Chapter 1

 

The flat-top utility sped along the highway. Beside it, the Murray River sparkled sluggishly in the bright morning sun while the pale green gum leaves moved lazily in the breeze. The country looked prosperous, the paddocks green and lush and the cattle fat and contented.

In the utility cab there were two men, or rather, one man and one slave. This was unusual for normally slaves were transported on the tray-top of the truck, hanging by their wrists from the pole that ran fore and aft down the centre of the tray-top. The pole was high, supported by sturdy stanchions at the front and back of the tray and the slaves dangled with their feet clear of the floor. The truck's owner had decided on this deliberately as it showed off his merchandise that much better.

But not this time ... This time the driver wanted the boy in the cab with him for two reasons. First, so he could explain the new slave's function this morning and second (and more personally) so he could perve on his body yet again for he was a new acquisition and one Peter Roberts had been hankering after for a long time, since they had been in school together, actually ...

They had both been born and bred in Yarrawonga, the small country town on the Murray, the border between New South Wales and Victoria. Peter Roberts was the son of the town's slave breeder and John Clair was a son of the local butcher.

Peter had always been long and lean with brown curly hair and near-black eyes. He had always looked serious and, while no Einstein, had by dint of hard work always passed his grades. His sporting prowess was also lacking for he just didn't have the natural grace and coordination to make it on the sports field. In fact he had been a bit of a loner.

John, however, had always had always passed exams easily and his tall, extraordinarily athletic body had made him a sports star in everything he participated in: football, cricket, tennis, swimming and athletics. Whichever was the sport of the season, John excelled in it. He had dozens of friends and was the hero of the rest of the school.

Peter had always admired and envied the boy who was in his class but a year younger. He had never dared approach him for fear of a rebuff for while he wasn't exactly a dork, he certainly wasn't looked up to by his peers. But in his dreams, John was his to feel and fondle ...

As the only son of the town's slave breeding and dealing establishment, he naturally went to work for his father after his school days were over and found he had a natural ability in the field. When his father died suddenly a couple of years earlier and the business was his, he took to its management and development like the proverbial duck to water and quickly became a leader in his field.

John was not so fortunate. He had always wanted to be a farmer and while he had worked as a labourer for the local shire council, he saved every penny he could and, with help from his father and a huge mortgage from the bank, eventually bought a farm in the not-so-good country way out of town.

It was a disaster. Even without a mortgage, the farm had barely eked out an existence for its former owners. But with a heavy interest and principal repayment program and now a lean season as well, it was an impossibility. John worked hard all day and so did his new wife who also had a tiny baby boy to look after.

Peter knew all this and watched from a distance. His slave breeding farm and training centre was already very, very prosperous and he had quite enough slave stallions to service his many fillies but he wanted John and if he could get him, he would pay any price for his body.

For the young man would indeed be a prize. He was tall and also very handsome with fine light hair, warm brown eyes, a small nose and a quirky grin to his clear-skinned face. His shoulders were broad and beautifully muscled and his chest just as wide and plated with two firm slabs of muscle that were not too developed but were cut between and under them as cleanly as with a knife through butter.

His belly muscles were very well defined also, his waist lean and his thighs muscular without being too big. His buttocks were narrow, reached high and were sharply cleft on their outer edges. In short, he was a veritable Adonis and Peter wanted him.

Peter had never married; nor was it likely he ever would. He wasn't exclusively homosexual but he leaned that way. He often took one of his slave girls to his bed and enjoyed pleasuring them; but he also forced his male slaves to give him their bodies when he felt like it and had no thought for their feelings one way or the other. As far as he was concerned, once a man became a slave, he no longer had any rights and if he wanted to rape a body, that was what would be ...

Not that this was well known. His friends were few and he wasn't about to discuss his personal life with others anyway.

 

"Your job today, boy, is to cover one of Bill Arnold's fillies," he said, glancing at the tall and so handsome naked boy on the bench seat beside him - a boy who had once been a classmate but was now just a slave - and a stud slave at that.

John, his wrists manacled up high to a lug welded to the back of the cab where it met the roof, stared back at him in resignation. He had known this was to be his new function in life the moment he had agreed to the deal that had saved his wife and little boy from penury but he hadn't realised how horrible it was going to be. In fact, while he had a vague idea what the slave breeder did, his, and most other small holders' knowledge of the details of slavery was sketchy, to say the least. Slaves were expensive and only the wealthy among the population were able to afford them. He had guessed he would probably be used to sire little suckers, as they were called, but as to how it would all be carried out. he really had no idea at all.

He was finding out in short order ...

This permanent nakedness; the naked slog out in the open behind the high wire fence where people could constantly come and ogle his body; the constant fingering of his body - and worse. And now he was on his way to publicly fuck a girl - a slave like him so that she might get with child and deliver to her owner yet another slave.

It was as bad as when he took one of his cows to be covered by a bull while everyone watched... It was exactly the same as that and yet he was a human being - or had been. Now that he was a slave, he had lost that humanity in the eyes of the law and of the community.

 

He remembered that awful day a few months ago when Peter Roberts had come knocking at his door early in the morning. They had just finished breakfast and he was about to go out to do some fencing.

Peter had stood in the doorway as he had opened it. The man had been grinning from ear to ear. "G'day, John. I've got a paper here I want to discuss with you and Emma ... May I come in?"

He had held the door wide although he didn't particularly like the slave breeder. At school, the man, then a boy, had given him the creeps and he hadn't had a lot to do with him. What did he want now? Emma had come into the front room, holding little Johnnie in her arms and had looked enquiringly from him to their visitor. Of course they knew things were bad for them and that the bank wasn't going to extend their credit much more but they lived in hope ...

"Things not going too good for you, eh John?" Peter had said.

"We'll survive," he had said shortly.

"Well now, I don't know about that," Peter said as he had extracted a piece of paper from his inside jacket pocket and waved it in the air. "You know what this is?" he had asked then, his smile getting even broader as he had stared at him.

"No," he had said but there was a knot forming in the pit of his belly. He had an awful premonition ...

"It's your mortgage. I've bought it from the bank," he said and then had sat back in the worn old chair in the front room, grinning from ear to ear.

John had just sat there opposite the slave breeder, his face wretched as he glanced at Emma from time to time. "What do you want?" he had asked eventually.

The slave breeder didn't answer for a while but he kept staring straight at him and the awful feeling in John's stomach intensified. Then he spoke again: "I don't really want mortgages. Messy things they are. I'd rather have the property ... I'll give you a week to get out ..."

"A week!" he had said. "Where will we go?" He wished now he hadn't been so craven but once the words were out ...

"Don't know. Don't care." He had stood up and made as if to leave but had then paused. And then had come the fateful words. "Of course, there might be another way ..."

He had grasped at the straw. "Another way? What other way?"

"Well, I don't know," and now Peter's eyes had openly roved up and down his body, "I could possibly use another male slave ... You could sell yourself to me in full and complete discharge of this mortgage. The farm would then be transferred to your wife's sole name, free and clear of debt ..."

John hadn't realised then that this had been the aim all along. All he had thought of was that Emma and little Johnnie would have their home. He didn't know how she was going to work it but no doubt she would find a way and perhaps ... perhaps one day he might be able to return to them.

But slavery ... His face had drained of blood as he thought of the prospect. And slave to this man of all men. A common breeder of human slave flesh! And he knew what his role would be. To act as a stud stallion to the dozens of fillies in the man's stable ... That was bad enough, but what he hadn't realised was that these 'coverings' were performed in public - in front of the wealthy station and large farm owners who now owned slaves as both farm workers and domestics.

Nevertheless, even though the very idea of being enslaved was horrible, he had to do it. "Do you have the papers?" he had asked grimly.

"Right here," the breeder had said gleefully.

He had signed them, even as Emma had pleaded with him not to and hugged their son to her breast, her eyes rounded in horror at what her husband was doing.

Once the deed of sale of his body was signed and witnessed and the mortgage discharge also signed and sealed, he had stood up and faced the man who now owned him, body and soul. "Now what?" he had said.

"Now you strip," Peter Roberts had said. "No slave of mine is ever permitted clothing of any kind. You are a slave and even in front of your former wife and son, you will appear as one ..."

He remembered how his face had dropped in horror. Surely he could have been permitted this one last dignity but no, the man's face was implacable. He had slowly removed each item of his clothes while the girl who had until a moment ago been his wife watched in mute horror - stripped each item off until he was stark naked, his beautiful body on full and open display to them all.

Peter had then made it even worse. He had moved up to him and run his hands all over John's flesh, like you did to a beast you were considering buying. Made him flex his arm muscles and push his leg out in front of him and flex his thigh muscles. Then had him bend this way and that while he felt and fondled every part of his body - and finally, horror of horrors, had had to stand with his legs apart and his arms doubled up in the classic muscle pose while he excited his cock to a full erection - all in front of his former wife and son.

Then he had been collared - around the root of his cock and balls and led out to the truck - that same tray-top in which he was now travelling, and had been made to jump up onto the tray-top, stark naked, climb onto the box-like support that slid along a slot down the middle of the tray and have his wrists enclosed in the rubber-encased cuffs after which the box had been pushed away so that he now dangled with his toes a few centimetres from the tray, his totally naked body open and exposed to everyone they passed.