever new trials I might encounter there.

Thursday: "Return to the Farm"

Master leaves for the farm very early on the Thursday before Easter. He'd planned an early start so that we'll arrive around 10.30 AM which will allow me to work for most of the day.

As we approach the farm, Master gives me my usual instructions. I am at all times to be obedient and to work hard at whatever tasks are assigned to me by his father, Sir Terrell. Above all, I am to be submissive and respectful to all Black Superiors I encounter during our stay irrespective of age or sex and to kneel before them and pay them all due homage.

Then as we enter through the gates, Master stops and orders me to "shuck" off the minimal clothing that I wear consisting of pants, t-shirt and footwear. I do so quickly for I know I must be totally naked as Master's parents greet him.

Master's parents, Sir Terrell and Mistress Laqueta are waiting to welcome their son and I stand respectfully in the background as they greet one another and embrace. Then it is my turn to pay my respects to Master's parents. I fall to my knees and crawl forward to humbly kiss their feet as a mark of my respect for them. Of course, as a slave, they don't acknowledge me and my greetings to them are ignored. Yet I know if I'd not greeted them in a satisfactory manner, they'd have noticed and I would be severely punished for my offence.

Sir Terrell wastes no time in putting me to work. I am ordered to my feet and instructed to go to the back garden and report to an overseer. As Master and his parents move indoor - no doubt to partake of most welcome refreshments after such a long drive - I hurry to the back garden.

As I enter the back garden, I am surprised! I see a naked, white slave in his thirties busily working on a stone wall under the supervision of a young Black supervisor. I recognize both supervisor and slave from my last visit for I had worked with the slave under the whip of that same young overseer, seventeen year old Sir Jazeel.

The slave I know as ralph and we'd become well acquainted last summer over our week of toiling together, eating together and sleeping together in the barn overnight. I remember slave ralph telling me that he is a high school teacher who was enslaved many years ago by a Black Principal and that he is now owned by Sir Trayvon, a friend of Master's mother, Mistress Laqueta. And I remember Ralph telling me that he'd once been put to stud and had sired a male pup now called slave rick.

Later that night, stabled in a stall in the barn with slave ralph, I ask about his son, slave rick and he tells me he is also present at the farm serving as the body slave to Master's young cousin, Sir Jermain. slave ralph had driven Sir Jermain and slave rick down to the farm for the Easter break. Immediately on arrival, ralph had been put to work repairing the stone wall.

Upon my arrival, neither slave ralph nor I acknowledge each other and I immediately go to where Sir Jazeel is sitting reading. I fall to my knees and kiss his feet in homage and then I await his instructions. Momentarily, he ignores me; then unexpectedly he leans forward and slaps my face hard. Previously, I have mentioned my feelings about having my faced slapped. It is meant to humiliate and demonstrate to a slave just how lowly he is and it shows the contempt that our Black masters feel towards us. Sir Jazeel notes my reaction to having my face slapped and laughs at my silent discomfort.

Then he speaks.

"So white boy you're back for another week's work! Well don't expect it to be as easy as last time. This time there'll be no babying you. You're here to work hard and I intend to see that you do. I will work you harder than you can ever imagine and even when you think you can't work any harder well then ...... we'll see!"

Sir Jazeel's words alarm me. Last time I'd worked under his control, I was lashed constantly and when I returned home with Master my body wore the angry welts of his whip. Master had taken me to the vet to have them checked and after examining them the vet said no lasting damage had been done and that the welts would heal and gradually disappear. Nevertheless, they'd lingered for almost two weeks before they faded away. Although the welts disappeared, the pain of Sir Jazeel's whip is still very fresh in my memory. I note that Sir Jazeel is armed with a whip and I know instinctively that it will be applied, with rigour and vigour, to my ass and back throughout this visit.

"Let's get you started, white boy!. Get your lazy, white slave ass over to the other slave and start digging the trench. And remember, no talking! You're here to work and not to talk. Now get to it and remember I'm watching to see that you give your work all you've got."

For the rest of the day slave ralph and I work in total silence. Slaves aren't permitted to talk as they labour. Idle chatter between slaves distracts them from the job in hand and wastes valuable time - time that rightfully belongs to their masters. Black masters are stern and demand much from their white slaves. They demand total obedience, absolute dedication to their slavery and honest labour. My Master is very strict in enforcing the "no speaking" rules whenever I am working with another slave which happens frequently. Sir Lachlan often visits Master and brings his slave jem with him. On those occasions slave jem and I are usually assigned to outdoor duties while our two masters relax but watch us as we work. It goes without saying that neither slave jem nor I ever break the silence imposed upon us by our masters.

The work repairing the stone wall is tedious, mind-numbing and backbreaking. Alternatively, slave ralph and I bend our backs to dig the trench and then carry the heavy stones - each averaging around twenty-five pounds in weight - and carefully place them into position.

We are aware that we're under Sir Jazeel's close scrutiny and fearful of his whip, slave ralph and I work diligently so as not to anger him. From time to time, Sir Jazeel inspects our work and expresses his dissatisfaction with our efforts. He berates us and tells us that we aren't working hard enough or that our workmanship is slipshod to say the least and that we must do better Both slave ralph and I feel the sharp sting of his whip on our backs and our "lazy white boy asses". I am to feel the whip many times that first day but I don't count the lashes; I am too busy applying myself to my labours.

And like the true heavy duty, work animals that we are, Sir Jazeel allows no concessions to our personal dignity. If we need to piss, we aren't allowed to stop and move to a private spot; we simply piss where we work without breaking the tempo of our labour.

Eventually, our labours come to an end and we are taken to the compost heap to piss and shit before being bedded down for the night. We are then taken to the barn and placed in a stall where we are to spend the night together. For our evening meal, we are given hamburgers, potatoes, fruit and energy drinks. This menu never varies except that the hamburgers are sometimes replaced by hot dogs.

I am stabled with slave ralph close to where Sir Terrell's male slave is sleeping in his own stall. Sir Terrell and Mistress Laqueta own two, elderly, white slaves - one female, named slave annie and one male, called slave ned. The female slave became a slave as a baby when her parents were enslaved and she was owned by Mistress Laqueta. The male slave, on the other hand has been in servitude since he was a teenager when he and his brother were both enslaved. slave annie works in the house and does all the house chores while the male is a field slave who works outdoors around the farm. This slave also works with Sir Terrell's herd of milking cows. On previous visits to the farm with Master, I have worked with slave ned on various chores around the farm. These include repairing fences, painting and mucking out the animal stalls. This last job is particularly odious and one I don't like. Shovelling animal excrement and taking it to the compost heap is guaranteed to see you covered from head to toe in cow shit.

Usually, after slave ned and I have completed this task, Sir Terrell will clean our shit splattered bodies with a high pressure, cold water hose. Master likes to watch as Sir Terrell hoses me down and it amuses him to watch as I squirm under the hose. My antics always make him laugh.

We aren't alone in the barn. There are another three white slaves in a stall on the opposite side of the barn to ours and some ten feet distant. Therefore it is difficult to talk to them. There are two young males aged in their mid-twenties and a much older slave aged somewhere in his seventies. These slaves aren't known to me and I wonder about them and where they are from. However, it will be several days before I learn more about them.

Unusually, these three slaves retain their body hair and pubes whereas slave ralph and I are totally shaved without our pubes and are smooth-bodied. This suggests to me that these three slaves are field-slaves and not house slaves. slave ralph tells me he knows nothing about these three slaves and that he has no contact with them since arriving at the farm the previous day when he was put to work immediately on repairing the stone wall. He'd worked alone but is pleased that I have arrived even though we aren't permitted to talk until stabled for the night.

slave ralph and I have much catching up on to do since we were worked together last summer. We talk about our common slavery to the Superior Black Race and our individual slavery to our respective Masters. Eventually, I drift off to sleep exhausted after my long day. Master had left his home early - around 3.30 AM for the long drive down to the farm and, since my arrival, I'd been worked hard. Sir Jazeel had lived up to his threat and had worked me harder than he had on my last work detail. Also, it seems to me that he is more constant in his use of the whip.

Friday: "Gathering Firewood"

Around 6.00 AM, we are woken by the overseers and ordered out of our stalls to begin our day's toil. Firstly, we are driven under the whip to the compost heap where we are briefly given time to piss and shit before we are given our morning meal of cold cereal, juice and a small banana.

Then we are assigned our work duties for the day!

Sir Jazeel takes me to a distant field, adjacent to a wooded area and sets me to work gathering up tree branches and loading them onto a wagon. The branches vary in size and weight from medium to very heavy and I am hard-pressed to handle them on my own. However, my overseer isn't in a mood to allow me any leeway and I am lashed with a five feet long whip to ensure I work harder and quicker than I thought possible. Once I have manhandled the branches onto the wagon and my overseer considers that I have a full load, I am made to pull the wagon to a central point where the branches are cut up into firewood.

Sir Jazeel remains with me throughout the day - in fact he stays with me for the duration of my stay at the farm - and supervises my work. Armed with his whip, he enthusiastically applies it to my back, my ass and my cock and balls whenever he feels that I am flagging in my work. And there are those times when he'll whip me for no other reason than he can do so. Black overseers don't always need an excuse to lash the backs of the white slaves under their control. And throughout my labours, Sir Jazeel volubly lashes me with his tongue; he tells me that I am just "a stupid, dumbass slave" or "a useless, lazy, white slave boy".

Again it is hard, backbreaking labour and for the first time I am grateful to Master for building up the strength in my back, thighs and legs. I'm sure this helps me to cope with the unusually heavy work. And of course, my overseer walks alongside of me and constantly goads me to greater effort with the liberal use of both tongue and whip.

As I pull my wagon towards the central gathering point, I notice the two young slaves who'd been stabled with me overnight working in a nearby field. Each slave is harnessed to a single furrow plow which they pull behind them. As I watch them, I can see from their work-stressed torsos and their stretched muscles that the plows place enormous strain on their bodies. Yet, each slave seems equal to the task as they plod ever forward at a steady and even pace. And for the first time I see the real reason why my Master has brought me to his parents' farm. Sometime soon I am to be placed in a harness and hitched to a plow. Anxiously, as I look at the two straining slaves, I know I won't be their equal in pulling a plow and suddenly I am apprehensive.

Both slaves are continually urged forward by the whips of their respective overseers who guide the plows so that the furrows are kept straight and at the same depth. I watch as the plow shares slice through the rich, dark soil turning it over and making it ready for the sowing of Sir Terrell's crop of summer vegetables.

The overseers' whips crackle ominously in the still, warm air to land with a reverberating "thwack" on the naked backs and asses of the two slaves. The bodies of both slaves are heavily striped and it's plain to see that they are no strangers to the whip of their Black Master - whoever that might be.

Obviously, both young bucks are working hard and yet they seem detached from all around them as they plod forward placing one foot in front of the other to keep their plows moving through the resisting earth.

And like those two slaves Master has decided I am to be used as a plow-slave and I can see that it will indeed be hard, physical work that will tax me to the very limits of my strength.

Around noon, I am visited by the old slave I'd seen in the barn last night and now he brings me water and my lunch of protein bars and fruit. As he hands me my rations, I notice the number "89" tattooed in one inch high black numerals on his left breast. I wonder about this and what it means; it doesn't appear to be an ownership mark and seems more of an identifying one. I am left to wonder about this and it will sometime yet before I discover its true purpose.

I am so famished that I eat my lunch quickly and I am then returned to my work. I spend the rest of the day gathering up tree branches, loading them onto the wagon and then hauling the wagon to the area where they are cut up into firewood. All the time my overseer constantly harangues me to do better and he re-enforces his words with the liberal use of the lash.

Once my day's labours cease, I am returned to the barn where, once again, I am stabled with slave ralph. He tells me of his concern for his son, slave rick and that he hasn't seen him since their arrival at the farm and he hopes all is well with him. slave ralph tells me he has heard Sir Jermain has a reputation for being a stern, hard, young Superior and he is worried about slave rick's wellbeing.

slave ralph is correct! Sir Jermain is indeed a stern, young Black Superior as I can attest.

Sir Jermain is approximately one third of my age and already he has the hallmarks of a masterful, Black Superior. And, despite his age, he possesses the confidence and the self-assurance of a true Black Master and also the determination and sternness to deal with an errant white slave as I have experienced. One day, he'll make an excellent master for some lucky white slave; although I know the slave's life will be very difficult and hard.

slave ralph is right to be concerned for his son, the young slave rick. If he is in service to Sir Jermain, then that service will be onerous and no allowance made for his youthful years. If slave rick's behaviour or shortcomings warrant punishment then Sir Jermain will administer that punishment with all due vigour irrespective of the slave's age. Whatever the age of a slave no transgression can go unpunished. A slave only learns discipline, obedience and correct behaviour through punishment and pain. This is basic training for all white slaves under their Black Masters and that training starts at the outset of their slavery or as in slave rick's case at an early age.

Through Sir Jermain's dealings with me, I have come to greatly fear him and I always treat him with all due deference and respect. Twice within recent times, when Master has visited his uncle, Sir Hayward's home, I have been exposed to Sir Jermain's rigid control and harsh discipline.

On the occasion of Master's first visit and after I'd knelt and paid my respects to the Superiors, Sir Jermain asked Master if he could cane and spank me over the course of the weekend? Master asked Sir Jermain why he wanted to do this and the young Superior replied that I am an "uppity white boy" who needs to be shown his place as an inferior white slave in service to the superior Black Race. He told Master that he'd wanted to do this for some time and now that I had been "outed" as Master's slave to his nephew, Sir Jon, the time was right. Master agreed to Sir Jermain's request and many times during the next few days, he slapped my face and caned my ass till it throbbed with the pain he obviously enjoyed inflicted upon it.

The most humiliating part of his punishments took place one night as Master and the family had gathered together to relax and to talk. Sir Jermain ordered me to lie across his knees while he hand spanked my naked, upturned ass. I was very conscious of the Superiors' amusement at my very public humiliation and Sir Jermain's spanking of me provided them with a lot of laughter.

All the Superiors congratulated Sir Jermain on his treatment of me as a white slave boy and that he'd quite rightly put me in my place.

And it was on that same visit that I'd been taken to the special school for young Black Superiors and the children of white slaves as a "show and tell" object. Once there, Sir Jermain assumed control of me and took me into a room where he had me stand at full display before the students as I told them about my white slavery to the Black Race.

The second visit was more recent but Sir Jermain's treatment of me was no less severe. If possible it was even more intense than on the previous visit. On arrival, I immediately shucked off my few garments and waited naked while the Superiors all greeted one another and when they'd finished, I fell to my knees and crawled to each one and paid my homage to them. When I paid my respects to Sir Jermain he showed his displeasure with my demeanour. He harangued me and told me I was a "useless white slave" or a "lazy white slave" who needed to pay more attention. He had me on my knees kissing his feet and sucking his toes for fully five minutes before he dismissed me. Several times during those five minutes, Sir Jermain commanded me to kneel upright while he slapped my face with teeth-rattling force and then ordered to try again and to do better.

Master and the other Superiors looked on with approval and Master told Sir Jermain that he was to assume full control over me for the whole weekend and that I was to serve him as his slave. Sir Jermain gladly accepted Master's offer and quickly took command and exerted his absolute authority over me. Nor was he shy in using me as his body slave for the remainder of Master's visit.

Sir Jermain ruled me with a rod of iron and I was frequently corrected, punished and humiliated by him for the slightest misdemeanour. In fact, he took great pleasure in doing so very publicly in front of my Master, his family and his young friends. There was no doubt in my mind that I was being controlled by a true Black Master and my fear of Sir Jermain intensified throughout the weekend.

The whole weekend I was at Sir Jermain's beck and call and he kept me running. I slept on the floor in his bedroom, washed him, dressed him and served his every need or desire. I also acted as his chauffeur when required and as a serving slave to his friends.

Every Friday night there is a ritual within the household that must be observed. The family's three white slaves' bodies and pubes are shaved and that weekend I was included in the routine. Firstly, the young slave, chad body shaved his parents, slave tom and slave liz after which the father slave shaved his slave son. More humiliatingly, the female slave, liz body shaved me. As slave liz lathered up my pubes, cock and balls and even my ass-crack we were under the mirthful scrutiny of our Superiors who laughed at my obvious discomfort as she expertly shaved around my asshole.

It goes without saying that I was naked for the whole weekend even when Sir Jermain's girlfriend and other young friends were present. Over the years of my slavery, I have become inured to my public nudity and I feel no embarrassment at appearing naked before them - in fact the opposite is true. Nakedness for me is the norm as it is for all white slaves in service to the Black Race and I'd have been more embarrassed wearing clothing in the presence of my betters.

And Sir Jermain's friends expected no less of me. Indeed, as they all belonged to families who own naked, white slaves, they'd have been affronted by me if my own nakedness was covered.

On the Saturday night, Sir Jermain ordered me to chauffeur him and three of his young Superior friends - one male and two females - to the local bowling alley. Of necessity, I was required to wear minimal clothing but Sir Jermain commanded that I have my cock and balls outside my trousers at all times while I was driving. I guess this was another demonstration of his complete mastery over me and it was intended to humiliate me and to show his contempt for me in front of his young Superior friends.

When we arrived at the bowling alley, Sir Jermain ordered me to follow behind him and his friends and to carry in all their bowling gear and personal effects. I was only permitted to make one trip for this and I wasn't allowed to return to the car for a second load and therefore I must carry everything indoors at the same time. This was difficult; their bowling balls were heavy and there seemed to be so much other stuff for me to carry. Somehow, I managed to obey Sir Jermain's instructions and I staggered along behind them loaded up with all their gear.

While the young Superiors played bowls, I was kept busy running and fetching refreshments for them. And when I wasn't carrying and fetching food and drinks for Sir Jermain and his friends, I silently stood close by in the modified display position awaiting fresh orders from the young Superiors. Whenever they spoke to me, I was required to answer in a clear voice and address them as "Sir" or "Miss" loudly enough so that those around us could hear me. Several times during the night a young Superior called me "slave".

On one occasion, I was sent to buy nibbles and drinks and as I waited in line, I was approached by a white male aged about fifty who told me.

"Your Master also wants you to fetch him some chips."

This man was a stranger to me and so I replied.

"I don't know what you're talking about! What Master?"

The man smiled at me and told me.

"Don't worry, I'm also a slave and belong to a Black family. In fact one of the Mistresses playing with your Master is the daughter of my owners."

The world of white slavery never fails to surprise me. The practice of Black Ownership of white slaves is more common and widespread than you'd think. Who'd have thought that I would encounter a fellow white slave at the bowling alley?

We continued to talk for a few minutes and the slave told me that he has been a slave for most of his life and has belonged to his present family for twenty-five years. That was all I learnt from the slave; he became agitated that he was taking too long and this would anger his Superiors. He hastily took his leave of me and ran back to his owners.

Most of the weekend was spent at Sir Jermain's beck and call. And it seemed impossible for me to please him. Many times, he harangued me with angry words, slapped my face or caned my ass. I tried hard to please my temporary young Master but I failed dismally. I was unequal to the task and I was punished for it.

And when I wasn't serving Sir Jermain, I was put to work with the family's three slaves doing household chores.

Naturally, I sympathize with slave ralph's concern for his son. It would seem that slave rick is serving Sir Jermain and I know from personal experience how uncompromising the young Superior can be when it comes to dealing with a wayward slave. But that is the nature of true white slavery. Discipline is a necessary part of our lives of service to our Black Masters and Mistresses. It is the price we must pay for being granted the privilege of being enslaved by them.

Eventually, slave ralph and I fall asleep to regain our strength for whatever ordeals await us tomorrow.

Saturday: "The Plow"

This morning we are woken at 6.00 AM and the usual procedure is followed. We are taken to the compost heap where we piss and shit before we are given our breakfast rations of cold cereal, juice and a small banana. I wonder what task will be allotted to me today. Will I be returned to the field to gather up more branches and haul them to be cut up into manageable lengths for firewood?

But this isn't to be. Instead we are taken to a field where slave ralph and I are each paired with one of the young bucks, put into leather harness and have bits placed in our mouths. Then each pair is harnessed to a single furrow plow and my true reason for being brought to the farm is about to begin.

Each plow is about fifteen to twenty feet in length and consists of a metal frame and wooden shafts to which we are attached by our leather harness. It has a single, metal plowshare and the whole implement is extremely heavy to lift or to pull. Later, I learn that these two plows were especially designed and made to be drawn by white slaves some twenty years ago on a Black owned plantation in Alabama.

It's sobering to think of the many white slaves who have been harnessed to these plows and made to pull them under the whips of impatient Black overseers. Today, slave ralph and I join the ranks of those hard-pressed, suffering slaves who mindlessly toiled long hours and even longer days to enrich their Black Masters by their strenuous labour.

Before he hitches us to the plow, our overseer places me and my team-slave into leather harness which embrace our upper bodies in a tight hug. We both stand mutely docile, like the tamed bovines we have become as he does so. It feels strange to have the leather harness slip over my head to rest on my shoulders and trails down the centreline of my back. There are two "O rings" - one in the centre of my back and the other at my waist - and leather straps are tightened around my chest and waist before thick, leather straps are used to attach these "O rings" to the plow. I am ordered to open my mouth as the overseer slips a well-used and well chewed leather bit between my teeth and fastens it in place behind my head. The overseer moves me into position alongside the young buck with which I am to labour and attaches my hands to poles. Finally reins are attached to the bit and we are ready to begin our day's labour.

To start us pulling, the overseer flicks the reins against my shoulders and this is followed immediately by the sharp sting of his ten foot whip flicking at my back and ass. Involuntarily, I lunge forward and strain into my harness. The leather straps cut into my naked torso and my bare feet have difficulty in finding a firm foothold. Immediately, I know that this is to be far worse than I expected or imagined it to be.

I know now why my Master placed great emphasis in building up the strength in my back, my thighs and my legs. Even so, I am to discover over the course of the week in pulling the heavy plow behind me that exercise alone isn't enough to turn you into an efficient plow-slave. Only the continual hauling of the plow day after day builds up the strength of your body and turns you into a strong beast-of-burden.

During the course of the day, I will come to understand the vital part the leather harness plays in keeping the plow moving forward. Our forward thrusting bodies and our sheer brute strength strain into our harness and haul the plow behind us. The plow is very heavy - far heavier than I imagined and I am unequal to the task. My fellow slave - as yet we haven't spoken and I don't know his name - is more adept at pulling a plow than I am. Later, when we do talk, I will learn that he has been used as a plow slave since he was a ten year old slave boy.

I notice that this slave has the number "176" tattooed on his left breast in bold, black numerals and I wonder about this. Later, as we talk over our lunch break, I'll learn more about this and the slave's history.

I can't describe the stress I feel as I struggle to move forward. I battle to find a firm footing as the single furrow plowshare bites into the resisting earth. The dead weight of the plow drags back against me and slows me down. My chest heaves and I am breathing heavily as I gulp precious air into my oxygen starved lungs. Desperately, I ask myself how long I can endure this. But my Master has decided that I am to work at the plow for the week of his visit and so I have no other alternative but to give it all I can and to please him.

By comparison, my team-slave works effortlessly and I know that he is pulling an unequal share of the weight. But try as hard as I might, I can't match his strength and tenacity. The overseer guiding the plow forward in a straight line sees that I'm not applying myself with the same vigour as the young buck and he whips me continuously as, at the same time, he harangues me and exhorts me to.

"Put you back into it you useless, white boy! Move your lazy, white ass and pull!"

The combination of insults, the constant cut of his whip across my back and ass and the flicking of the whip against my balls does work. I bite down on the leather bit between my teeth and from somewhere deep within, I draw on hidden reserves of strength and endurance and I manage to at least keep abreast of my fellow plow-slave.

And I look at slave ralph who is harnessed to a plow with the other young buck and I wonder if he is finding the work as difficult as I am. Somehow, I suspect he is for, like me, he is a house/family slave and lacks the stamina and endurance of a field-slave.

As I plod forward, placing one foot carefully in front of the other, I find the task daunting. I estimate the field we are to plow as being between five to seven acres in area and as far as I can estimate its some three hundred and fifty feet from one end to the other.

We are plowing one furrow at a time and as we begin at one end, the other end of the field seems impossibly far away. The overseer carefully guides the plow so that the furrow is perfectly straight and it must be difficult for him to both guide the plow and to drive us forward. But the young slave at my side seems to know what is expected of him and I just follow his lead.

We are kept at the plow all morning without a break and if I need to empty my bladder, I piss as I pull the plow without breaking my stride. The same is true for my fellow slave. As the morning wears on, my mind begins to empty itself of all those things that have no connection to my current work. Gone are all thoughts of my former life of white privilege. My upper-class upbringing and Ivy League education no longer matter; they no longer play a part in my life as a white slave to my Black Master. Indeed, Master had worked hard to train me out of all these erroneous notions of myself and to help me accept my inferior status as a mere white slave to the superior Black Race. Those things belong in my past life; the one I'd eschewed when I begged Master to make me his slave. Upper most in my mind is the notion that I, as a slave, must now give my all to the task that Master and Sir Terrell in their wisdom have set me. I am privileged to serve them and I want to please them and to use my labour to enrich the family.

My mind empties itself of home and all extraneous matters and concentrates only on the task in hand.

The work is tedious and mind-numbing and soon I am oblivious to everything other than drawing the plow forward. The far end of the field becomes the goal that I set for myself and all my efforts are concentrated on reaching it.

And when we do reach it, there is the difficult task of turning the plow around and starting the return journey to where we began. But our overseer is an expert at handling both the plow and the slaves who pull it and he coerces us with the voluble use of his tongue and the unrelenting use of his cruel whip.

This first morning proves to be a long one. Without a watch it is impossible to tell the time with accuracy and it is measured by the warmth of the day, the height of the sun and the number of furrows we have plowed. But then, time is of no consequence to a slave and I have long divorced myself from the need to know the exact time. At home, with Master, my time is governed by the chores he gives me and the time he allows me to complete them. That is all I need to know about time.

But this first morning moves forward with infinite slowness and I wonder how long before we are given a break from our labours. But there's no relenting in the work set for us; we must keep going until our overseer decides the time is right for a break. Then, after what seems an eternity but in reality is no more than five or six hours, Sir Jazeel halts us, unharnesses us and we are given time to eat our lunch rations and to talk. I use the time to get to know my team-slave.

The buck tells me he is owned by Sir Benton, a cousin of Sir Terrell's and is on loan to him for the plowing season. He adds that he was born a slave and has always worked as a field-slave. I ask him his name and he tells me that he has no name and is known only by the number tattooed on his chest - "176". However, he tells me that his fellow slaves call him "blue" after the colour of his eyes.

Later, when we return home from the farm, Master will tell me more about this number and why it is used. He tells me that on his cousin's plantation, slaves aren't named and are given a "slave property number" in place of a name. All the male slaves are numbered sequentially at the time of their birth or when they are purchased. Those slaves born on the plantation also have the upper case letter "B" tattooed on the soles of their right feet to show they were born there. If a slave doesn't have the letter "B" tattooed on the sole of his foot, it indicates that he was purchased and not born on the plantation. For some reason, not explained to me, it is only the male slaves who are so numbered. Master explains that currently the slave property number count at Sir Benton's plantation is over 225 but gaps do occur in the numbering whenever a slave is sold to another plantation or farm.

As Master tells me this, I have visions of the plantation's overseers randomly lifting a slave's right foot to check if he is 'plantation born" or acquired from elsewhere. The notion of this spells out how complete is our white slavery under our Black Superiors.

This system of numbering dehumanizes a white slave and relegates him back to the level of branded, domestic, farm livestock.

slave blue tells me that since he was born a slave, he has never worn clothes, has never read a newspaper or a book or seen television and has never had a hot shower. He has never been inside his Master's house and he is confined to his Master's property except to work on other Superiors' properties as in the present instance. Born a slave, he never knew his mother - she belonged to another owner - but he knows his sire that also belongs to his owner. At the age of ten he was placed in harness alongside his sire and made to pull a plow. Ever since, he has been a heavy duty, field slave used to unremitting, hard labour.

Our conversation is interrupted by the old slave, 89 who gives us our food rations; slave 176 tells me that slave 89 is his grand sire who was also born a slave who'd spent his entire life as a field slave. Now because of his old age, he works at general gardening chores and other light duties. I watch as the old slave moves onto the other buck and slave ralph and gives them their rations.

I am curious as to whether or not the other young buck paired with slave ralph, is also numbered. I look and see that he has the number 180 tattooed on his left pectoral the same as slave 176 and slave 89.

slave blue tells me more about his life as a slave to Sir Terrell's cousin. On his owner's property the male and female slave are strictly segregated and only come together on very rare instances to work. I ask slave 176 if he knew when his family was first enslaved and my question seems to confuse him. He is silent for a while - obviously he's unused to the concept of "family" and doesn't know how to answer. Finally he tells me that

"His family, if it was possible for a slave to have a family, were always slaves to the Superior Black Race forever."

As I think about slave 176 and his answer, I marvel at the true breadth of Black ownership of white slaves. I have been Master's slave for twelve years and until recently I had no idea that it was so common and practised with such fervour. Several times over the years, Master has told me a little about the white slaves within his own family but I'd not been exposed to all of them. From time to time I'd visited Master's parents and I knew of their two slaves and I was also aware of Sir Hayward's three slaves. But lately, and this is true of the last two visits to Sir Terrell's farm, I have seen just how widespread it really is. And I realize that I am privileged to count myself among their numbers. I am indeed fortunate to have been chosen by Master to serve him and to find myself just one white slave among so many others in service to the Black Race.

All too soon, our rest period is over. Sir Jazeel orders us to our feet and reharnesses us to our plow. With an impatient flick of the reins and the order to - "move your lazy, white asses. Put you backs into it you useless, white boys" - we begin our afternoon's toil.

Sir Jazeel applies his whip to my already striped shoulders and ass and this just adds a bit more to the pain I already feel.

Then to emphasize his command, he flicks his whip at slave blue's and my balls. I bite down on my bit and strain forward with all the strength I can muster.

Sir Jazeel certainly knows how to get the best out of the slaves under his control

Tuesday: "Placed in the Stocks"

Today is my fourth day on the plow. While the work is no less onerous it has become a little easier than my first day in harness. Over the intervening days, my body has slowly adjusted itself to the unaccustomed hard labour and now I find the pulling of the plow easier and I have a sense of satisfaction that I am meeting my Master's requirements of me.

But in thinking that I am wrong! Sir Jazeel is very displeased with my efforts to date and believes that I'm not doing my "fair share" of the pulling and leaving more of it to slave 176 than is necessary. Several times today, he has admonished me and warned me to do better. He has resorted to frequently using his whip in an effort to extract more from me. I do try to meet his ever increasing demands but I fail dismally.

I wonder if Sir Jazeel really believes that I'm not "pulling my weight" or if he is showing his antipathy towards me; it seems very easy for me to anger him. Whatever the reason, he loses patience with me and halts the plow and loudly berates me by telling me that I am a just a "useless, lazy, white slave who thinks he is his Master's pet rather than his slave who is meant to work hard in the interests of Black Rule." He adds that he has had enough of my laziness and stalling and that he is going to give me "time out" to reflect on this.

He unharnesses me and leads me to the slave stocks and tells me I am to spend four hours locked into them to think about my waywardness and to come to the realization that I must do better. He unfastens the top bar, which is approximately shoulder high and opens it up for me to place my head and hands in their respective holes before closing the bar around my neck and wrists and locking it into place. I am bent double and very soon my back aches from the unnatural strain placed upon it. Unable to move, my body is very quickly racked by pain. I shudder to think that I must endure this for four, long hours.

But more pain awaits me as Sir Jazeel adds further to my suffering. From time to time, he wanders over to where I'm imprisoned and savagely whips my ass adding yet more stripes to the many that already cover it.

Halfway through my punishment, I am to be humiliated even further. I see Sir Jermain walking in my direction accompanied by the young slave rick. This is the first time I've seen slave rick since arriving at the farm and I notice that his ass has been well caned and is heavily striped. Obviously, the young slave has displeased his temporary Master and paid a very high price for his transgressions.

Sir Jermain is greatly amused by the sight of me locked into the slave stocks and he taunts me and laughs at my predicament. Then mischievously he paints a "bullseye" on my ass and sends slave rick to fetch him some eggs. Instinctively, I know my ass is to be used as target practise by the young Superior.

Slave rick quickly returns - no doubt taking care that he not anger his young Master any further - and hands the eggs one by one to Sir Jermain who takes careful aim before throwing them at my ass. Unable to move, I must endure this latest indignity. As the eggs break I feel their stickiness covering my ass and trickling down my asscrack, my balls and the inside of my legs.

Suddenly my Master and Sir Terrell - no doubt attracted by Sir Jermain's laughter - appear and watch. They are greatly amused by the spectacle of my egg splattered ass and decide to join in the fun. They send slave rick to fetch more eggs and tell him to be quick about it. I watch as he hastily runs to do their bidding and soon he return with more eggs which Master and Sir Terrell throw at me in the hope of scoring a "bullseye". Most of their eggs find their target but occasionally one will splatter on my back or against the back of my legs.

I am providing them with much amusement and laughter but eventually they grow tired of throwing eggs at me and move on leaving me alone to suffer the stress the stocks place on my egg-splattered body, my aching back and my immobilized arms.

But Sir Jazeel hasn't forgotten me and returns from time to time to soundly beat my ass with his whip.

When my time in the stocks finally finishes, Sir Jazeel releases me and once more harnesses me to my plow. I'm not given any time to clean my egg splattered body and I have to work covered by the cloying mess of dried eggs. My egg coated body proves to be an unexpected feasting ground for flies and other annoying bugs that swarm over me and add yet another dimension of discomfort to the ones that I already feel.

Bur worse even than the insects is the uncomfortable feeling of having an egg splattered ass and cock and balls. As I strain into my harness, I feel the revolting stickiness in my asscrack and around my asshole where many eggs had scored a perfect "bullseye" for their throwers.

It isn't until much later, at the finish of my day's toil, that my egg coated body is cleaned by Sir Jazeel who hoses me down with cold water.

Wednesday: "Entertaining our Superiors"

Today is my fifth as a plow slave. Certainly, I am finding the going easier than the first day and I can now, with difficulty, pull "my fair share of the weight" alongside slave 176. Although this isn't acknowledged by Sir Jazeel who still tells me that I am

"You're just a useless, lazy, white slave boy who has to be driven hard to make you do your share of the work."

I have now resigned myself to always displeasing Sir Jazeel. I know that nothing I do will ever please him and that I will always incur his ire. Nevertheless, I do apply myself with the utmost dedication to the task that Master and Sir Terrell have assigned to me. Uppermost in my mind is the thought that I must do everything within my abilities to both please and satisfy them.

Being a heavy duty work slave has its disadvantages the least being personal hygiene and cleanliness. At home, as Master's body-slave, I shower with him as I wash him. Consequently, I am always spotlessly clean, fresh-smelling and with my face clean-shaven in line with the rest of my body.

Here on the farm, as a common field-slave, I enjoy none of the amenities of home. There are no hot water showers for us to use. Instead, at the end of our day's labour, our overseers superficially clean us under cold water hoses. Nor are we accorded the dignity of a toilet - not even of the most basic drop-hole type.

When we attend to our "calls of nature" we do so publicly and communally at the compost heap. Here we stand together to urinate or squat to defecate. We aren't given toilet paper to use; instead we use a cold water hose to clean ourselves.

I haven't shaved since leaving Master's home. Indeed, Master told me I'd not need a razor and to take only the clothes I wore to travel down to the farm

Consequently, by the sixth day of my labours - five of them spent harnessed to the plow - I am in a sorry condition. I am dishevelled and unshaven and my grimy, whipped striped body can only be described as filthy. And I reek of stale sweat and nose twitching body odour. But my fellow slaves are in a similar condition and we don't take offence at one another. I suppose for heavy duty work slaves like slaves 89, 176 and 180 this is normal but for slave ralph and me who are used to more "refined" conditions in our respective Masters' homes it is distressing.

Finally, on this sixth day, our labours cease and after I am hosed down and fed, Sir Jazeel orders me onto my hands and knees and attaches a leash around my neck. Then, crawling on all fours, he leads me onto the patio adjacent to the house where my Master, Sir Terrell and Sir Jermain are sitting and talking. Sir Jermain is attended by the young slave rick kneeling at his side. Also in attendance is Sir Terrell's naked, female, house slave who serves the Superiors with their refreshments.

The three Superiors are in a jovial mood and are laughing a lot. At this stage, I'm not aware that I am to provide them with entertainment; although my years as a slave and past experience should have forewarned me that I am there for their amusement.

Sir Jazeel tugs at my leash to start me moving forward and I crawl across the patio in front of the three Superiors. I am very aware that I am under their close scrutiny and I feel much as an animal would when it is paraded before the judges in a show-ring.

After several minutes, Sir Jazeel positions me in front of Master, Sir Terrell and Sir Jermain with my ass facing them. He commands me to hold my whip lashed ass high and to spread my legs so that all is open to the scrutiny of the Superiors. I'm conscious that my cock is on show and that my balls are hanging low between my thighs. More humiliatingly, however, is the feel of my asscrack and hole being stretched open to their view. This isn't a new experience for me and I have been in this position countless times over the years. I have learned that Black Superiors take great delight in seeing their white slaves displayed as though they are animals on heat.

I wait as the Superiors talk about me and laugh at my public shaming before them and wonder what is to happen next. I am breathing more rapidly and I feel the nervous twitching of my asshole with each breath I take as I await their pleasure.

Then my wait is over. At the end of a leash held by his overseer, slave 176 crawls on all fours onto the patio and he is ordered to mate with me. slave
176 readily obeys the order given to him and mounts me with great enthusiasm.

Slaves are no less attracted to sex than their owners; the difference being that a Superior has free reign over his sexuality whereas a slave doesn't. A slave's sexuality quite rightly belongs to his Master to use as he determines. Slaves are, after all, sexual objects and the playthings of their owners. A slave must be versatile in his sexuality; he never knows what his Master will require of him. As a slave, I have learnt over the years that I must both "give and receive" at the whim of my Master. One of my primary functions as Master's slave is to provide him with sexual pleasure and this can be in the form of his personal use of me or, as in the present situation, to erotically titillate him by engaging in intercourse with another slave.

Of course, I am often attracted to other slaves and lately there has been one particular one, a new friend named slave chase, who has the ability to excite and arouse me whenever I look at his curvaceous, shapely ass or his more than generous cock and balls but it is simply a case of look but NEVER touch without Master's approval. I must keep my lustful thoughts to myself and not give open expression to them for I am forbidden to ever take the initiative and instigate sex with another slave. Any sexual pleasure I enjoy - whether from Master or another slave - is the generous gift of my Master and I am forever grateful to him for his goodness to me.

My Master has become good friends with slave chase's Master, Sir Evander and Master has given me permission to include slave chase among my slave friends. Despite the fact that we only recently became friends, slave chase is already well-known to me. He is a prominent TV news reporter and I frequently see his face on television. And already there has been some interaction between us. On one occasion, when Master entertained Sir Evander, I was the lucky winner in a contest between us and I got to breed slave chase. I have to say fucking slave chase was a most pleasurable experience and I worked hard with him to entertain our two Masters.

More recently, Master played host to his brother, Sir Lachlan and to Sir Evander. Naturally both Superiors brought their slaves, jem and chase with them to work with me as we both served and entertained our Black Superiors. Again, as part of the night's entertainment, we three slave were made to display our sexual prowess to our Owners. As part of that, slave chase mounted me and returned the favour with deep thrusting enthusiasm. Perhaps slave chase saw this as a "payback" for my recent, energetic fucking of him. As he pounded into me, I literally saw stars and I had bright lights flashing and exploding before my eyes. The old saying that "revenge is sweet" took on a new meaning for me. If indeed slave chase was taking his revenge on me, then it must be said I was a happy victim as I thoroughly enjoyed the feeling of his large cock moving inside of me. It was a most pleasurable experience and I know the sexual gymnastics of their three slaves delighted our Masters.

I don't know if slave 176's owner allows his slaves any freedom to engage in sex but he did tell me that the male and female slaves at the plantation are strictly segregated and I would think that his couplings would be rigidly supervised and only done at his owner's instigation. Therefore, I don't know how frequently slave 176 enjoys sex with another slave. However, from the vigour he is showing as he mounts me, it would suggest that it has been some time since he last fucked.

I feel the mushroom head of his cock pushing impatiently against my own eager asshole demanding immediate entry. I relax and feel his cock easily slide into me both filling me and massaging me at the same time. Eagerly he begins to thrust harder trying, if it is possible, to bury more of himself into my innermost recesses.

I'm oblivious to all around me although in the background of my consciousness I do hear the three Superiors talking and laughing. Are they talking about slave 176 and me I wonder? And is our coupling amusing them. Somehow, I know that it is. I see Sir Terrell beckon to the female slave, obviously he requires a drink or some nibbles as he watches slave
176 continue to ride me. She hurries forward to serve her Master before he loses patience.

Apart from that the only sounds I hear are the loud, appreciative grunts of slave 176's violent thrusting and the slapping of his balls against my ass. And, of course, my own answering moans of mounting pleasure.

I feel the quickening movement of his hips as he increases the tempo of his fucking while his groin slams against my ass-cheeks.

I have no way of knowing for how long slave 176 continues his deep plunging into me; time stands still and I give myself over to the pleasure of the moment. And I know from past experience that Master expects a good showing from me and I work hard to both please and entertain him, his father, Sir Terrell and his cousin, Sir Jermain.

Finally, Master calls a halt and orders slave 176 to "cum". The slave is only too willing to obey my Master and gives one final thrust driving his cock into the very limits of my rectum. Momentarily, he pauses and I feel the quickening pulsations of his rigid cock as he readies himself to cum within me. This is soon followed by a violent eruption as his copious discharge of semen spills within me searing me with its heat. Slave 176 cries out his ecstasy and satisfaction of a task well done.

We wait as his cock slackens and slips out of me and then Sir Jazeel leads me over to my Master and I am ordered to kneel at his side. As I do so, I am very aware of slave 176's cum trickling down the inside of my legs.

Slave 176 and I have provided the three Superiors with much entertainment and they are in a jovial mood and obviously ready for a further amusement. It would seem that slave 176 and aren't the only entertainment for the evening and I watch as slave ralph, at the end of a leash, is led by his overseer onto the patio and made to display himself as I had been made to do. Within a few minutes, another overseer returns with slave 180 who crawls forward to mount slave ralph. What follows is a rerun of my own very recent experience. Following his coupling, slave ralph is made to kneel next to Sir Terrell and for the rest of the evening I kneel alongside of my Master while young slave rick kneels at Sir Jermain's side.

Their stud duties done, slaves 176 and 180 kneel beside our Black Superiors where we must all wait until we are dismissed by them.

The three Superiors continue to talk and generally have a good time as the naked, female slave serves them food and drinks. As slaves we have no part in their conversations; I remain mute and lose myself in my thoughts.

One thought plays over in my mind. Did the Superiors enjoy the spectacle of slave ralph and me - two soft, city slaves - being mated and so enthusiastically used by two coarse, heavy duty field- slaves? Without knowing for sure, I somehow suspect that they did.

Eventually our Superiors retire indoors and our overseers return us to our stalls in the barn to rest up for tomorrow's plowing.

Alone in the darkness, slave ralph and I talk over the night's events and we reflect on our common slavery to the Black Race.

Friday: Assessment night and I score poorly!

Thursday and Friday followed the pattern of the previous days spent harnessed to the plow. The work was monotonous and it really relegated me back to the same lowly level as mere beast-of- burden. My former "vanilla life" never intruded into my thoughts; indeed the single thought that played over and over in my mind with mind-numbing regularity was that I must work hard, pull with all the strength that my stressed muscles allowed to satisfactorily complete the task that Sir Terrell had given me and in so doing to bring credit to my beloved Master. And the motivation for my total application to the task of pulling the plow lies in the knowledge that my labours were enriching my Master's family. What more can a slave in service to the Black Race ask for?

Over these two days it rained intermittently and this added another dimension to my distress. No allowance was made for the rain which beat down on my naked body - we continued to work during the showers - and our overseer enthusiastically used his whip to keep us focused on our work and to drive us harder.

This brought home to me the complete helplessness of the true slave! He is at the mercy of his handler who decides when he works or not.

The rain made the task of pulling the plow even more difficult. The ground beneath my bare feet became slippery and it was difficult for me to get a firm foothold. My feet couldn't find purchase and slithered beneath me which slowed me down and hindered our progress. Slave 176 was more sure footed and the slippery ground didn't seem to present him with the same problem. I thought about this and compared my own weakness with his strength. Then I remembered that he'd been broken into the plow at the age of ten and subsequently he has had many years to adjust to all the conditions that a plow-slave encounters in the course of his labours. I, on the other hand, was very new with just a few days practice.

The rain-moistened soil clung to the soles of my bare feet and made my walking uneven while the mud squelched between my toes. Try as I might, and with my hands fastened to the plow, it was impossible for me to free my feet of the build-up of compacted soil that clung to them like glue.

And Sir Jazeel made no allowance for the rain or my inexperience; if anything it spurred him to greater use of his whip which he applied with youthful vigour to my back and my ass. Then if my renewed efforts still displeased him he'd carefully apply the whip to my balls. I found "ball- whipping" to be most effective in encouraging me to respond to his demands that I.

"Pull harder, you useless, white boy! Get your white slave ass into gear and PULL HARDER!!!"

Today is Friday and I have been working at Sir Terrel's farm for a week and even allowing for his liberal use of the whip, I know that Sir Jazeel is unhappy with me. His demeanour over the past week has left me in no doubt that he considers me a "failure" as a slave. At this moment, I am unaware of it but this is a point he'll drive home tonight as he evaluates my service to my Master and to Sir Terrell as they sit in judgement of my week's toil as a plow-slave.

Friday Night:

Sir Jazeel has taken me into the presence of my Master, Sir Terrell and Sir Jermain and I stand slave naked at full display before them. I wait apprehensively for Sir Jazeel to deliver his report on my work performance and for the Superiors to make a final judgement of my week as a heavy duty plow-slave.

Despite the fact that I'd been hosed down to lessen the impact of my body odour on the Superiors and to be less offensive to them, I am in a sorry state. After a week's sweat-inducing hard labour, I am still dishevelled, unshaven and in a generally filthy condition. Nevertheless, I try to make my Master pleased with me by holding my body erect with my hands clasped behind my head and with my feet the mandatory distance apart to better display my cock and balls . I tighten my work-weary body, thrust out my chest and suck in my belly. Hopefully, Master will see beneath my grime and note that I am trying my best to present myself as he would demand of me.

Nervously, I wait to hear Sir Jazeel's verdict on me. As he delivers it I am shattered by his poor assessment of my work efforts and of his most unfavourable opinion of me as my Master's slave. If I could, I would hang my head in shame. But I must maintain my full display position and outwardly, I show no emotion but there is much turmoil within.

His words are devastating and I know that Master is bitterly disappointed with me. I listen in mute silence as Sir Jazeel speaks.

"Overall, I have a very poor impression of this slave. He is bone idle lazy and lacks the motivation to work hard in his Superiors best interests. He didn't apply himself to his work and left most of the pulling of the plow to the buck he was paired with. I've lost count of the number of times I warned him to pull his fair share and each time he failed to respond. As you can see, I whipped him hard to get more out of him but even the whip couldn't motivate him. I know he has it within him to work harder - each cut of the whip on his ass or back did see an improvement - but it didn't last. Within a few minutes he was back to slacking off. Even whipping his balls failed."

"In what way does he lack motivation?" Sir Terrell asks.

"Well for a start, when I harnessed him and the other buck to the plow each morning, the buck was itching to get started. He was ready and rearing to go. That wasn't the case with this useless, white boy. He was slow to get his lazy ass into gear and as you can see from the stripes on his back and ass I had to whip him hard to get him started and them whip him some more to keep him moving."

"I fully agree with your comments about this slave." Sir Terrell's endorsement of Sir Jazeel's verdict shows his longstanding poor regard for me. "I've always thought he is lazy and that he should perform better than he does. If he were my slave then he'd certainly work harder than he does for Kyle. I'm always telling Kyle that he is too lenient with his slave. You can't cut a white slave any slack. They must be taught right from the outset of their slavery that they are expected to work hard in their black owner's best interest."

"My opinion is that he sees himself more of a pet to his Master than his slave." Sir Jazeel adds. "He needs to be shown that black owners don't see their white slaves as pets. They are there to work hard and to serve their owners' interests faithfully and with total obedience."

"I couldn't have put it better myself!" Sir Terrell comments approvingly.

So far my Master has remained silent. And yet, I can see he is listening intently to every word and taking it "on board".

"Do you have any other complaints about the slave, Jazeel?" Sir Terrell asks.

"Yes I do! He's disobedient and was slow to respond to any orders I gave him. But it wasn't just me - he was the same with all the young overseers. I don't think he saw us in the same way that he'd see an older overseer. I think he needs to be taught that all blacks are his superiors regardless of their ages or sex."

"That's another good point! " Sir Terrell adds his opinion. "I've always thought he's too slow to respond to an order. It's a bad habit the slave has and he needs to be trained out of it. Do you have any suggestions to make, Jazeel?"

"I have several to make if that's okay with Kyle?"

"Go ahead, Jazeel!" Master speaks for the first time. "I am listening to what you have to say. What do you suggest I do with phillip?"

"Well for a start, I wouldn't use his slave name in front of him. It only gives him a sense of his own importance and makes him feel like your pet rather than your slave. I never use a slave's name - EVER! I always refer to them as 'dumbass',' useless, white slave' or as a 'stupid, white boy'. That makes a white slave know his place and tells him what he really is."

"What else do you suggest Jazeel?" This time its Sir Terrell's turn to speak.

"Well, as I said he's not really a working slave. He needs more hard labour to turn him into one. If I was his Master, I'd work him harder at home and bring him down to the farm more frequently for intensive periods of hard work. That would change his attitude. "

"All the points you make are good ones, Jazeel and when I return home I will certainly work him harder and subject him to harsher discipline." Master replies to Sir Jazeel's stinging comments about me. "In fact, I have already started to do so and I have him on a much shorter short rein than before. He doesn't have the same privileges that he'd enjoyed previously. He has less time on the computer and spends most evenings facing the wall and thinking about his slave commitments."

"Well, I guess that's a start but I'd take it further if I were you." Sir Jazeel replies. If I was his Master, I would punish him more often and punish him harder. That will teach him to be a real slave rather than a pet one."

As I listen to this conversation about me, I am impressed by Sir Jazeel's obvious confidence. Although, I know he views me with disdain, I understand that he is telling Master and Sir Terrell the facts as he sees them. I have no part to play in my assessment and I'm not given a chance to reply. But why would I be shown that latitude? It is impossible for a white slave to self-evaluate; all judgements about him are made by his Master and other Black Superiors. All that is required of the slave is that he listens and takes careful note of his shortcomings and promise within himself to perform better. And after listening to the low opinions that Sir Terrell and Sir Jazeel have of me, I do make that promise to myself and to my Master.

This is my last night at the farm and tomorrow Master plans an early departure for home. I am returned to my stall where I say goodbye to slave ralph. Perhaps our paths will cross again in the near future. Could it be that his owner sees things very much as Sir Jazeel does and returns slave ralph to the farm to make him into a hard labour slave.

Tomorrow, I return home as Master's slave. I look forward to serving him in his home but, if I am truthful, I am a little sad at leaving the farm. In a sense - which only a fellow slave could appreciate - I found my week of hard servitude rewarding. And I enjoyed my interaction with the other slaves. In coming days, I will think much about slaves 176 and 180 and of course the grand sire, slave 89. I will think about their return to their Owner's plantation and their ready acceptance of being born slaves.

In a way, they serve as an inspiration to me and help me understand the true nature of white slavery under stern Black Rule.

How fortunate I am that my Black Master chose me to be his white slave!

Saturday:

My period as a heavy-duty work slave - or more specifically as a plow-slave
- has come to an end for today Master returns home with me.

And my feelings are very mixed!

Whilst being used as a plow-slave was hard physically and it had been humiliating and degrading, I am devastated that I failed to please my Master and his father while the stinging words of my overseer, Sir Jazeel have cut deep.

Last night - my last at the farm - proved difficult. As I lay in the stall with slave ralph, I told him of Sir Jazeel's unfavourable report and how I had failed miserably to make my Master proud of me. slave ralph sympathized with me but even his words of encouragement couldn't lift the heavy pall of gloom that hung over me. My self-disappointment was as nothing compared to the disappointment I felt at failing my Superiors' and especially my Master's expectations of me.

The night proved a long, lonely one for me as I lay sleepless alongside slave ralph and emotionally castigated myself. Master had worked hard to prepare me physically for my work programme and I had failed him miserably. Master would be quite justified in being angry with me and indeed I knew that he would be. I knew that the words spoken at the assessment weren't the last I'd hear on the subject. I anticipated Master would have much more to say on the matter once he'd taken his leave of his parents and we were on our way home in the morning.

I understood Master would be bitterly disappointed with me and furious that I had shamed him in the eyes of his father, Sir Terrell, his cousin, Sir Jermain and my overseer, Sir Jazeel. I'd failed dismally to perform as his slave and to bring credit to him. Instead, I'd exposed him to the ridicule of the other Black Superiors. I'd earned the scorn of my supervisor and the contempt of Master's family. Naturally, I wasn't party to their private conversations about me - and I imagine I'd have been discussed disparagingly - but I suspect there'd have been an element of "I told you so" in those talks. Master has been reminded numerous times by both his father and cousin that they see me more as his "pet" than as his slave.

Last night, I felt a complete failure as Master's slave and I wondered how he'd handle the situation. Instinctively, I knew I'd not heard the last of my poor performance at the farm and I was fearful of Master's righteous anger. I was very apprehensive of what he'd have to say once we were on our way home.

Master has decided to leave early for the long drive home. He permitted me to have a warm shower to wash away the dirt and grime of the past week's work as a heavy-duty work slave. I suppose Master was looking to his own comfort rather than mine; naturally, he'd not want me travelling with him in a filthy or malodorous state. But I wasn't given time to shave away the week's stubble of my beard and so that serves as a reminder of my current status as a work-slave.

Truthfully, and despite the bitter personal disappointment of last night's assessment of me, I am sorry to leave the farm. While the work had proved difficult - and in my handler's opinion it was beyond my capabilities - I'd felt tremendous satisfaction in my work. I truly felt my meagre efforts were contributing to the fortunes of Master's family and in a wider sense to the cause of Black Rule. After all, what higher goal can an inferior, white slave aim for than the betterment of the Black Race and this is in accord with all that Master has strictly instilled into me for over the past twelve years?

Master has said his final goodbyes to his parents and it is my turn to kneel and pay my respects to Sir Terrell and Mistress Laqueta. Once more, I am ignored as I grovel naked at their feet until Master orders me to my feet and into the car.

We have a short stop to make at the entrance to the farm where Master commands me dress in the few items of clothing that I'd worn down and removed at this same spot just nine days ago.

At the outset, we drive in silence and I wait fearfully for Master's re-action to last night's events. I can sense Master's anger and I fear it. And I am right to do so for Master's mood goes beyond mere anger. Master is, in every sense, VERY ANGRY with me, and this becomes clearly evident as he begins to castigate me.

Master begins by telling me of his bitter disappointment and acute embarrassment at my inadequate work efforts, my overall poor attitude and disrespectful behaviour towards my young overseers during the week. He mentions the fact that I had been placed in the stocks because I wasn't "pulling my weight" and leaving most of the effort to the young buck who shared the plow with me. Master angrily states that being put in the stocks should have served as a "wake up" call to me that I was failing him dismally and that obviously I'd not productively used my time locked in them to reflect on my shortcomings.

Master castigates me further by telling me that he agrees one hundred per cent with what the other Superiors had said about me and that he accepts without reservation Sir Jazeel's honest appraisal of me. He admits he has treated me as a pet more than his slave and that obviously this has made me careless and slipshod in my service to him. Master says he can't allow this situation to continue and that he will now return me to my true status of being a real slave. Master warns me he'll institute a new standard of behaviour that will impress upon me that I am his slave and NOT his pet.

I listen in hurt silence as Master continues to berate me. I have no excuses to make! I've been judged by my Black betters and found wanting and there isn't any defence I can make against their words. However, the hurt I feel isn't for me; rather it is for Master and for the wrong I have done to him. I promise myself that, in future, I will never again cause him such embarrassment and I will apply all my efforts into being the best slave that I can be and the type of slave that my Master deserves to serve him and his interests.

Master's words resonate and they will stay with me. And he'll repeat them again when we arrive home as he institutes his new "standard of behaviour" for me.

Once at home, Master wastes no time in putting his new regime into practise Foremost among his new rules is the more vigorous control of all my actions and punishments. Master institutes a rigorous work-out programme to build up my body's strength and supplements this with hard labour at weekends. This is in addition to my other household chores like house-cleaning, shopping, cooking and cleaning his car which must still be done to the exacting standards that Master expects and demands of me.

My punishments include being made to do push ups - and how I hate these - for any failures or poor performances in my duties. Master sets the number of push ups I am to do and stands over me equipped with a thick, hard leather strap. Each time I raise my ass, Master strikes it with his strap and as I lower my ass to the floor, I must thank Master by speaking clearly in a loud, firm voice.

"Thank you, Master for correcting me! Please Master, may I have more?"

I must repeat Master's mantra with conviction and sound as though I mean every word. My gratitude to Master must be sincere and I must convince him that I am genuinely begging for more punishment or he is displeased and will add to my punishment.

Other punishments include more corner time to reflect on why Master has found it necessary to institute these new rules and the putting of soap in my mouth - again a punishment I really hate.

Not surprisingly, after working under Sir Jazeel's harsh discipline for nine days, my body is covered in the angry red stripes and raised welts of his whip. On Sunday, Master examines my body for any signs of serious damage to me and he pays special attention to my cock and balls which had been cruelly whipped whenever Sir Jazeel felt that I wasn't giving of my best effort and leaving the major share of the pulling of the plow to the young buck harnessed with me.

Master, as always, likes to err on the side of caution and phones his slave vet, Dr Romain to make an appointment to examine me. Dr Romain makes a special appointment and tells Master to bring me to him that afternoon.

I am no stranger to the vet and I have visited his surgery many times. Once a year, Master takes me for an annual examination where I am thoroughly inspected and my general state of health is assessed by the vet. Additionally, I return each autumn for my influenza vaccine inoculation or, at other times, if I am sick.

Without fail, here is a procedure that I am obliged to follow. On arriving at the vet's consulting rooms, I must shuck off all my clothing before following Master into the reception area. This is a strict condition of entry for slaves set down by the vet as he is grossly affronted by any white slave who is clothed in his presence.

Dr Romain sees all white slaves as animals and both he and his staff refer to them as such. When they question Master about the reason for his visits, I am casually referred to as "your animal" or "the animal". Despite having been referred to as an "animal" on numerous occasions in the past, I still feel a great sense of humiliation at this description of me. And this current visit is no exception.

Once I am buck-assed, slave naked, I walk behind Master to the receptionist's desk and adopt the full display position with my hands clasped behind my head, my feet apart, with my ass-cheeks clenched tightly together and with my cock and balls thrust forward. I lower my gaze to the floor and remain silent as Master, the vet and his nurse, Mistress Latitia discuss the reason for Master's visit. I know Dr Romain and Mistress Latitia are husband and wife and that they own two white, male slaves. I also know their slaves are ruled with an iron fist and that Dr Romain prefers the whip to the cane and strap as his main tools to control his slaves.

I'd last seen Dr Romain and Mistress Latitia when they'd attended last summer's annual polo tournament at Master's home. On a previous visit to the vet to check on the welts on my crop- whipped balls - these were received during an enthusiastically played polo match where Master had ridden me as his pony - they'd both expressed an interest in seeing white slaves used as human ponies. Master responded by extending a warm invitation to them to attend the next tournament. They'd gladly accepted Master's invitation and had attended on the day with their own two white slaves.

On tournament day, the vet's presence proved useful for he was able to give the polo ponies their pre-game inspections and to monitor them for possible injuries between matches. Obviously, Dr Romain and Mistress Latitia enjoyed the tournament and when it was suggested to him that he become the "official" veterinarian for future tournaments he graciously accepted.

The vet notes the whip-scarred front and back of my body and asks Master how I'd come by my stripes. Master explains that he'd taken me to his father's farm for a week of intensive labour and how I'd been used as a plow-slave.

Dr Romaine commends Master for his initiative in putting me to intensive, hard labour and tells Master that hard work will greatly benefit me both physically and emotionally - as is does with all white slaves. He tells Master that all whites are meant to be worked hard and that they thrive best when under heavy labour. Then, he invites Master into his surgery. I wait as Master, the vet and his nurse enter the surgery and then I follow behind them. Once in the surgery, Mistress Latitia takes charge of me as Master and the vet talk. She takes my body measurements then my blood pressure and a blood sample. Mistress Latitia hands me a cup and orders me to pee into it. I'm not allowed any privacy and I just piss in front of the three superiors. There is no embarrassment on their part; for them it is as it is normal for a white slave to give a urine sample in their presence as it would be for any other form of livestock to urinate in public.

While the nurse works with me, I overhear the conversation between my Master and the vet. Dr Romain asks Master many questions about my time spent as a plow-slave and he gives his unqualified approval to me being used in this way. Master tells him of my poor showing and how he is to introduce a new regimen of training and discipline to refocus my mind back to being a "real slave". The vet agrees wholeheartedly with Master's action and tells him that you can't allow a white slave any latitude as that they lack initiative. He tells Master all white slaves need constant monitoring, all decisions must be made for them and all their actions must be under the rigid direction of their Black owners. He tells Master that he rules his own slaves with an iron fist and that he never spares the whip to press home to them the message that they are only inferior, white slaves there to do his bidding.

When the nurse finishes with me, the vet examines the whip marks on my body. I wince audibly as he dispassionately runs his hands over the welts - some of which are still very painful - but he's unmoved by my discomfort. Finally, he examines my tender cock and balls for any damage to them.

Dr Romain tells Master there is no need for him to be concerned and although my hide has been heavily marked by Sir Jazeel's whip, no lasting damage has been done to his property and that the welts will disappear within a week or two. He tells Master that I look worse than I really am and there's no cause to worry about me. And to aid in the healing of them, he gives Master a cream to apply to my stripes to hasten my recovery.

Master thanks Dr Romain who suggests that he bring me back for a follow-up consultation in a week's time.

Over the next week the welts do begin to gradually fade away. However, the same can't be said for Master's plan to re-educate me back into my true slave status. He begins my training programme immediately and I am subjected to sterner treatment, more punishments and the loss of the privileges that Master had once graciously allowed me and which I'd taken for granted. I am no longer allowed regular access to the computer and the time I'd previously spent chatting via Instant Messaging has been severely restricted.

The following Saturday, Master returns with me to the vet for the follow-up examination. I observe the now routine practice of stripping naked and walking behind Master into the reception area where I take up the mandatory "full display position" and remain silent as my betters talk. This time the vet's young receptionist is present and during the course of their conversations I learn that her name is Abrianna. I hear Dr Romain tell Master that Mistress Abrianna has asked if she can be present as he examines me because she wants to see what a well-whipped, white slave boy looks like.

Master is more than happy for Mistress Abrianna to examine me and he orders me to stand perfectly still as she inspects every part of my nude body. My face flushes with the shame and degradation I feel as Mistress Abrianna's hands roam freely over my nakedness. As she does so, she asks Master many questions about my time spent as a heavy duty, work slave. Master answers all her questions and as they continue to talk about me I feel the full weight of my humiliation which only serves to re-enforce my servitude to the Black Race.

Once more, the vet examines my welts and tells Master that I am healing nicely with no damage done to me as a result of my time spent under the whip and that the welts should all disappear within the week.

One week later:

The vet's prediction proves correct and within the week most of the stripes and welts are all but gone. Still, if you look closely enough, you can see the faint pink outline of the worst of them lingering for just a while longer.

While the welts fade away, memories of my time spent as a plow-slave remain fresh in my mind. I think back over those nine days which I'd shared with slave ralph and slave 176. The experience, though harsh, did have some rewards namely that I'd shared my experiences with brother slaves in the interests of Master's family and perhaps, by our menial labours, we'd contributed in some small way to the further advancement of Black Rule.

And I vow to myself that I will do all that I can to make up for my shortcomings at Sir Terrell's farm and work hard to make my Master once more proud of his slave.

After the visit to Sir Terrell's farm, I know I have much ground to make up before I regain my Master's approval. And I desperately need Master's approval now more than ever!

The End

Posted:  06/28/13