a slave for a day

The first night of my first full day as a slave ended at 8:30. The Master was apparently not in, since the table in the formal dining room was not set, and i did not hear or see anything of him. i was bursting with questions, but did not yet know i would be able to have some of them answered. my knees were tired from scrubbing bathroom and kitchen floors, my hair was filled with sweaty dust, and i felt generally grungy, and could see the dirt on my body with trickles of sweat through it.

Mr. Adalbert found Leo and me in the kichen. It was of course spotlessly clean, granite counters and marble floor, walls tiled completely white, with the latest steel clad appliances -- Wolf and SubZero were names i recognized. It was like a laboratory, and yet from it had come that magnificent meal the night before. I wondered what would be served for dinner.

i was ravenously hungry, having had only some biscuit thing Leo gave me at noon. Leo had me drink some water from the tap at the sink in the laundry room. The whole meal took maybe 45 seconds. "Hungry?" Mr. Adalbert smiled, knowing perfectly well i was. He reached into a cupboard and found what looked like a big, plain cookie jar, took out something wrapped and opened it. It was another biscuit thing. He held it out to me, and saw the reaction on my face. "Come, come, now, lad. This is better food than you've probably eaten before in your life. It just looks and tastes plain." It looked like one of those thick, dark brown, semi-hard dog food biscuits that you crumble up with a can of dog food. Actually, it had tasted pretty good -- a meaty flavor with a hint of molasses. "But it's designed for slaves and contains everything you need -- protein, vitamins, a little carbohydrate, minerals, the whole banana. So to speak." He laughed a little, so i looked at Leo. Leo smiled a smile that said, "That is one old, old joke." But Mr. Adalbert evidently liked the old jokes best, and i imagine he told them over and over. i smiled, not too weakly i hoped.

"So you'd better eat up. Water's from the tap in the laundry room. Slaves eat nothing from the kitchen except their slave biscuit. We make it ourselves, up on the farm." He pointed to the laundry. Leo took his and we moved to the laundry room, with and industrial terracotta floor and gray walls. Leo squatted down on the floor, and began to munch. He looked up at me, then down, then up again, then down, and i finally got the drift. Slaves eat on the floor, out of sight, quickly. And no more than is needed. Did you ever see a fat slave? i asked myself. But then i realized -- i had only seen one slave, Leo. At least, one slave that i knew of. Leo was certainly trim. i guessed i would be too.

Exactly one minute later a bell rang, and Leo stood up, took a swift drink of water, pointed me to the tap, and I did too, and out we marched, back into the kitchen.

"Tonight you can ask me one question," Mr. Adalbert said. "Leo can fill in the details of my answer later, but will not stray from the subject. This is not a seminar on slavery here, but you will function better if your mind can rest from some of its incessant questions. Oh yes, i see them in your eyes, in your expression. You get that drifty look which says, "i wonder what...? how...? why...? If this goes on much longer you will lose your focus and hence your value to us. So tonight we will begin to help you find out about your new world. You can ask me one question. Leo will clean you up -- you're really a sight, you know -- and send you to me and we will begin."

i hardly knew where to start. And i was afraid to speak. Mr Adalbert said, "Permission to ask a question. Make it a good one, lad." And before i could really think about it, i asked the first question most Americans ask each other: "What does the Master do for a living" Mr. Adalbert frowned a little. Oh, no, i thought. i messed that one up. But then he brightened a little and said, "Very good. Bring him to me, Leo, when he's ready."

So we trotted off back down the dingy gray servants' stairs -- why weren't they clean and bright like the rest of the house? i wondered. i had a spring in my step and the hunger had passed. i did not feel full, but was not hungry either -- a perfect equilibrium, one which i would come to value later as among the finest aspects of my slave life. The perfect food, not bad at all, no fuss, no muss, no bother, no fat, no worrying about cholesterol and that sort of thing, i assumed.

Leo led me by my cock to the bathroom, bent me over and douched me thoroughly (this should be an interesting conversation, i thought). My shit smelled different, and there wasn't much of it. my body was beginning already to adjust to its new regime. Then he wet me, soaped me, and rinsed me clean, massaging my muscles, skin and scalp in just the way he had when he was preparing me for the Master. This must be the routine before sex, i thought, and then realized it was Mr. Adalbert i would be with. Not a man who would ever be famous for his body, i imagined, and had one of those thoughts young men often have about their elders. Leo knew instantly what i was thinking. "Put it out of your head, lad, now. You serve whoever you are put with, and you enjoy it, you understand? A slave's pleasure is not in his own body and mind, but should be a mirror of the pleasure of the one he is with. In time you will learn to become the other in your imagination, no, in your very skin, to take his life into yours and give it back to him in your full vigor and strength. You exist now for your Master and whatever he wants you to do will give you joy." He pulled the skin of my cock back, gave my nuts a good, hard tug, slapped my ass with an almost brotherly touch, and motioned me to follow.

Back up the dingy gray stairs we went, and through the kitchen into a suite of rooms opening from the butler's pantry. Mr. Adalbert lived in an almost complete apartment -- everything but a kitchen. A medium-sized sitting room, furnished with what appeared to me family pieces -- all of good quality, but of different periods, and matching each other only in the sense that years of living together had made them good neighbors. A large old fashioned sofa, overstuffed and upholstered in a beautiful blue satin vertically striped in yellow. An older, more worn version of the red leather wing chair i had seen in the Master's upstairs library (there were actually two -- a larger one on the ground floor). Paneling and built in bookcases of the same cherry as upstairs. Books, books, books, and recordings -- vinyl, tapes, cds, every generation of musical technology. A fireplace with a cheerful fire playing light and shadow on the red and blue and grey carpet (Isfahan? i was no carpet expert, but i knew this was a good one). Beyond, a bathroom with a door slightly ajar -- peach colored light. And the bedroom beyond, which i could only see a bit of, but the bed was large and substantial.

All this i saw in a glance, because standing before me was Mr. Adalbert himself, in an exquisite evening jacket over his tuxedo trousers and still perfectly starched white shirt and tie. He was smoking a pipe, whose fragrance was so sweet, it was like dessert in the air.

"Come in, lad. Don't be afraid. Your job is to make an old man happy tonight, and my job is to tell you about the money, so to speak." i knew by now that "so to speak" was his little cue that he had just uttered a witticism, so i smiled. He smiled back. He had a nice face, a kind face, not a mean line in it, eyes full of sparkle. These people are all so alive, i thought, and began to warm to him. He turned to the bookcase, touched a few buttons and Schubert's Death and the Maiden poured softly forth. "Don't worry," he said. No death for the maiden tonight. In fact, no maidens at all," and smiled his crinkly smile. He was testing me. i smiled back, signalling that i knew what he was referring to. i had passed my first test.

He sat down in the red chair and motioned me to come closer. i assumed the attention stance, which evidently pleased him, because he smiled and began stroking my cock with that amazing touch. It became hard, but my ball sac drew up just slightly, which he, so expert in the flesh of men as i would learn he was, instantly understood as fear or insecurity. He said nothing, but stood, and began stroking my chest and nipples, and at the same time pulling my ball sac. He did this so expertly that i relaxed completely, discovering that he knew my body better than i did. It would be an interesting time with him.

"And so to bed," he said, mercifully leaving off the wit identifier. But he was so totally unlike Pepys. Pepys was a furtive groper, a grabber of petty pleasures, while Mr. Adalbert was certainly playing in the same league as the Master. He led, i followed. With the smallest tilt of the head i knew i was to undress him, and by now i had seen this done enough to know to hang, fold, and remove everything to its obvious and proper place. Naked, Mr. Adalbert was your basic 57 year old man, the remains of a powerful physique but starting to sag, his pecs becoming tits, his belly a bit too big, his neck sagging a little. An athlete he was not. i imagined that his spare time was not for the gym but for the study. Leo's voice ran through my ears again, and instead of judging, for the first time in my life i took my body consciousness out of myself and entered his. What was it like to be Mr. Adalbert, faithful and wise retainer, hard worker, knowledgeable about all of the greater and lesser pleasures and qualities of his Master's life? Next to all this, what is a belly, a couple of uncooperative pecs? i was growing to respect him more and more, and every time i looked into his eyes, i liked him better, too.

He pushed me to my knees, and i did not need a degree to know what i was to do. His cock was long, thick, and flaccid, his balls the balls of a bull resting from stud, swinging large and loose. i nuzzled them, licked the cock, and began a long, long suck, which brought him to erection. He quickly drew me up and pushed me to the bed, on my back, knelt between my legs, which i knew i was to lift and separate, grabbed some lube from the side table, stroked himself to greater hardness, fingered my hole and pushed himself in. It felt smooth, not like the marble stone cock of the Master, but pliant, alive, like an animal eagerly seeking a home. He pushed it in and docked, then relaxed, sat back a little, and said "I think I'll just leave it in here and let your muscles do the work while we talk." It was an order, but said so graciously, as though i had a choice, when in fact i did not, but even more, did not want to be able to choose. He looked down at me, with an expression so like my first male teacher's look of approval that i melted. i wanted to serve this magnificent man, to give him everything i had and more.

And so began an evening which would be repeated many, many times. I was in thrall to my Master, would walk to the end of the earth on live coals for him while balancing split watermelons on my shoulders or any other difficult and dangerous and absurd thing he might think of, and count myself the most blessed of men. But when Mr. Adalbert was in me, i felt connected to the great world of manly wisdom, of the comforts of men knowing their place and serving each other, of bodies making souls happy again after long hours and days of work and frustration, of warmth in the midst of cold, of the fire in the small cottage living room surrounded by a happy peasant family, content after a full meal and knowing that tomorrow was their day of rest. My Master was my excitement, my challenge, my destiny. Mr. Adalbert was my blessed day of rest, when God smiled at his world and said that it was very good. When he was in me, i felt him looking at me and saying, You are good. You are very good. And peace would descend.

He would enter me, and he would stay in, getting harder and softer and harder again, and then soft, in the way of older men's cocks, which i have grown to love. And i learned to use my ass and abdominal muscles to massage him, learning to coordinate my movements like the ripple of water at the shore, in and out, in and out. And he would touch me constantly, sometimes consciously, with an assured insistence, bringing my nipples or balls to the edge of pleasure and pain and back again, and sometimes, as he was speaking, idly, distractedly brushing my skin or the hair on my head or my brow, petting me like a dog while his attention wandered to greater things.

"Ah yes, the money," he said. "You probably imagine that people get their money from their work, and that is true for most, but unfortunate for them. For the workers there is never much, and as the world's economy begins to change, as the oil runs low and the Chinese buy more and more of what we used to use for almost nothing, many of them will have less and less. But, as the ladies of Boston do not visit the shops to purchase, but have their hats, keeping them and using them without regard for so-called fashion, so the Master has his money. They HAVE their hats. He HAS his money. They have ALWAYS had their hats. He has ALWAYS had his money. So to speak." And this time i found his wit genuinely, and generously, funny, and laughed out loud. He laughed with me, and his cock leapt for the sheer joy of the moment. We were joined in mirth.

"Well you may laugh, lad. But funny as it is, it is true. People who keep things, have them. People who lose or sell them do not. The Master's family -- and I encourage you to ask about them tomorrow" (ahh -- tomorrow, i thought -- another entrance into Mr. Adalbert's wonderful world, another chance to serve his beautiful soft and hard cock rhythm, so like music). "At any rate, the Master's family's fortune is ultimately based on a farm in the west of England, land they have kept in the family since before recorded memory. They were the first, the primordial inhabitants of that land, and they have kept it, intact, to this day. When the Celts and their Druids came, they were there. When the Romans came, they were there. When the Saxons came, they were there. When the Normans came, they were there. When the blessed and crazed Stuarts descended in the person of James the VI and I from Scotland, they were there. They were there, they still are, and God willing, they always will be."

His cock swelled as he savored this proud catalog of the Master's history. "And of course, they have farmed the land all those years, faithful tenants from generation to generation tilling the soil, sowing, reaping, raising the stock, among which they were of course counted. It is a beautiful place, made more beautiful by thousands of years of human ingenuity cooperating with the fertile soil and nature's ways to produce almost a second Eden. But farming doesn't make money, not real money Never has, never will.

"The farm is within striking distance of the Bristol Channel. Does that ring a bell with you, lad?" It didn't at first, and then i remembered my medieval English history. Bristol. The slave trade. St. Patrick taken by Irish slavers from the country north of there. Copper from Cornwall, wood and tin from Wales, and slaves. Of course! An Anglo-Saxon word for slave is wealh, Welsh.

"Yes, the slave trade", he said, reading my eyes, which had instinctively lowered themselves in that lovely and appealing gesture all born slaves have of indicating their status in the presence of born masters without saying a word, without even being introduced. i must have done it instinctively with the Master when we first encountered each other.

"Since the dawn of time, the Master's family has been capturing, buying, selling, trading slaves, and that is the foundation of their fortune. The methods have changed with the years and the changes of culture. In ages past it was an open and honorable trade. For centuries it continued quietly, known and approved by those in power, but without advertisement. Then came the rise of African slavery, and the Master's family invested in it. They profited mightily in it, married into some of the other leading slaver families, but continued to focus their personal attention and direct business on the British product. The British slave became and remains a specialty line, with the bulk of slaves acquired for work from the mid 1600s on being, of course, black Africans.

Welsh and English slavery went underground in England, and while there are many still, it is a world hidden from the unknowing eye. But the trade continued. A new market soon opened in North America. The bulk of the white population here was largely indentured. That is a lovely, complex legal word that means 'slavery till you can buy your way out.' And who indentured these folks, your ancestors? Without a doubt, the Master's family. Their fortune is probably built on the sale of your ancestors, as it is on those of so many others. And they continue to this day to pursue the traffic in human beings, but now with a more specialized purpose."

I sighed and worked his cock again, which stirred again to harndess. He thrust a few times, more for form than from lust, i think, as he preferred being docked inside me. "My Master's business now is incredibly varied. The capital gained over centuries is the quiet capital behind some of the most successful corporations in the world. He and his family before him move it from industry to industry as the economy changes. They almost always choose correctly, and when they don't, there is the opportunity of people who need a place, work, a job, a future. This is the Master's business. It takes many forms, but always it returns to its base: making money by acquiring people and then disposing of them at a profit.

"Not all are slaves in the sense that Leo is, with formal ownership and a tattoo to prove he is property, nothing more and nothing less. Many are processed through the Master's schools and retraining centers and placed as free labor by his human relations specialists. They are free in the legal sense, but bound to their work and conditions more surely than they realize. They might as well be slaves, and one day many will be. The world is coming to that, and the Master and his family, and others, are preparing for that day."

My cock began to swell now. A world of slaves? of Masters with centuries of experience in producing slaves? of people bred to the land and thinking of themselves as stock? Was i one of them? i was beginning to think so. my world was turning upside down.

"So," Mr. Adalbert continued, "you are intelligent. You are educated. And you are a born slave, which is becoming clear to me, and certainly was immediately clear to the Master's practiced eye. You are beginning to understand. The farms, the houses, the apartments. The Master works in a worldwide environment. His business is growing beyond any expectation. The principles of slavery, which he knows to his fingertips, are now beginning to be important to the future development of the world's economy, because more will have to be produced with less, and many more will have to learn to live happily with little or nothing. The stark choice is between almost universal destitution or a new subordination of the many to the few. And how that happens is of life or death importance to the world. Will it be force, violence, the war for scarce resources, with millions dying for policies that cannot work? Or will it be the graceful transition to a life in which people like our Master own and control the many, with purpose and contentment for them in a life of subordination?"

He smiled, stroked, and relaxed into me once more. "But enough of money. Leo can tell you more, if you still want to stay awake."

He was fully hard, long and thick and throbbing with the force that flowed as much from his passionate brain as from his blood and seed, and he thrust even more deeply inside me. His face was not now the kindly teacher or uncle, but something of the bull he must have been as a younger man. He mounted me faster, he probed deeper, and lunging almost to my fast-beating heart, he exploded inside me. His cum filled me, and i felt for the moment at one with the universe, happy to be privileged to serve him, happy to be what i was coming to know i was: Happy to be a slave.

A slave for a day...bi/Dave, New York City