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Adam at Seventeen
Chapter 2 – The Punishment for Rape

by Adam Brockenhurst

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Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 01 Mar 2018

Chapter 2 – The Punishment for Rape

Yesterday, my seventeenth birthday, I celebrated my newly-acquired right, under the Slave Protection Laws, to punish slaves as an adult. I gave a big buck nigger slave, called Kurtley, fifty lashes with my bullwhip. Later, after a birthday dinner with my parents, I felt a mounting urge to fuck the slave’s buttocks that I had so enjoyed whipping earlier. I crossed to the slave compound, found him, and satisfied my lust.


I awake to find myself drawn tightly against the ebony flank of a hugely muscled man, held securely by his strong arm around my waist. My morning tumescence is strong, and thrusting against his thigh. For a moment, I wonder how I come to be here, hanging off the edge of a narrow pallet. The man’s arm is all that prevents me from falling off.

You slept well, massa, considering.... The deep bass voice beside me is warm and sexy.

Of course! It all comes flooding back to me now. The man is Kurtley: the slave I flogged yesterday. Fifty lashes I gave him, savouring every stroke with sadistic lust.

It was my first ever delivery of formal punishment, on the very day I acquired the legal right to do so – my seventeenth birthday. I had shot my load twice whilst whipping him, so powerfully was I aroused. It was the first time that I had been able to satisfy a dark desire that has fuelled my wanking for as long as I can remember: the urge to punish with a whip.

Later, after dinner, I came to find him, driven by the lust I had felt earlier while whipping his handsome bottom. My cock had thrust hard as his ebony buttocks bounced seductively under the lashes of my bullwhip. How I had craved to plunder the hidden treasure secreted deep between his muscular globes!

Oblivious to the painful-looking weals that scarified his back and bottom, I forced myself upon him. He knew better than to resist his young master, who at seventeen now had the right to lash him with the maximum severity permitted by law, should I so choose.

As I rode him, I re-lived in my mind the thrill of the flogging I had given him earlier. I enjoyed the longest, most vigorous fuck ever. My orgasm was so overpowering that I collapsed afterwards into a deep sleep, overcome with ecstatic exhaustion.

What a birthday it had been!

You fuck well, massa, considering how small your pecker is, Kurtley continues, as I slowly come awake.

How dare you! I bark, jolted into full consciousness. I’ve a good mind to whip you again, for insulting my masculinity like that.

But my mood soon softens, when I see the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. I relax, and grin back.

He’s quite right about my cock, of course. It’s still only about five inches when erect, despite my strenuous efforts to give it a regular work-out. His, on the other hand, I noticed when he was strung up ready for his flogging, was already ten inches when only semi-hard. It must have been almost a foot long when rock-hard, as it was immediately after the punishment, when I wanked him to ejaculation.

It’s very strange. Although I whipped him as hard as I could yesterday, and made it obvious how much I enjoyed doing so, he seems to bear no resentment. In fact I can sense a growing bond between us. It’s as if we are fulfilling a need in each other.

I prop myself up on one elbow, so I can trace with my fingers the weals which I raised across his back and buttocks with my bullwhip. He gives a contented sigh, apparently enjoying my touch.

But my cock stiffens again as I recall the thrill of giving that flogging. My heart beats with lust as I remember that I am now seventeen, which means I am legally authorised to whip our slaves whenever I want, just like my father and Tom. I can be an active participant every Saturday night from now on, taking my turn to lash those up for punishment.

My cock is now rock-hard from these thoughts, demanding its first release of the day. Kurtley notices, and tentatively enfolds my erection in his huge hand. He starts to squeeze and knead, producing delicious sensations.

Our eyes meet, and he grins at me, his teeth immaculate and snowy white against his dark lips. As the waves of pleasure build, I realise that he is exceptionally well-groomed for a slave, and indeed a rather handsome man.

Where do you get your good looks from, Kurtley? I enquire.

From my father, massa. He was King of Mbutaniwala.

Where’s that? I snigger, thinking he must be making this up.

In West Africa. It’s a small kingdom inland from Togo.

I’ve heard of Togo from geography, and know many slaves are brought over from that part of the African coast.

If your father’s a king, then that makes you a prince, doesn’t it?

Sure does!

Prince Kurtley?

No massa! he guffaws. I’s Prince Kurtlimalangara Idi Mbutaniwala. But the slave traders couldn’t get their tongues round that...

I’m not surprised! I chortle. they shortened it to Kurtley.

So how come you became a slave?

My father wanted to buy some guns from the traders, but they would only sell in exchange for slaves. They said they wanted good-looking boys to serve as house-boys to gentlemen of a particular persuasion. I happened to be waiting on my father that day, as was my occasional duty. They pointed at me and said: We’ll take him.

Well, my father had six wives and about sixty children, so he hardly even knew who I was. I certainly wouldn’t be missed. Take him, he said, but make sure he is sold to a good master.

Of course, your majesty! Do not worry – he will be well looked after, they lied. So I was soon chained up with the other slaves they had bought, and introduced to life under the lash.

My cock, still erect between Kurtley’s fingers, jerks with interest at the mention of lashes, reminding him of its need for morning release. Kurtley manipulates me with expert dexterity, slowly milking me with exquisite sensation.

Where did you learn to do that? I gasp, as waves of pleasure engulf me.

I was sold to a French gentleman in St Kitts, who wanted me as a sex-slave for his son. We were both only fifteen, so we discovered the sensuality of our bodies together, by mutual experimentation. I soon learned to pleasure him, because if I didn’t, he’d lash me with his martinet.

Mmmm! Tell me about the Frenchman’s martinet, I drool, as my cock lurches towards its climax.

It had a wooden handle, moulded for a comfortable grip, and eight lashes made of thin leather, like bootlaces, each a couple of feet long. Those leather thongs were vicious, especially as my hide was at that age still soft and sensitive. He’d take particular pleasure in whipping me down the length of my bottom, so the thongs cut into my crack and stung my arse-hole.

Encouraged by his father, so he told me, he’d been using the martinet to punish slaves ever since he felt the first stirrings of whip-lust in his loins. There’s no law on St Kitts to prohibit boys from whipping slaves, like there is here. So he was quite an expert by the time I met him, aged fifteen!

All this talk of the young Frenchman and his martinet, while Kurtley continues to massage my cock and balls, has me soaring towards orgasm. Kurtley senses that, and skillfully prolongs the delicious sensations coursing through my body and into my cock. I gasp in ecstasy as the pleasure builds to an impossible climax. He massages my balls as they draw up tight, preparing to release their sperm. My cock strains so hard I fear it will literally explode.

With consummate timing, Kurtley reduces his touch to the gentlest tickling on the underside of my thrusting cock, and the lightest brushing of the hairs on my ball-sac. This maintains me at the zenith of exquisite sensation, without triggering the inevitable climax. Every nerve in my body tingles with unbelievable stimulation. My cock is hard as steel. The pleasurable sensation is so powerful it is almost unbearable.

Eventually, he can hold me back no longer. My whole body tenses. I gasp in ecstasy as the final surge of delirium sweeps through me, and the convulsions of ejaculation begin. Kurtley places both hands over my cock and pumps it furiously, massaging the head, to enhance and prolong the wonderful climax as I shoot again and again into his fist.

Ah! Ahh! Ahhh! Ahhhhhhh! I roar, in escalating cadence.

When I come back down to Earth, I see that his cupped hands are overflowing with my jism.

Not a bad milking for the first load of the day from a seventeen year old, he grins, as he juggles his hands to contain the viscous spread from spilling through his fingers. He then reaches round behind him, and starts massaging my jism into his buttocks.

What are you doing? I giggle.

Do you know how we make the healing-balm that all slaves use to tend their whipped hides after punishment?

It’s some sort of herbal concoction, isn’t it?

Yes, mainly. But an important ingredient is also fresh spunk. Its inherent reproductive function stimulates the growth of new tissue in wounds, as well as providing a pleasant creamy consistency. Normally we have to use nigger juice, of course. But according to slave folklore, it works best with white man’s jism: the crème de la crème so to speak!

So, when my whip-lust makes me come whilst lashing a slave, my victim should ideally capture my jism and rub it into his stripes to help them heal, eh? I snigger.

Kurtley nods vigorously.

I think that’s what’s called a symbiotic relationship! I giggle. We’ve been learning about them in biology at school, ...

Bet they didn’t give that example! Kurtley interrupts, and we both laugh.

I wonder how slaves first discovered that effect, I ponder.

It just happened, I expect, Kurtley suggests. Some sadistic massa probably took out his cock and worked it with one hand, while whipping a slave with the other. He continued the lashing until he reached his climax, when, with a roar, he triumphantly splattered his spurting jism across the lacerated back of his victim.

Phooarrgh! I’d like to do that! I pant, pumping my cock, which is already eager to come out to play again.

Tell me more about your time on St Kitts, I urge. We have a master at school who comes from there. He’s our French assistant. In fact you may remember him, because he came out here one weekend to help on the plantation.

Yeah, I remember him all right. He and his friend gave an overtly sadistic display of flogging the two slaves who caused Tom to fall off his horse and dislocate his shoulder. (see A Lust for Punishment, Chapter 11 – Professional Disciplinarians)

That’s right! I exclaim. I nearly shot my load when they appeared in their tight leather jock-straps brandishing heavy bullwhips. The fifty lashes they each gave to the two slaves were the hottest punishments I’ve ever seen. I was rock-hard throughout, and flooded my jock with jism as the flogging reached its and my climax.

Well, Pierre certainly hasn’t lost his lust for the whip.....

Hey! I interrupt. How do you know his name?

’Cause he’s the younger brother of François, the young massa for whom I was a sex-slave on St Kitts. So of course I knew him well at that time.

What an amazing coincidence! I gasp.

He’s three years younger than François, so was only twelve when their father purchased me for François. Pierre wouldn’t remember me now – I’d just be another slave to be whipped, as far as he is concerned. But I am sure it was him. I’ll never forget the overt sadism he exuded even as a twelve-year-old boy.

He would often beg François to let him whip me, as he was too young to have a sex-slave of his own. François greatly enjoyed teaching him how to wield the martinet, which was the whip favoured by the slave-owners on St Kitts.

They’d string me up by the wrists, and then François would wank himself while watching Pierre put his lesson into practice on my naked body. Pierre would scream and shout abuse as he pranced excitedly around me, slicing those vicious leather thongs into my back and buttocks as hard as he could. He’d have his little cock out, of course, jerking ever stronger as he indulged his young whip-lust. François would time his own wanking to coincide with Pierre’s climax, so that they both came together. My body would be splattered with the copius explosions of their jism. That’s how I first became aware of the healing property of white man’s spunk!

My cock thrusts hard as Kurtley reveals this early history of Pierre’s infatuation with the whip. Pierre Bertrand, as I said, is now the sexy nineteen-year-old French assistant at my school, doing a gap year before university. With no slaves available to satisfy his whip-lust, he has exploited to the full his schoolmaster’s authority to beat the bottoms of us boys instead. Drawn by his sexual allure, and overt lust for corporal punishment, I became involved in a tempestuous, and obviously illicit, relationship with him.

So how come you left St Kitts and ended up here? I ask.

When François was eighteen, he went off to university in France, where obviously I couldn’t go with him. Pierre already had his own sex-slave by then, and there were no more brothers, so I was redundant. The Massa didn’t want to put me to work in the fields, because he knew he could get a good price for me: I was still young and handsome, albeit with a tracery of whip scars across my back... But some men find that attractive, of course.

Yeah! I snigger in agreement.

So I was sold to a dealer, who shipped me over here. Unfortunately my new owner’s son, for whom I was supposed to be a sex-slave, turned out to prefer wenches when his full sexuality developed. So instead of sharing his bed, he used me to practise his whipping skills. He wasn’t very good at it, but had an insatiable lust for the lash, so I got cut up real bad. Eventually I could stand it no longer, and decided to escape....

Gosh that was brave! I interrupt. We give one hundred lashes to any escaped slave that we recapture, as they almost always are.

I know. I’ve seen that for myself with Pedro and Frank. Those guys from Slave Control Services who caught them certainly know how to wield their bullwhips! (see Whip-Lust at Sixteen, Chapter 3 – Punishment of the Runaways.)

Don’t they ever! I agree, my cock lurching harder at my own memory of the eight hunky guys in leather giving twenty-five lashes each, as their reward for catching the two runaways.

I did get recaptured, of course, Kurtley continues. The overseer gave me an extremely brutal whipping with his favourite rawhide, watched eagerly by my master and his son. I don’t know how many lashes I got, as it was a lawless place and they didn’t bother to count, but I’m sure it was well over a hundred. The son urged the overseer to keep going, but his father eventually called a halt, saying any more would leave permanent scars and so lower my resale value. The son wanted no more to do with me after that, so they put me to work as a field slave while the skin on my back recovered. Once evidence of the flogging had healed over, I was sent to the slave market. That’s when your father bought me.

I noticed you were a handsome nigger when you first arrived here, I tell him.

Thank you, massa! he grins.

My father’s not into fucking male slaves himself, but he does recognise good looks. That’s what must have influenced him to buy you, as I bet you were expensive for a field-hand.

Perhaps he had other plans for me....

What do you mean?

Well, he’s not the only possessor of a hard white cock around here....

You cheeky monkey! I snigger, while secretly enjoying the compliment of having my meagre erection compared favourably to my father’s huge phallus. I could whip you for that insolence, I add.

He grins, sensing that I am not seriously threatening further punishment.

I run my hands over his buttocks, savouring how firm and resilient they feel. My cock rises at the prospect of being thrust between those muscular globes again, seeking the pleasures that I know await me in his deep cleft. He responds with a deep purring sound of appreciation.

Have you ever had a sex-slave, massa? he asks, rather boldly.

Er, no, I answer hesitantly, rather taken aback by the question. It had never occurred to me as a possibility. Until he left a few weeks ago to go up to university, I had Jake, the assistant overseer, as my sex buddy. We had really hot sex every Saturday night, fuelled by our arousal from the whippings he’d given at the punishment session. I loved watching Jake’s buttocks thrust and clench as he wielded the whip, knowing that I would be ploughing that furrow later!

Saying that has brought back wistful memories of Jake. It makes me realise how much I miss the feel of his cock thrusting deep inside me. Wanking is great for self-stimulation up to orgasm and shooting one’s load, but it can’t replace the intense intimacy of receiving a hard fuck. I really crave that.

I was still idly fingering the stripes across Kurtley’s buttocks, while I thought about Jake, and that has given me a renewed hard-on. The man-scent coming off the glistening ebony skin beside me adds to my arousal. I can see that his cock is swelling and erecting, too, just as mine is. Is it possible....?

I gulp as an image flashes through my mind of that huge pile-driver pumping my insides till they fill with his cum. But I know I want it, no matter how much it might hurt. Will he want to, though? Then I remember he is my slave – I can order him to do whatever I want! If he refuses, I shall whip him until he does do it.

Kurtley, I want you to fuck me, I tell him.

I can’t do that, massa – your father would have me flogged.

That’s a risk you’ll have to take, because if you won’t, I’ll whip you myself! And it won’t be just fifty lashes this time...

I can see that he is well aroused by now, and for a moment the sight of eleven inches of throbbing manhood rearing up nearly scares me off. But my need is stronger than my fear, so I turn onto my back and spread my thighs apart.

He reaches for a jar of cream that was intended for his whip scars, but will serve equally well as lubricant. He anoints his cock, and applies a large dollop to my anus, gently massaging it into my hole.

Take it slowly, Kurtley, I order. It will take me a while to accommodate your massive girth. And be warned: I’ll whip the hide off you if you damage my insides.

Are you really sure you want this, massa? he asks, indicating his huge erection, which is jerking and dribbling pre-cum between us.

Just give it to me, Kurtley! I urge. That’s an order!

He leans over me, supporting his muscular torso with his arms, as I lift my legs up onto his shoulders. I can feel his cock pushing against my tight anus, which resolutely denies him entry despite my desire to be fucked.

Eventually, with the help of his fingers, he prises me open and slowly inches his cock inside. I yelp at the jolt of pain, as he begins stretching my insides. It feels as if I am being torn apart, yet I still want it.

You’re really tight, massa! he gasps, his face just inches above mine. I can see the passion in his eyes, as the pleasure builds for him. Yet he continues carefully, gently easing himself deeper and deeper inside me.

I clench my face as I endure further painful spasms, but then suddenly he reaches the spot! A surge of pleasure courses through my body as his cock hits my prostate. The pain evaporates, replaced by waves of delicious sensation as he possesses my body.

Yeah! I exclaim with delight. Now fuck me!

He draws back and thrusts forward repeatedly, gradually increasing the force of his penetration as he drives us both towards paroxysms of ecstasy.

Agh! Aagghh! Aaaggghhh! I shout with increasing passion. He grunts a deep base accompaniment. I grab my cock and pump it in rhythm with his fucking.

We both scream in ecstasy as our ascending orgasms coincide, soaring towards a mind-blowing climax.....

But at that moment there is an enormous commotion outside, and someone bursts through the curtain around our privacy.

What the fuck’s going on here! he shouts.

I realise, to my horror, that it is my father.

Get off him! he screams, seizing Kurtley and pulling him away. As his cock pops out of me, it arches rigid and shoots huge gobs of cum all over me and my father!

How dare you rape my son, you filthy animal! my father yells, beside himself with rage. I’ll have your balls off, and flog you to within an inch of your life for this!

Dad, it’s not like that.... I try to tell him, as I stagger to my feet.

Are you hurt, Adam? he asks, as he hugs me to his heaving breast.

No, I’m fine. But you need to understand that I asked....

Shut up, Adam! he silences me. I can see perfectly well that he was raping you, and he’s going to suffer for that I assure you.

But Dad.... I try to explain again, but he won’t listen.

Tom, Tom, I need you here urgently! he interrupts, shouting for our overseer.

Tom had obviously already heard the fracas, and appears almost immediately, still pulling on his clothes.

Tom, I’ve just caught this slave in the act of raping Adam! my father tells him. Take him to the barn and string him up by the ankles. We’re going to punish him good and proper, so fetch your best rawhide!

Yes, sir! Tom replies, his eager tone betraying his sadistic anticipation.

I try one more time to reason with my father, or even Tom, but neither will listen.

Adam, just shut up will you? Dad barks at me. Now come with me – I want you to see how we deal with rapists!

I grab my clothes and make my way disconsolately to the barn. By the time I get there, Tom already has Kurtley suspended upside down, his ankles secured by chains to the beam overhead, pulled as far apart as they will stretch. I realise immediately that this position exposes his genitals in a most vulnerable way.

Tom beckons my father over to the far corner, where he picks up a coiled whip, which I assume is his best rawhide as instructed. They turn their backs on me for a private conversation, presumably to plan what punishment they intend to give Kurtley. I take the opportunity to go over to their victim and squat down beside him.

I’m so sorry, Kurtley, I just can’t get my father to listen, I tell him, trying to show him some affection by stroking his face. But I’ll still keep trying, even if I have to physically intervene.

Don’t, massa, please, he whispers hoarsely. It was my fault, I should never have done what I did. I knew it was wrong, and now I must face the consequences.

I can’t believe his selfless stoicism. I smile as best I can, and give him a quick kiss on the lips.

Adam, come here! my father summons me to join him and Tom.

When I was your age, he tells me, slaves had their balls cut off for doing what Kurtley has just done to you. But now the Slave Protection Laws prohibit that. Instead, he opens the book of law and reads out: the punishment for the male rape of an owner, or overseer, or a member of their families, is one hundred lashes. The rape victim is entitled to administer the punishment himself, if he so desires.

He closes the book and asks : So, do you wish to give the flogging, Adam?

I think for a moment. Normally, of course, I would leap at such an opportunity to wield the whip. But this is different. I have grown to like and admire Kurtley in the last few hours. Also, of course, I know perfectly well that he did not rape me – I asked him to do it. So to flog him to within an inch of his life, as my father put it earlier, would be a total betrayal of my knowledge of the truth. On the other hand, can I bear to stand by and watch as my father and Tom whip him brutally for something he hasn’t done?

I make up mind.

I’ll whip him myself, I tell them.

That’s my son! my father nods approvingly.

Right! Let’s get started! Tom announces eagerly.

He hands me a three-foot sjambok, instead of the coiled rawhide I had been expecting.

He registers my surprise, and explains: I’ve strung Kurtley up like that, with his legs spread wide, so you’ll have easy access to his cock and balls. Use this whip to lash vertically down between his thighs, and punish the organs that violated you. After ten strokes of that, I guarantee you’ll have him hollering for mercy. Then you can switch to the rawhide on his back and buttocks for the remainder of his punishment.

I gasp at Tom’s sadism, as I inspect the sjambok. It is just one single length of dense leather, round in cross-section, with a good wrist-sized grip at one end and tapering to the thickness of my little finger at the tip. Struck forcefully, it will have a devastating effect on soft tissue. My cock thickens instinctively, betraying its interest in such a sensuous whip, but my brain tells me not to get aroused, as I am about to use it on my erstwhile lover.

I walk over to Kurtley and lift his head up, so I can look him in the eye.

I’m really sorry, but I have to do this, I tell him, showing him the sjambok.

I know, he whispers, and gives me a heart-rending smile.

I step back and lay the sjambok between his thighs, along his perineum, to measure my distance. Then I lift the whip up, pause for a moment to control my emotion, and lash it down hard.

Aaaarrrrgh! Kurtley roars. His whole body convulses and jerks against the chains that bind his ankles to the beam above, as he tries desperately to reach his hands up to shield his privates. I gasp at the sight of blood oozing from his ball-sac.

I stand there aghast, rooted to the spot, horrified at what I am doing.

Well done, Adam, that was a perfect first stroke, my father nods, with grim satisfaction.

Yes! Give him more like that! Tom urges. Just what the brute deserves!

No he doesn’t! I explode, turning to face Tom and my father, as my anger boils over.

I kept trying to tell you, Dad, but you wouldn’t listen, I rant. It was me! I begged him to fuck me, but he refused. So I told him I’d whip him if he didn’t. I desperately wanted to feel his huge cock inside me. Eventually he obliged his massa, and I enjoyed the most powerful orgasm of my life.... until you interrupted us.

By now I am shaking with emotion, and the tears start cascading down my cheeks.

This cannot go on! I shout between sobs. He hasn’t done anything wrong!

I stamp my feet with fury, and fling the sjambok into the corner, as far away as possible.

Tom looks at my father, who in turn looks at me. Neither seems to know what to do.

Eventually, my father beckons and takes me in his arms. I’m sorry, Adam, he whispers, as he hugs me. I collapse against him, my body still heaving.

Tom, take Kurtley down and get that wound seen to, he instructs. On no account are you to give him any further punishment. When he’s recovered, bring him over to the house; I don’t want him mixing with any of the other slaves. Adam and I will work out what’s to happen to him now.

Thank you, Dad, I whisper, drying my tears as I hug him tight.


In the privacy of his study, I tell my father all I have discovered about Kurtley in the last twenty-four hours. He listens sympathetically, making no comment, just smirking occasionally.

I’m so sorry I misread the situation, Adam. I was only trying to protect you...

I know, Dad...

He pulls me into his arms and gives me a tight hug. You’re my only son, and I’m really proud of the way you are growing into such a fine young man, he tells me, his voice cracking with emotion.

Thanks Dad, I feel really lucky to have you as my father.

We remain locked together, in an unspoken communion of the father/son bond that unites us.

So what are we going to do with Kurtley? he asks, as we eventually break from the hug.

Well, the thing is, Dad, I confide, I find him intensely sexually attractive.

My father has always been supportive as I passed through adolescence and discovered sex, encouraging me to be totally open with him about my lusts and desires. He recognised very early on that, like him, I was turned on by the whip; by encouraging me to join him in indulging our mutual lust, rather than trying to suppress it, he has created a strong bond between us. When I started having sex with Jake he didn’t warn me off, but instead encouraged me, telling me to follow my heart wherever that might take me.

Although my Mom wants to start introducing me to girls, Dad knows that I like fucking men. He said he was the same at my age, and only switched to female sex when he met and fell in love with Mom, although he did admit that he still hankers after the tight feel of a male arse. So we have a very close father/son relationship, and I love him for that.

Kurtley’s certainly a handsome man, my father concedes. That’s what attracted me to him when I saw him at the slave auction, that and his strong musculature. Now I know he has royal blood, too, it seems a waste to destroy him by working under the lash as a field slave. So what do you think we should do with him, Adam?

Well, er, Dad, I venture hesitantly, trying not to blush, since Jake left I haven’t had anyone to, er, have sex with....

So you want to use Kurtley, I suppose! Dad grins. Well, there’s no problem with that – he’s our slave, so we can make him do whatever you want. Tom will fix that for you. At seventeen you certainly need plenty of sexual action, to help build your cock into a powerful manhood that will give you pleasure for the rest of your life.

Yes, thank you Dad, I snigger, trying not to blush. But I don’t just want him for the occasional fuck, I want him in my bed all night, every night.... like a lover!

Hey, steady on, Adam! He’s a slave and you’re the son of his master, which makes you his master, too. You’re never going to be lovers. Fuck him all you like in the slave quarters, but he can never live with us here in the house as your equal. Besides, what would your mother say???

But couldn’t we find some sort of role for him as a house slave?

Like what?

Well, some of my friends at school have a house-slave who acts as a sort of butler and personal valet...

That’s ridiculously pompous – they’re just trying to impress you. In any case, it’s probably just a euphemism for a sex-slave! Dad chortles.

I snigger. But that’s exactly what I want Kurtley for, of course!

But seriously, Dad, I continue, when I went to stay with Josh, they definitely had a butler. He was a very striking black man, elegantly dressed in a beautiful silk coat and britches. I assume he was a slave, although I don’t know for sure. He opened the front door when I arrived, carried my bag upstairs, advised me what to wear, and made sure it was all clean and pressed. Then later, he waited on us at table and in the drawing-room afterwards. It was really impressive.

Yes, but we aren’t as grand as that, Adam.

No, but I bet Mom would like us to be! I suggest.

Well, you could have a point there! he snorts.

Particularly if she’s going to start inviting eligible girls and their parents here for dinner, as she keeps threatening, I continue, eagerly pressing my advantage. She’ll certainly want to impress them!

That’s true. But I thought you weren’t interested in finding a girl.

I’m not, Dad. But I realise that I’ll have to take a wife, so I can have a son one day. I’d bring him up to be a young man that I can share things with, like you do with me.

Aw, Adam, it’s really great to hear you say that! he grins, and gives me a loving hug.

I love you too, Dad, I tell him.

Well, Adam, let’s think about this. If we bring Kurtley into the house, you’ll have to take responsibility for his training, .....and discipline, of course.

I won’t have a problem with that, Dad! I snigger.

I’m sure you won’t! But remember that there are women in the house, not least your mother, so the whip must never be used indoors – it is far too brutish for female eyes or ears, and hence must be kept for use in the slave compound or out on the plantation. The preferred method of correction for house slaves is the cane, applied to the buttocks, of course.

That’s fine, Dad. As you know, I’m a prefect at school, so I’m quite experienced at caning boys. In fact I have the reputation of being the hardest caner amongst all the prefects!

That’s my boy! he chuckles, ruffling my hair affectionately.


And that’s how Kurtley came to be our butler and my personal valet.

We changed his name to Prince, as that appealed to my mother’s societal ambitions, .....and he is a prince, anyway, of course!

He has his own bedroom on the top floor, but spends most nights in my bed with me. The cane plays an important part in both his discipline and our sexual adventures.

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