The buzzer sounded on my desk precisely at 4 o'clock. I should say here that it also sounded at various other locations in the house but I may leave a comment on the sophistication of the systems my father had installed for a little later on in this account.

I spoke in normal tones, merely asking one word: "Yes?" And at him identifying himself, pressed the button that electrically opened the gate and invited him to follow the narrow lane all the way to the house. I knew the gate would close itself once he was through and then sat at my desk looking out the window for his tiny, ancient VW to appear out of the bush and move up to the house.

William answered the door dressed in his usual butler's formal attire, greeted him and once he had ascertained that he was indeed Peter Simpson, led him to the door to my study knocked, opened it, led him in and announced him.

As he backed out and closed the door behind him, I gestured for my visitor to approach and to sit down in the chair opposite me. He declined (to my pleasure) and merely observed that a slave does not sit in the presence of his master.

I thrilled to the very core at these words, knowing that he had taken an enormous risk in uttering them before I had formally acknowledged that I was aware of how he saw himself vis-à-vis me.

But my reply was just as risky: "Neither is a slave clothed in front of his master, boy."

For answer to that, he apologised profusely and first of all raised his left leg to remove sock and shoe on that foot, then repeated it with the other foot and placed the pair of shoes with the socks neatly folded on top of them, then removed his trousers and similarly folded them neatly placing them on top of the socks followed by his uniform shirt leaving him in nothing but underpants and singlet. As I sat back and watched him slowly stripping himself naked in front of me, I was inwardly gloating at my good fortune but outwardly maintaining the same stony visage that I had adopted upon his entry to my study.

Once he was totally naked I leaned back even more in my chair and observed the perfection of his body - even better than I had imagined it. Not only were the muscles perfect in every way, but his skin was smooth as silk and a milky-cream colour. Added to that, his body was almost totally hairless. As far as I could see, his underarms were bare and there was just the smallest of patches of pubic hair just above the root of his penis.

It and his testicles were both perfectly formed and of respectable size without being overdone. And to make matters even better, as soon as he had finished stripping his clothes and folding them neatly - and by that I mean perfectly neatly, every folded garment matched the one below it in size and I breathed heavily as I began to understand the depths of this young man's slavery.

But then once that task was completed he spread his feet about half a metre apart and then raised his hands up behind his head, drawing the elbows as far back as he could get them and thus showing off the perfection of his biceps muscles and then, without actually touching it, erected his cock until it stood straight up his so muscly belly.

I just about came on the spot at the perfection of the display now presented to me. His face, like mine, was still perfectly neutral but every aspect of his body and its muscles, now all flexing in a rhythm he was obviously generating in his mind, mimicked the idea of a slave presenting its body to his master for whatever use his master might have for it.

I continued to sit in my chair but now he began something I later learned was called the 'Fuck-fuck Dance'. This involves him maintaining the pose described above but then using the muscles of his thighs, buttocks and belly he began to thrust his penis violently vertically upwards in the air, relax it and then repeat it. And this he did to the cadence, ONE, TWO; one-two-three. That is, one hard thrust and relax then a pause; a second to follow it and then three in quick succession, all to the words FUCK, FUCK. Fuck-fuck-fuck! And then to repeat it time after time until I called a halt.

In point of fact, however, I could have sat there and watched him perform this highly erotic, so-called dance for hours but eventually reason prevailed and I bade him stop at which he resumed the former position which I now learned was the first of many positions of slavery.

"An adequate performance," I said sourly but I knew from his small grin that he could see the approbation in my eyes. I then asked him if by performing it, he was offering himself to me as my personal slave.

"I am indeed, Master. If, as I now believe, this extraordinary house is yours, then that probably means you can afford to keep me. As a slave I can survive on slave chow which is just claggy boiled rice and tinned bully beef and of course clothing is no longer an item for a permanently naked slave. I can sleep on the concrete floor in your slave dungeon and I can be worked maybe sixteen hours a day in order to pay for my chow."

"On the contrary, slave. You won't see it but you will be paid twice what you were earning at Coles into a trust account and yes you will be kept naked 24/7 and made to perform at backbreaking labouring tasks during the day, coupled with a number of hours at gymnastics practice in between times. I will join you at these times.

"At night, I may or may not use your dancing skills to amuse me during my dinner and on occasions I may require you in my bed but that will be a day-to-day decision.

"When you slack off during your labour, your supervisor of the moment may cane you across those so shapely buttocks and if more serious punishment is required, you may be ordered to suffer electro-genital punishment as well as many others deemed appropriate for the occasion.

"Do you accept these and any other conditions I may choose to impose upon you?"

"Oh yes, Master. And may I say here that at last I am so pleased you have finally understood what I have been trying to communicate to you for so long. May I ask therefore, what you desire of me right now?"

"We'll talk about that in a minute but how much notice will you need to give the company in order to sever your ties with them?"

"None at all, Master. It may have been impertinent on my part, but I really did hope and think you might be prepared to take me on and so I terminated my employment with them before I left the store. As I was a casual employee, notice didn't come into it. I simply informed them that I wouldn't be available in the foreseeable future. Furthermore, as I said a few moments ago, I would have served you for no recompense at all if that had been your wish. As it is, I am extremely grateful for your generosity and will attend on you as the very best slave you have ever had..."

I had to suppress a grin at this. I might have dreamt about slaves and what I'd like to do to and with them, but I don't think I ever really thought it would happen in real life. As it is, I was now going to enjoy the use of this so handsome and so perfectly-built naked slave serving me with his body apparently for the indefinite future.

I then began to wonder about his 'Welcome'. This is something I had read about in both fictional and historical accounts of slavery up to the time of its abolition in the nineteenth century. Apparently every slave when coming into a new ownership received a welcome as an introduction to his or her servitude with a new owner.

Far from it being a 'welcome' in the normally accepted use of that word, in the slave situation it was a corporal punishment usually comprising a number of strokes of a rattan cane, a belt or a leather paddle to the buttocks as a warning as to what they might expect when they erred.

As I hesitated, he now jumped in and asked if I intended to deliver his Welcome immediately or did I wish to make it worse by delaying it until tomorrow. By now my mind was in a fever of excitement. Here was this stark naked and so athletic and handsome young man standing in the Position of Inspection awaiting an unknown number of strokes of the cane (or whatever) and apparently relishing the idea for his cock was again twitching and was soon fully erect.

I again pressed the button to summon Jenkins and when he arrived I noted that one hand was held behind his back. "I have accepted this slave into my ownership, Jenkins, and he must therefore be welcomed. Do we have any rattan canes on the premises?"

"Of course, Sir..." he said and brought the instrument out from behind his back, walking forward and laying it on my desk. As I was the only person in his line of sight, he gave me a long slow wink with his right eye that told me he had anticipated this day and that there might be a number of other instruments in some secret location he had created.

"May I suggest, Sir, that we repair down to the Punishment Room in the Slave Quarters to administer the ceremony."

Of course I had no idea what he was talking about but Peter obviously now assumed that we had other slaves and his excitement, as evidenced by the state of his erection, now grew commensurately. Anyway, following my butler's lead, I agreed and asked him to lead the way.

He did so and on the way we collected the other servants including his wife, all of whom he led down the back stairs to the vast cellars underneath the house and to a back corner which to my utter shock appeared as if it had always been a working slave quarters including cells for them to sleep in, ablution facilities (cold water only), kitchen and mess. And of course, the Punishment Room.

Peter looked over all of this with even more excitement, not even surprised that all of my servants led by William and Mary Jenkins all now seem to be in perfect comfort that we now had a naked slave with us who was about to be punished with the application of a sturdy rattan cane to his so totally naked buttocks.

My excitement was still growing and as every single one of my staff seem to be in sync with all of this, I began to relax and enjoy the scene as it played itself out. Peter moved over to the centre of the smallish room and dropped to the floor on his belly awaiting his suspension for the caning.

As he did so, our gardener and handyman both moved up and, pulling down on the half metre long metal bar containing the manacles at its ends, strapped them around my new slave's ankles while Jenkins held in his hand the controller that operated the electric winch bolted to the roof above us, pressing the button that brought the mechanism to life and gradually drew my new slave's feet and then his legs and his whole body upwards until he was dangling upside down with his hands a few centimetres clear of the floor.

In his other hand, he held the cane and he now held it out to our handyman, Michael Williams, an electrician by trade but could put his hand to just about anything, apparently including the infliction of corporal punishment to slaves. He accepted the cane from his boss with a small smile. "Thank you, Mr Jenkins. Is it to be six strokes?"

Jenkins turned to me and again gave me a secret wink that told me that six was apparently the appropriate number. Now, how all of this was happening so smoothly and quite outside of my control was a total mystery, but I wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth and as everyone present (including the slave himself) seemed to be in agreement, I just nodded and asked him to proceed.

At that, Michael now stripped off his shirt to reveal his incredibly-muscled body and then flexed the cane and swished it through the air a few times. I had moved so that I could watch the front of Peter's body as the welcome was administered and I wasn't surprised to see pre-cum leaking from his cock indicating that he was still incredibly excited by all these events.

Michael now raised the cane and as he did so the biceps muscle in that arm curled up and as I was facing the front of Peter's body I also had an excellent view of his as he now slammed that cane down hard so that it connected fair in the centre of my new slave's twin buttocks, causing his body to arch forward towards me and the muscles all over it to react wonderfully.

That stroke must have hurt him horribly. I was sure Michael had delivered it full force and yet, although his body was twisting and turning and doubling and writhing horribly, he didn't utter a sound. His cock started leaking even harder and I thought it was only moments before he might ejaculate fully. If that happened, the chances were that he would immediately lose all of his very apparent sexual excitement.

I glanced around me at the assembled servants and was yet again astonished that all of them, the females included, all seem to be very happy that my new slave was being so effectively 'welcomed' by our so muscular handyman.

Michael didn't wait, and delivered the remaining five strokes in fairly close proximity to each other, waiting perhaps fifteen or twenty seconds between each subsequent one and I have to say how impressed I was that Peter Simpson took them all without uttering more than a slight grunt at the last one.

When it was finally done, Mary Jenkins, who had armed herself with a tube of salve, moved forward and squeezed a generous portion into the palm of her hand then smoothed it all over his ravaged buttock cheeks, explaining to us all that it would aid the healing and ensure there were no marks remaining after a few days.

"And now, Master, unless you want this boy for some other purpose, I could use him down in the sculleries to scrub the floors," she said, looking down on him with satisfaction.

"That's fine, Mrs Jenkins, but I will wish him to wait on me at dinner and I think I would like him to perform a certain dance he is quite good at while I eat..."

To my shock, they all seem to be aware exactly what I was talking about and grinned and chuckled to one another as they moved out of the slave quarters to resume their normal duties.

As his wife steered my new slave up to the kitchen area, I grabbed her husband's arm and asked him how it was that the staff all seem to be fully aware of what Peter Simpson had now become and all seemed to think it perfectly normal.

"They do, don't they Tom? Don't ask me how or why. I just don't know. Anyway let's not look a gift horse in the mouth. You've got him now and he seems to want more and more pain and shame so let's indulge him..."