1
Escape to Israel

I still remember my real Mom and Dad. I will never forget them. They were good people, but the white man's government murdered them… because they were black.

I will always remember Mistress and Young Master, Brent, too. They loved me and I loved them. And they are gone too… gone trying to make sure I was safe and free. Why is it that everyone I loved is dead and I'm still alive?"

We… Mom, Dad and I… lived in a little house near the school where my parents worked and where I was in primary school. Mom taught history at the upper school and Dad was the building engineer for the entire school district.

I was the only black kid in my school, so I didn't have any close friends. Most of the kids treated me OK, but a few of the older boys were bullies and a few of the teachers were not happy to have a black boy in their classes. They went out of their way to make sure I knew that. But, on the whole, I liked school and I was good at learning.

Most days, after my last class, I would go to my father's office which was in my building. I would do my homework and wait for him to be finished his work. Then we would walk over to the upper school and meet Mom and walk home together. On the weekends, Mom and Dad would often take me to the mountains or to the seashore, or the zoo or into London for a show. We didn't have a lot, but we were happy.

Then came the afternoon Dad and I couldn't find Mom.

She wasn't in the usual place we met her. Her building was dark and empty, except for the gym and locker rooms where football (soccer) practice was just over.

Then we heard her scream and we rushed off to find her. Her screams were coming from one of the classrooms upstairs.

When Dad and I burst in, there were three of the senior boys. They had torn her clothes off and two of them were holding her down on a table while the third one raped her. "Professor Barns says this is all you niggers are good for," the boy snarled at her.

Dad was on him in a flash. He picked him up and threw him across the room and through the window onto the stone quad three stories below. The other two boys ran off. Dad just held Mom in his arms and tried to comfort her. I was so frightened… how could a nine-year-old not be frightened at what I had just seen… I was just frozen to the spot.

We were still there when the police burst in and arrested Mom and Dad for murder… the boy had been killed. His two companions claimed Mom had lured the three of them to the deserted room and Dad had attacked them for no reason. All three of us were shackled and hustled off to jail. Mom was still naked.

They shackled me to a chair in the Super's office, and that was the last time I ever saw my Dad and I only saw Mom one other time… on they day they hanged her.

The Slave School people finally came and got me. I was told that I was a slave and must obey them or I would be punished. I tested that idea a few times before my sore ass convinced me that wasn't a good idea.

A week or so later, I was told my parents had been tried, found guilty and sentenced to be hanged. It was obviously a case of the word of two white boys against two blacks.

In the meantime, I was being given a crash course in slave behavior. Often the lessons were taught with a cane. I was too frightened to do anything but try to do what they wanted.

I had been there about a month, when the Super called me in and said that a white man had bought me and he was now my master. If I obeyed him, he would treat me ok. If I didn't, he would beat me. Not much choice, was there?

The man, whose name I learned was Harry Connick, clicked the slave cuffs on me, dragged me naked out to his car and threw me into the boot (trunk). He said slaves didn't need clothes. I couldn't see where he was taking me; I guessed to his home.

I was wrong!

I hadn't been told this was the day Mom was being hanged and he was taking me to witness it. I found out later that Dad had been killed by the other inmates in the prison where he had been held.

The prison officials did allow me a few last minutes alone with my mother. I was cuffed, but they removed hers and she took me in her arms. I don't remember much from that point on, but I do remember what she said to me. "Owen, you must be brave. Don't hate white people for what they did to us. Hate never wins. It just destroys the person. Obey your master and be a good slave. Maybe someday you can demand justice, but not now."

After they took her away, Master dragged me out into the yard and made me watch while they put the noose about her neck and pulled the trap. After that, everything was just blank.

He took me home and I guess I met the rest of the family, but it was a day or two before I realized who they were: Mistress, his wife and Young Master Brent, their son who was two years younger that me.

My first weeks there, I did what they asked and worked hard, but I didn't feel a thing… no sorrow, no anger, just a great empty place inside. Both Mistress and Young Master tried to comfort me, but it was no use. Master insisted they feed me slave gruel and gave me a hard paddling on my bare ass every night after supper.

It must have hurt because Young Master told me later that I cried and howled, but I can't remember. Master had installed a cage in the basement with a thin pad for me to sleep on. It was Young Master's job to lock me in every night after I finished clearing up the supper dishes. He told me he would be my master when he was older.

Master had started to travel for his company, so there were many weeks he was gone and life was a little less harsh. I even got to eat real food. But I was still empty and numb inside even though Young Master tried very hard to make me feel better.

I had been there just short of three months when, one day, I began to cry.

I couldn't stop!

I cried for almost two days.

Fortunately, Master was away or I probably would have been beaten badly. Mistress tried to comfort me without success. But it was Young Master who sat by my pallet all day, all night, and into the next day. Somehow, he understood, because he didn't try to talk to me. He just sat with his arm around my shoulder. He was just there for me. And it was then I slowly began to realize something.

He loved me!

He wanted the best for me!

And, somehow, knowing that allowed me to move beyond the terrible grief I had bottled up inside me. I would morn the loss of my parents, but I could begin build a new life… maybe even have hope. Perhaps all white people were not mean and cruel. Maybe Mistress really meant it when she said she cared for me, too.

I resolved to be the very best slave I could be and repay them for their kindness. And I began to feel safe and secure in this home, even though Master continued to beat me daily whenever he was home.

It was several weeks before I finally got up enough courage to go to Mistress. I knelt before her, "I can't begin to tell you how much it meant to me that Young Master was with me while I, I, I…. I can't thank you enough for sending him to me."

"It was his idea," she answered with a gentle smile. "He said he needed to show you that he loved you."

"But, why, Mistress." I asked her. "I'm just a slave. Why would he do that?"

"Owen, you are much, much more than a slave to Brent. He doesn't even think of you as slave. You are his friend, his big brother. You are his hero!"

"Some hero! I cried for two days!"

"Owen, come here." And she opened her arms to me and held me close. I just put my head down on her breast and cried some more. She loved me, too!

"Owen, I have told Brent what happened to your family. He said that if it had been him, he would have just died. I think he might have."

"But you have come through it without hate. You needed to cry, to get the sorrow out. And he understood that. These several weeks we have see the real Owen, brave, strong, full of love and compassion. A wonderful boy, ready to start a new life, one that both of us hope will be full of happiness."

"Unfortunately, Brent's father doesn't share that hope for you. He has changed. He's not the man I married. The liquor has ruined him, I fear. Fortunately, he's away a lot so we don't have to bear his anger toward you very much. You'll have to obey him and take your daily beating when he's home. But, when he's not, Brent and I will try to make a real home for you. I know you'll work hard and both of us appreciate that"

Work hard? I would gladly have worked to death to please her and Young Master. I had my chores to do and she was always ready with a pat on the back when I did well and a gentle rebuke and patient correction when I didn't.

Young Master, of course, went to school, where he was in the fourth grade, advanced for his age. Mistress insisted I resume my studies, too. She taught me at home using the same materials her son used. She made sure my duties left enough time for my studies… and time for me to be with Brent. When Master was away, I spent most evenings with Brent, doing the things that boys our age do. No, not those kind of things; that wouldn't come until later.

When Master was home…. Let's not talk about that.

One result of my new spirit was the change of my sleeping quarters. Mistress insisted my sleeping cage be moved to Brent's room. She told Master that Brent needed to take more responsibility for me if I was to be his slave in the future. They argued about it, but Master finally gave in.

She placed a mattress and blankets in the cage and made sure I had a urinal in case I needed to pee during the night. I had had a number of accidents in the basement. She also installed an emergency release so I could get out if there was a fire. It had a loud alarm, so it wasn't likely I would try to sneak out.

It wasn't posh, but very much better than being all alone in the dark basement. Brent and I could talk before we drifted off to sleep. He always seemed sad, though, when he had to lock me in for the night.

We had been in this arrangement for a month or so when one night I heard him slip out of bed and come padding over to the cage.

"Owen, are you still awake?" he asked.

"Yes, Young Master," I answered.

I heard the lock click open on the cage door. "I you'd like, you can sleep with me in my bed," he whispered breathlessly.

I was stunned!

"But, Young Master, suppose Master finds out!"

"He's away and he won't know. Don't you want to sleep with me?" he asked, plaintively.

It took me a minute to catch my breath. "My God!" I thought. "What is he leading me into?"

But, I wanted very much to sleep with him, to hold him and feel him close. "Oh yes, Young Master. That would be very nice," I stammered.

He grasped my hand, pulled me out of the cage and into his bed and pulled the blankets up over us. I put my arms around him and he snuggled up against me, gave a contented sigh, and was asleep instantly.

I lay awake for quite some time. His warm body felt so good against mine. Perhaps this was the family I would always be with and Brent was my little brother. No, he couldn't be; I was a slave and he was a free boy. Still……

The next morning I began to have second thoughts about his invitation. I sought out Mistress after Brent went to school.

"Mistress," I said on my knees, staring at the floor in shame, "last night Young Master invited me to sleep with him in his bed. And I did. He shouldn't have done that; he's a free boy and I'm just a slave."

"Yes," she replied. "He told me he was going to and asked if it would be all right. I said yes."

I stared up at her with my mouth open.

"Did you like it?" she asked. "Now, be honest with me."

I couldn't lie to this wonderful woman. "Oh yes!" I gasped. "But……!"

"Owen, please get up and come sit beside me here. That's better!" She put her arm around me and I started to stammer, but she just placed her finger on my lips, silencing me.

"Owen, he adores you! And I know that you love him."

She said nothing more, but that night two very happy boys shared a bed, as we would always do from then on whenever Master was not at home.

We had been sleeping together for about two months when I got another shock. I really enjoyed having his warm, pajama-clad body nestled up against mine and we hugged a lot before he fell asleep in my arms, but that was all.

That night, as I crawled in beside him, I made a heart-stopping discovery.

He was naked!

"Young Master! Where are your pajamas?"

"I don't need them," he giggled. "You sleep naked, so I decided I wanted to."

"But I'm naked all the time!"

"So?"

In truth, his bare skin pressed against mine felt fabulous! And I discovered that things would get a lot more interesting in the next few nights. I was pretty naive about sex and he had appointed himself to teach me.

The next night, as we lay together, he began to rub my chest and tweak my nipples. Electric sparks ran through my body and I couldn't even speak… I could barely breath. "Do you like it when I do this?" he asked.

I just nodded dumbly.

"Do it to me!" he pleaded.

I nervously reached out my hand and began to caress him. He was so warm and soft! His skin was so smooth and inviting. I was terrified at what might happen if we were caught.

But he wasn't done yet.

I had a moment of panic as I tried to hide my erection from him. "You have a stiffy," he giggled. "My friend at school said you would." This was a very carefully planed out campaign to seduce me. Panic and lust fought a battle with me. I wanted him so badly, but……

Then he began to stroke my hard-on, pausing only long enough to place my hand on his little pole. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

Feelings that I didn't even know I had rushed through my body. I couldn't move, I couldn't speak. All I could do was gently stroke him as he worked on my prick. It was clear from his little gasps that he was enjoying it as much as I was. After a while, he turned over and went to sleep with my hard-on nestled in his little ass crack.

Again, I lay awake, full of conflicting feelings: lust, guilt, love, fright.

By morning I felt very very guilty and was quickly on my knees in front of Mistress again. She looked at me quaking on the floor, thought for a moment and then asked, "You and Brent touched each other sexually last night, didn't you?"

I collapsed on the floor in a crying heap. "Oh Mistress!" I bawled, "I'm sorry! It won't happen again, I promise. You must punish me for being so evil."

She knelt beside me and pulled me, sobbing, into her arms. "Owen, do you really and truly love Brent?"

I looked at her through my tears. "Oh yes. I love him more than anyone else in the world. And I will always, always love him."

"Then what you did together last night was quite all right. It was a beautiful expression of your love for each other. I had a conversation with Brent yesterday. He actually asked for my permission. I told him all boys do that kind of thing. It's part of their growing up. And don't you dare give me the 'I'm just a slave' bit. You are Brent's best friend, his big brother and now even more. As his mother, I could not ask for a finer person to be his first sexual partner."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

I finally found my voice enough to croak, "Thank you Mistress."

That night, Brent had still another surprise for me. As we lay together cuddling, he suddenly sat up and took my head in his hands. "Owen, I want you to promise me something."

"Anything, Young Master." I replied breathlessly.

"When we are here together," he said, "I want you to forget about being my slave. I don't care what your papers say, you are my big brother and my name is Brent."

I hadn't felt such complete happiness in a long time. Truly, he was my brother and I loved him dearly.

One night shortly afterward, we lay together, Brent on top of me, rubbing our stiff pricks together. Suddenly, it began to feel even more better. VERY MUCH MORE BETTER! The most intense feelings I had ever felt began to course through my body. My prick began to throb and my whole body shook. As the feelings peaked, I cried out and I heard Brent also crying out as we pressed our naked bodies together.

Both of us were breathless!

After some minutes, I asked him, "Did you feel it too?"

"Oh, yes! It was won-der-ful! My friend told me it would be. He said it's called an orgasm. It's what happens when a man puts his thing in a woman to start a baby," he told me authoritatively. We soon learned that we could use our hands to give each other that super-good feeling.

And, just after my eleventh birthday, I began to squirt. Cumming, Brent called it. He said he could hardly wait until he could cum, too.

That summer, Master decided to take me with him on one of his business trips. Mistress was completely against it and they argued fiercely. Master finally told her he would take me and leave if she kept on, so she reluctantly gave in.

Brent was devastated by the thought of my going away, but I told both of them, "Please! I can do this. Perhaps it will help Master to get to know me better so he won't treat me so bad." Of course, I had no choice, so it didn't much matter what I thought.

Master had bought a travel cage in which I would ride. It had pads on the bottom and sides and handles to hold so I wouldn't be thrown about during the trip. Not exactly comfortable, but not too bad.

Sunday afternoon, I crawled into the cage and he put it in the boot. The last thing I saw before he closed the lid was Brent watching white-faced and crying.

We drove for several hours. Since I could not see out, I had no idea where he was taking me. I found out later it was Birmingham.

He released me in front of a hotel whose marquee proclaimed 'DELUXE ROOMS FOR MASTERS AND SLAVES'. Clipping a leash to my collar, he registered and we were shown to a room on the third level.

The room had two beds: a king-sized one and a sleeping pallet with cuffs attached to the head and foot. There was no doubt which one was my bed. He ordered a full dinner for himself and some slave gruel for me.

Afterward, I lay down on the pallet and he shackled me by one ankle. Where he thought I, an eleven-year-old boy, naked and in an unknown city, might run to I could not guess, He fondled me a bit and then took to his own bed.

The next morning, after his full breakfast and my gruel one, he informed me, "Time to get you ready for the day."

From his luggage he took a piece of restraint gear. It had a butt plug with a strap that buckled around my waist to keep the plug firmly in my ass. It didn't hurt too much.

Then he had me lie down on the pallet and he fastened my arms and legs spread-eagle. The purpose of the plug was now clear: to keep me from shitting the bed while he was gone.

From under the bed, he pulled a closed container that had a thin plastic hose attached to it. "Can't have you pissing the bed, can we," he joked, as he inserted the free end of the tube into my prick. THAT HURT! I couldn't help myself and I began to scream.

So he gagged me with a ball-gag.

Then he blindfolded me, tightened the arm and leg cuffs so I was really stretched and couldn't move at all, and left.

The first few hours weren't too bad. And, then my arms and legs started to cramp from being so stretched. My prick burned every time I passed a little urine through the tube… I learned later it was called a catheter.

There must have been something in the gruel, because I began to have stomach cramps. The pain I felt throughout my body was worse than I had ever felt before. And it got much worse as the day wore on.

When he finally returned, the first thing he did was to release my arms and legs. He sat and roared with laughter as I ripped the tube out of my prick, tore off the blindfold and staggered into the bathroom where I struggled to remove the butt plug and spewed my backed-up shit into the toilet. He then proceeded to have supper while I lay on my bed and gasped.

But the evening entertainment was yet to come.

After supper, he fastened my arms to the headboard again. I thought he was going to leave me spread-eagle for the night, but he had other plans.

Fastening my feet to the headboard as well and folding me in half, he placed a pillow under my ass. I knew what was coming and I pleaded with him, "Please Master, not that! Please don't hurt me. I'll do anything"

He slapped me and replied, "Shut up your bitching. You're going to find out what black slaves are really good for. And it won't be as much fun as you and Brent have, will it?"

Oh god! He knew about that!

Smearing some goo of some sort around and in my hole… it had been partially stretched by the butt plug… he first inserted a finger. Satisfied by what he found, he positioned himself and thrust his huge member into my waiting canal.

I thought I would die! It felt like he was splitting me in half. I screamed, "No Master! Please! IT HURTS TOO MUCH!" But the more I screamed, the better he liked it and the harder he thrust.

After pounding my ass for a good fifteen minutes, he finally gave one last thrust and I could feel his juice squirting into me.

He pulled out, and released my legs. Then, grabbing me by my hair, he made me clean my shit and blood and his juice off his prick with my mouth. Lying on my back, I could feel it oozing out of my sore asshole. I was nauseous and hurt all over.

Reinserting the catheter, he wished me a cheery goodnight and turned out the light.

I lay there in torment. I felt dirty. He had used me like a whore… at that age I didn't even know that word. I felt ashamed. How could I ever face Brent again after what Master had done to me?

The next morning, he told me, "You were such a good little pussy boy last night, I've decided to give you a treat, today. I won't fasten you to the bed while I'm out."

Instead, he fastened my wrists behind my back. Then he strapped my elbows together so tightly, I thought my arms would break. When I complained that it hurt, he slapped me and put the ball gag in again and blindfolded me. He fastened my ankles together with a very short chain so I could just manage to shuffle around the room. He thought it was really funny when I fell and had to struggle to get up again.

He grabbed me by my balls and lifted me up on to my toes, "I don't want to see one drop of your piss or shit on the floor when I get back. Now, have a nice day!" He released me and left.

I managed to find my bed and sat down on it. My shoulders and arms hurt and my penis was still sore from the catheter. I sat there crying but, after a while, I lay on my side and slept.

I woke sometime later in a panic. My stomach was starting to cramp again and I wasn't sure anymore where the bathroom was. After crawling around the room for a long time, I finally found the door. But it was shut. I had to struggle to my feet and use my tied hands to open it.

I fell into the bathroom, banging my head on the floor. After the stars stopped whirling, I managed to find the toilet. Since my hands were in back of me, I had to figure out some way to pee and shit at the same time. The cramps were getting pretty bad and I knew I couldn't hold out much longer. I tried sitting on the toilet backwards to I could use the toilet bowl rim to press my penis downward. It was uncomfortable as hell, but I couldn't hold it any longer. Fortunately, everything landed in the toilet.

I spent the rest of the day there, too tired and aching to move.

Master was actually satisfied when he got back. He even fed me a little of his left-over meal.

But the night was a replay of the previous one. Only this time he gagged me… the manager had complained about the noise. After savagely fucking me again, he jammed the catheter in and left me lying in the blood and shit leaking out of my sore ass.

Wednesday was a repeat of the hands-behind-the back routine, but he didn't blindfold me and he left my ankles free.

But Wednesday night was a whole new ballgame. He had invited three of his buddies over. They all pounded my ass… two of them, more than once. By this time my ass was so sore and I felt so miserable, I didn't even cry. They were disappointed. He had told them I would scream and beg.

Thursday and Friday were more of the same routine. But, my penis was now badly swollen and by Friday night I was having chills.

Saturday morning, my fever was much worse. We left for home about noon. Before he put me in the travel cage, he warned me, "If you tell anyone about what we did here this week, I will kill you!" That frightened me because I was sure he would. But his next words completely terrorized me, "And I'll kill Brent, too!"

I rode home on my hands and knees; my ass hurt too much for me to sit, and the cage was too narrow for me to lie on my side.

As he opened the boot and unlocked the cage, Brent came running out of the house to help me. I could hardly stand, but he managed to get me out of the car. How Master could possibly have believed no one would notice my injuries was more than I could understand. I stood there with blood running down my legs. My penis was red and inflamed and I shook with fever.

Brent took one look at me and screamed for his mom.

Mistress came running, took one look at my condition and rounded on her husband, "YOU GODDAMED FUCKING PERVERT! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HIM?" I didn't know she even knew such words.

As she and Brent started to carry me into the house, everything went black.

The next thing I remembered was waking up in a strange room. I had some tubes in my wrist and one ankle was chained to the bed. "Where am I?" I croaked.

Brent's tear-stained face appeared, hovering over me. "Mom! He's awake!" he bawled.

Mistress's head joined his and she said softly, "You're in hospital. Owen, we almost lost you! You had a bad infection in your bladder and the fever almost killed you." And she leaned down and kissed me.

Brent just put his head down on my chest and sobbed.

After a few minutes, a nurse came into the room and shooed them both away. "Praise God, Missus, your laddie's fever has broken," she announced in her thick Scottish brogue. "I think he may gwonta just live after all. He'll be wantin' to sleep some now, but 'tis a good thing."

"Will he be OK? Are you sure?" Mistress asked her.

"Don't fash yeself, missus. He's a strong one and he'll be right as rain," the nurse replied.

I suddenly did feel very tired and I was out like a light, even though I hurt all over.

The next time I woke, Brent was sitting beside my bed with his head on my chest, sound asleep.

"Your wee friend," the nurse informed me, as she picked him up and gently deposited him in the bed next to mine, "has been wi' ye all of four days. He's worn to the bone, but he never left ye. We didna think ye were gwonta make it, but I'm verra happy ye did. Your Ma'am has gone home for some rest, but he refused to go." It was my turn to cry.

Later that afternoon, Brent sat by my bed gently holding my hand, and told me what had happened. After I had passed out, Mistress had chased Master back to his car and out the driveway, threatening mayhem and murder.

They rushed me to hospital where I was admitted… after an acrimonious fight with the hospital administrator who did not want a slave in his hospital, particularly a black one. They finally came to a compromise: I could be admitted but they would have to shackle one ankle to 'keep me from escaping'. Where they thought someone in my condition could escape to was beyond my guess.

"Why do people treat you so cruelly?" he asked. "You haven't done anything bad." I just shook my head and hugged him.

The doctors and nurses had all treated me well, but they had been sure the infection and fever would kill me. They were very happy they had been wrong. Now that the infection was under control, they could sew up the tears in my ass and treat my swollen penis.

Mistress arrived, insisted Brent climb into the other bed and sat down to talk. "I told that miserable snake of a husband of mine that if he ever so much as touched you again, I would cut his balls off," she told me gravely.

"Mistress," I said, "I don't want to be the cause of your fighting with Master. I'll be all right."

"Owen," she replied exasperated, "you almost died! Can you imagine what that would have done to my son?" Then softening a bit, "Life would have been over for Brent, if you hadn't made it. And maybe for me, too," she sniffed.

"I'm just sorry to cause so much trouble."

"You are not to blame, Owen. Do you know what he did to you? It's called rape. Do you know what that is?"

"Yes, Mistress. I watched my mother being raped. But, I didn't know you could do it to a boy." I think, for the first time, I knew how Mom had felt on that awful day.

"I'm sorry," she sniffed, "that was unkind of me. Yes, you can rape a boy and that's what he did to you. Owen, rape is the most degrading thing one person can do to another, and I will never let him do that to you again; not while I have life and breath."

I thought for a while and then asked, "Mistress, why don't you make him leave?"

"Because, if he did, he would take you with him. And he would probably abuse you much more and then put you down when he tired of you."

"He could do that? He could just kill me?"

"Yes, Owen. The sad fact is slaves have no rights and their owners can do whatever they want. Even have them put down. If it had been Brent he raped, he would be in jail for a very long time. But, because you are a slave, he committed no crime. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you all this, not right now."

I sighed. "It's ok. I know you and Brent won't let that happen, so I'm not afraid."

But I was!

"There's something else you might as well know, too," she continued. "Brent's grandfather… his father's father… was a very wealthy man. When he died, he left his entire estate in trust to Brent. Brent will receive it when he is eighteen. But his father is bitter that the old man didn't leave his millions to him. And he just lives for the day when he can get his hands on all that money. He knows that I could prevent that, so he stays with us hoping."

"It's a stalemate, Owen. I'm just so sorry you have to be caught in the middle. But, I can tell you this: I don't know why he chose you, but it is the one RIGHT thing he's done in his life."

"Mistress, I'm so overwhelmed that you trust me so."

"Trust you? Yes, Owen. With my very life and Brent's, too."

I remained in the hospital five more days. But it was many weeks before I could give my love freely, without pain, to Brent again.

I was dirty! Master had defiled me, made me unclean. How could Brent possibly want to have me in his bed? But he just held me when we lay together. When he would caress me I would often start to cry in shame. "It's not your fault! You did nothing wrong!" he told me. "I still love you more than anyone else in the whole world."

Gradually, his patient love won out… doesn't love always win out… and we began to have sex again.

Once more, we all settled into a routine, trying hard to put what had happened behind us. Master still came home weekends, but he actually treated me civilly. Maybe he had changed, but I doubted it.

While Brett was in school, Mistress frequently took me out shopping with her, to carry packages. The law required that a slave's genitals be covered outside the home, so I could not be naked. But, she had bought me several nice outfits to wear. I was used to being naked, so wearing clothes felt a little strange.

I was naked all the time in the house and Brent often joined me and went naked in the house, too. If Mistress objected, she never said anything. I think she really liked seeing both of us nude and it did cut down on the laundry.

When she took me out, I had to observe slave discipline. But that wasn't hard. And everyone complimented her about her well-trained slave. Having a black slave was kind of exotic. Sometime she sent Brent and me on errands, too. Again, I made sure he was complimented about my behavior, too.

Mistress continued to insist I study hard. She said I had a gift with words. That I would be a writer some day. Well, I didn't know about that, but I did like writing short stories about the things I observed around the house or when we were out in the community.

She sent one of my essays to a writing competition for kids throughout England… carefully concealing that it was penned by a slave. Slaves are not supposed to be that smart.

To my amazement, it won first prize and she and Brent couldn't get done congratulating me. The prize was one hundred pounds! She said she would keep it safe for me until I needed it.

"But Mistress," I asked, "what would I do with it? I can't buy anything with it. Everyone would be sure I stole it."

"Owen," she told me, "you will not always be a slave."

"What do you mean? The teachers at the slave school said I would be a slave all my life?"

She explained to me about the different classes of slaves and that I was Class Two, which meant I could be freed some day. But that was almost too much for me to grasp. "But Mistress. I… I… "

"Owen, if it were up to me, I would free you in a minute. You are a very special boy who does not belong enslaved. Unfortunately, Brent's father does not agree and he is your master. But I promise you, it will happen some day. Once Brent turns eighteen, he becomes your master and his father will be out of the picture."

"And I promise you," added Brent, "the first thing I will do is to free you."

What they had just told me was almost more than I could grasp. But it was frightening. If I were freed, what would happen to me?

Mistress saw my distress immediately, "Owen… slave or free… you will always have a home with us for as long as you want it. Some day, you will want to start your own family, but until then WE are your family."

I walked around in a daze. Dare I hope? Could I someday?

Master was back in the house again… on his very best behavior. He actually treated me well and made no effort to 'discipline' me. He even offered an apology to me saying, "I'm sorry I hurt you so, Owen." I wasn't sure it was genuine.

He spent most of the time in his basement workshop, although he did appear for meals and often relaxed in the family room after supper. On several occasions when I passed close to him, he reached out and felt my bare rump, earning an angry glare from Mistress.

One Saturday afternoon, I was in the basement cleaning the room next to his workshop when I suddenly realized he was standing at the doorway watching me. Mistress had gone shopping, but Brent was home.

He stood looking at me for a few minutes and then gestured to me. "Come here, Owen." I began to be frightened and started to shake, but I had to go to him. He was my master and I could not refuse him.

He began to feel my body and play with my boy parts, panting. I was so frightened I could hardly stand. "No! Please, Master! Don't!" I gasped. But he continued to rub me and play with my body. He started to take me into his workshop.

Somehow, Brent must have sensed that I needed him as he came running into the room. He took one look at the scene and, in a very grown up voice, calmly said, "Go away, Father! He is not yours to play with!" Master released me and returned to his workshop, slamming the door.

Brent held me for a few moments until I calmed down and we went upstairs. "We must tell Mom about this when she comes home," he told me.

"Please, Brent, No! It will just make them fight. I'm all right; he didn't hurt me. I just need to be more careful when he's around." Brent wasn't entirely convinced, but finally agreed.

On another Saturday afternoon, Brent and I were kicking a soccer ball around the back yard. We had both been naked in the house, but slipped on some skimpy shorts to go outside. Brent's ten-year-old body had really started to develop and the shorts didn't hide much.

Suddenly, I was aware Master was watching us from the window. I had kicked the ball clear to the other end of the yard and Brent had gone to retrieve it. As he trudged back up the yard with the ball, Master licked his lips and I realized, to my horror, it wasn't me he was watching.

It was Brent!

"My God! He wants Brent, too!" I thought. "His own son!" The idea made me sick to my stomach, because I knew what Master would do to him if he got the chance. But, I decided not to tell Brent about it; I didn't want to drive them further apart. But, now I was frightened for both of us.

Brent often brought a friend or two home from school with him. I had to observe slave discipline when they arrived, but he quickly released me so we could all have fun together. We usually played computer games or board games or played ball out in the yard.

His friends were fascinated by me. Many of them had a slave in their family… but not a black slave. A few hinted they would like to have had sexual fun with me, but Brent firmly refused. I was relieved by that. I would have cheerfully done it if he had asked, but I could not have given myself willingly to anyone but him.

One Friday night he was invited to a sleepover. He was sad I couldn't go along, but I told him, "Please Young Master. Go and have fun. I'll be ok. It's only for one night."

That night I slept in my cage… cold, lonely and thoroughly miserable. I hadn't realized how much our bedtimes together meant to me.

He came home the next morning, flushed and excited. "I've something exciting to show you in bed tonight," he whispered to me. But he wouldn't tell me what it was.

That night, as soon as we got into bed, he lay on top of me. "Are you ready for this?" he asked. I had no idea what 'this' was, but I nodded.

Before I had time to think, he slid down between my legs and I felt his lips around my raging hard-on.

The sensations produced by his lips and tongue, drove me out of my mind!

As I started to reach my peak, I managed to gasp, "Stop! I'm going to cum!"

But he kept right on and I had the most powerful orgasm I had ever had. It felt like I pumped gallons of my cream into his hot little mouth. He swallowed every bit.

It took me a while to float back to earth. When I was 'normal' again, he was lying there grinning at me. "You like?" he asked.

"Oh yes! That was the most awesome thing I have ever felt! But I squirted in your mouth!"

"It won't hurt me and, besides, I like the way you taste. We all sucked each other last night. Since I was the new boy, I had to suck each of them, so I got lots of expert instruction and practice. But you're much more fun and you taste better."

"Will you teach me to do you?" I asked.

"Do you really want to? You don't have to, you know."

In answer, I rolled him off me and slid down and took his growing pole in my mouth. He helped me to use my lips and tongue in the way which gave him the most pleasure. And soon he was squealing and gasping through his dry orgasm.

"Wait!" I told him. "It wasn't completely dry!" He had cum for the very first time. He was delicious.

It didn't take us many nights to discover how to suck each other at the same time. Whoever cummed first kept on sucking the other until he shot his load, too. In time, we got so that we could reach our peaks together. If Mistress knew about our oral exercises, she never said a word.

That summer I often went shopping with Mistress and Brent. He enjoyed showing me off and I was just happy he was happy.

We went to the seacoast, too. Mistress would find a deserted cove where Brent and I could 'skinny-dip' while she watched. To comply with the law, she wrote 'SLAVE' on my back with a white marker. The water was cold, so Brent and I had to hug each other, of course. And we could have a little sex fun under the water. I managed to suck him off one time, but he couldn't hold his breath long enough to do me.

I had thought a lot about my parents, particularly since Mistress had told me I might one day be free. The old sorrow returned from time to time, but I held it in check and didn't let it overwhelm me. But I still felt something was missing.

Brent had told me about one of his school friends who had lost his mother in a mid-ocean air crash. They couldn't have a normal funeral for her since her body was never recovered. But they needed some way to say goodbye to her, so they had a memorial service at the chapel close to our house. He said his friend was very much better after the service.

I began to think, "Could I have a memorial service for my Mom and Dad?"

I went on my knees to Mistress. "Mistress, I know that I am unworthy and I should not ask such a thing, but could we… could I…?"

"Young man," she interrupted me, "just who thinks you are unworthy? Do you have any idea how much it pains me to hear you say that? If you want something, stand up straight and ask."

I was appalled! Hurting this wonderful woman, whom I loved almost as much as my Mom, was the last thing I ever wanted to do. She and Brent tried so hard to make a real home for me. Was I being selfish? Yes I was.

"I'm sorry, Mistress," I replied as I stood, embarrassed. "I didn't think. Can you forgive me?"

"Always, Owen. Now, why don't you tell me what it is you want."

"Mistress, do you think we might… would it be proper… to have a memorial service for my Mom and Dad?"

Her reply was immediate, "Owen, that is a splendid idea. I'll talk to Father Guthrie about it right away." She folded me into her arms and added, "This is why you are so special. You always think first of those you love."

I had met Father Guthrie when Mistress and Brent took me along to Sunday Mass and he always treated me with kindness. Mistress had insisted I should sit in the family pew with them and not in the area in the back where slaves were supposed to be confined. Some of the other worshipers grumbled, but she just smiled sweetly and ignored them.

The service was quite different from the church Mom and Dad had taken me to years ago, but the music and liturgy spoke to my inner being. I felt a calmness there.

Later that day, Mistress reported that Father Guthrie would be most honored to celebrate a memorial mass for my parents. I was very happy and Brent was too.

Mistress insisted both Brent and I must have new dress-up outfits for the occasion… he had grown out of his. She took us to a very exclusive clothing store and, after the usual argument with the proprietor about his establishment serving slaves, we came away with two very fine outfits. It was the first 'grown up' dress outfit I had ever had. It's amazing what waving a one-hundred pound note under a shop owner's nose will do.

The day of the service, I dressed in my new finery and Brent assured me I looked like the Crown Prince, an unlikely idea since he was white. But, I did look at myself in the full-length mirror in Mistress's room and I must admit the boy who looked back at me was pretty handsome.

It would be a small service… Mistress, Brent and me. Master had been invited, but was 'too busy' to attend.

The music set the scene and Father Guthrie spoke briefly about the injustice that had been done to my Mom and Dad… and to me. He spoke movingly about how I had started to build a new life… one he was sure my parents would want for me and one that would lead some day to freedom and honor.

But the most moving part of the simple service was the young boy soprano who sang the Prayer Hymn from 'Hansel and Gretel'; I remembered my Mom reading that story to me so many years ago.

His voice was that of an angel. And the sunlight shining through the colored windows illuminated him with a divine light.

Light of God within us shine; Fill us with thy grace divine. Drive all shadows far away. Break the power of Evil's sway.

May we Truth and Wisdom seek, And our Souls be drawn to thee.

Love of God our hearts or'eflow, May we now Thy comfort know.

Heal our Sorrows, cleanse our Sin. Set us wholly Free within.

SET US WHOLLY FREE WITHIN!

As the closing notes faded into silence, I could suddenly hear my Mom speaking to me, "Owen, you have found a new family and your father and I could not be more happy for you. You have a mistress and a young brother who love you deeply. The sorrow of your separation from us is past. Go with God, my son."

And then, my Dad, "You have grown into a magnificent young man, Owen. Brave, strong, compassionate and singularly determined to do what is right and honorable. What more could a father ask of his son. Know that your mother and I will always be with you. Your journey has just begun and justice and mercy will prevail."

I sat there, head bowed, frozen in time. Mistress and Brent watched quietly; they knew I was having a profound experience.

After a while I looked up. "They were there! My Mom and Dad!

Brent reached across his mother, took my hand in his and whispered, "Be at peace, my brother." It was the first time he had called me 'brother' in public. Mistress just smiled down on both of us. Stronger than blood ties, stronger than legal ties, Brent and I would always truly be brothers.

"Thank you, Mistress," I told her gratefully, after the service. "I can be at peace now because I know they are at peace. And I know you and Young Master will be my family forever."

Life after that was peaceful, but pleasant. Even Master seemed to appreciate me.

And, then, it all started to unravel.

Brent's eleventh birthday was only a few days away and I had turned thirteen a few weeks before. He had given me a small medal that his grandfather had given to him when he was very young. I wore it on the fine chain around my neck next to the small silver cross, the only thing I still had from my Mom and Dad. Mistress approved of Brent's gift to me, but Master obviously did not.

Mistress took me shopping and helped me choose a book that I knew Brent wanted. But, I wanted to give him something that was truly mine. Unknown to Mistress, I wrapped up the silver cross and slid it into the book. He immediately recognized it and they both wept, knowing how much that cross had meant to me. "I will wear this next to my heart as long as I live," he told me. "Next to my heart where you will always be."

On Brent's birthday, Master came home early. After supper, he took Brent down to his workshop, "Come on. I have your present down here."

I decided to wait for him in my cage, so I lay there, eager to give him the rest of his birthday present with my lips and tongue. I faintly heard some shouting, but didn't think much about it.

After a very long time, he ran into the room and threw himself across me, crying hysterically. What could his father have given him to cause that reaction? I just held him, trying to comfort him.

Finally he calmed down enough to tell me. "Do you know what he gave me?" he bawled. "A torture rack! And a whip! He says I must learn how to discipline you! I must put you on the rack every day and beat you!"

My worst fears had been confirmed.

"I WON'T DO IT!" he screamed. "HE CAN'T MAKE ME!"

"Yes he can," I told him sadly. "You've got to do what he says. He's your father."

"But, why? You haven't done anything wrong. Why do I have to whip you?"

"Because if you don't, he'll do it to me and he will go on until he kills me."

The look of terror in his eyes was almost too much for me.

He cried most of the night.

And I joined him!

The next day was one of the worst of my life. Late in the afternoon, Master dragged me downstairs to where he had set up the rack. "I told you not to tell what I did to you. Now you're going to pay for it."

"But, Master, I didn't!" I protested. He replied with a viscous slap across my mouth.

He made me stand on a bench while he fastened my wrists to the top bar of the rack. Then, he kicked the bench away, leaving me hanging with my feet off the ground. Spreading my legs apart, he fastened each ankle to the side of the rack so that I formed a letter 'X'. My arms began to ache from the strain.

After squeezing my balls until I cried out, he left and returned with Brent, white faced and crying. "See how nice he looks hanging like that? I'll be back in a minute." He left to get himself a drink.

Brent immediately ran over to me and tried to hold me up to take some of the strain off my arms. "I can't do this, Owen!" he bawled. "I can't whip you and cause you horrible pain when you've done nothing wrong!"

"You must!" I answered. "You must be brave and do it for both of us."

"But it will hurt awful! And it's not fair!"

"I know it will hurt! I can take it because I know you love me and that is all that matters."

"I can't do it, Owen. I can't hurt you just because HE says I must."

"Do the best you can, Young Master. And, remember; no matter what happens, I will always love you."

"Owen," he whimpered.

Master came back into the room, jerked Brent away from me and turned the rack around so I was facing away from them.

"Father! Please don't make me do this! It's cruel!"

"You must learn to be cruel or you'll never be a man. You have been a mama's boy far too long. Well, today, you are going to learn how to properly discipline your slave," he told his son. "Your days as his lover are over. You must whip him until the blood comes. Like this!"

A line of fire exploded across my lower back. It was worse than I could ever have imagined and, despite my resolve not to do so, I screamed at the top of my lungs.

"You can hit him here, also," and another line of fire was etched across my ass. "And here!" and a third line across the tops of my legs, joined the other two. The room echoed with my screams and Brent stood with his hands over his ears.

"Now you try it!" Master directed his sobbing son. "And stop your bleeding crying or I'll use this on you!"

"Father, please! No! I can't"

"Stop being such a baby!" he snarled. "Do it! He probably enjoys it. All slaves love being punished!"

"What a crock of shit!" I thought.

The next cut from the whip wasn't nearly as hard, but it still hurt. "Harder!" shouted his father. "I want to see blood!"

Another stroke, this one much harder.

"That's better! Now, you are to give him ten strokes each day. And I want to see blood after each one or you'll do them over!"

Brent threw down the whip and ran howling for his Mom.

"Come back here, you fucking sissy! You'll never be a man, you fagot!" But Brent didn't return.

"It's your fault," Master stormed at me. "You've turned him into a wimp! He loves you more than he loves me!"

"You got that right," I thought.

"Well, you'll pay for that!" he screamed at me. "FOR EVERY FUCKING MINUTE YOU HAVE SPENT CORRUPTING MY SON, I WILL BEAT YOU BLOODY!"

And he began to methodically whip me, from my shoulders to my calves. Even caught my hanging balls a few times. My whole body was on fire and I screamed until I couldn't scream any more and cried until I had no tears left. I lost track of o the number of strokes; I couldn't feel them individually any more.

But, I could feel the blood… my blood… running down my ass and legs and dripping onto the floor. I hung there convulsed with pain and full of sorrow… not for me, but for what this must be doing to Brent.

I must have passed out, because the next thing I remember was Mistress and Brent gently removing me from the rack. Both were crying hysterically as they laid me on Brent's bed face down. Brent used rubbing alcohol to treat the whip cuts; it hurt like crazy. But, somehow, knowing it was Brent's hands on my back, made it bearable. Mistress held my head up and made me take several pills. I don't remember anything after that until the next morning.

As I wakened, I heard Brent sobbing softly over me, "Oh Owen, I abandoned you. I wasn't brave enough. You must hate me because I was so weak."

"No, my brother." I managed to croak. "You did your best. And he has not destroyed my love for you. That he will NEVER do!"

"But why does he hate you?"

"Because I'm a slave and because I'm black. I think he hates all slaves and black people."

"And because you love me?"

"Yes."

"There's more, isn't there?"

I couldn't hide it any longer. "Brent he wants your body. I've seen how he looks at you, but I didn't want to frighten you. He wants to rape you just as he raped me. But he can't, so he takes it out on me."

Mistress walked into the room, just then. I hoped she hadn't heard what I had just told her son. Brent had spent the night crying over me, so Mistress sent him to bed in her room and came back to talk to me.

"Owen," she cried, kneeling by my side, "how can you ever forgive me?"

"Forgive you? For what? You didn't whip me." I asked, puzzled.

"Because I let him do that to you!" she bawled. "I was a coward! I didn't stand up to him because I was afraid of what he might do to Brent."

She went on to explain how Master had threatened her if she interfered. He said he would leave her and take me with him. Then, he would divorce her, charge her with interfering and being an unfit mother and take Brent as well. He said he had already paid the judge, and she believed he could get away with it. By the time the court sorted it all out, I would surely be dead… and maybe Brent, too.

"Mistress," I told her gently as she sobbed, "you did what you had to to protect your son."

"Owen, I know I can never be your real mother, but YOU are my son, too. I should have protected you. And I will be ashamed for the rest of my life."

After a while she stopped crying and continued, "My husband is gone for two weeks. He left instructions that you are to be punished each day. Well, it's not going to happen! We will find some way!"

I was in no position to argue with her.

She gently tied my legs to the side of the bed so I wouldn't roll over and started to treat my wounds. Twice a day, Brent rubbed my sore spots with lotion.

And fed me.

And helped me when I needed to go to the toilet.

He never once left me, At night, he slept in my cage, ready to help if I needed him. Both of us cried a lot.

He cried for me… for my pain. I cried for his gentle innocence that had been shattered forever. And for Mistress's love she gave to both of us so freely.

By the end of the week, the cuts had pretty well healed and we managed to put our weeping behind us. I could stand up, although sitting was still painful. But, at least, I could feed myself again.

Meanwhile, Mistress had been to see her solicitor and he had found out quite a few interesting things. Master's threat to charge her with interfering and take Brent away from her was just that: a threat. There was no way he could have done that no matter whom he bribed. And the threat he had used for years… that he would leave and take me with him… was also without foundation.

When Master had purchased me, he had listed Brent as my owner to avoid paying the tax. He was listed as trustee until Brent was eighteen. But he could not remove me from Brent's home without Brent's permission.

We all gasped at these revelations. How many other lies had he told Mistress throughout their marriage? All of us were relieved to hear what the solicitor had discovered, but Mistress was even more ashamed she had not protected me.

On her knees before me, she wept bitterly. I didn't know what else to do but hold her tenderly.

Brent was quite ready to take on his father physically… an eleven-year-old against a grown man. And, I couldn't have helped him; for a slave to strike a free person… even in defense of his master… was a capital crime.

Mistress solved the problem… we hoped… by applying for a Writ of Protection. She explained the Writ specifically ordered him to stay away from the house and the three of us. It would be served on him the minute he stepped off the plane coming home from his trip.

The Friday he was due back dawned gray and cold, a fitting atmosphere for the dread we all felt. The Chief Constable had sent a young Police Cadet to be with us to see the Writ was carried out. I guess none of us really expected Master would pay much attention to it.

Late in the afternoon, Mistress made me get into my cage. "I'm going to lock you in," she told me, "so he can't get at you. Maybe if he sees he can't hurt you, he'll leave peaceably." I was a bit angry that I had to be kept under lock and key, but I had to agree with her when she said, "Knowing you are safe will let Brent and me deal with him without worrying what's happening to you."

All the same, I was sad and angry. "Mistress, are you sure I'm worth all this fuss?"

Before she could respond, Brent confronted me. "Rubbish! Don't talk so foolishly! You are worth everything to me… EVERYTHING… and don't you ever forget it!" he scolded me.

I felt like shit!

A short time later, I heard Master enter the house. There was a lot of shouting and screams of pain from both Mistress and Brent. What had become of the Cadet, I wondered. I could only sit in my cage and seethe. I heard doors slamming and then Master burst into Brent's room with his son trying to prevent him. He punched Brent in the chest, knocking the wind out of him, before he advanced on me screaming obscenities.

But, Mistress had done her job well; he couldn't break into the cage, despite pounding it with his fists and kicking it, even rolling it over. She had even disarmed the emergency release. I got banged around a bit, but the cage held.

Finally, completely frustrated, he grabbed Brent by his arm and dragged him down the steps to the basement. I knew where he was heading and what he would do to his son and I went postal, battering the cage, trying to get out. I didn't care if they hanged me for it, I simply could not sit there and not try to stop him from hurting Brent.

I had no more success than Master had, and I gave up, crying in frustration and rage. I could clearly hear Brent screaming, "No Father! Please not that! I beg you, EEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Twice more I heard the sound of the whip striking Brent's body and his screams cut me like a knife.

Suddenly the house was full of policemen! I learned later Master had tasered the Cadet, beat Mistress and locked both of them in her room, tearing out the phone. But she managed to use the unconscious Cadet's communicator to call for help.

The police promptly subdued Master and dragged him off to jail, screaming threats. Then, they released Mistress and turned all their attention to the injured Cadet, before leaving, completely forgetting about the boy whose life they had saved.

A few minutes later she staggered into Brent's room with the key. I gasped at the sight of her, both eyes blackened and bruises all over her face and upper body… he had torn her blouse and bra completely off. "I need your help, Owen. Please hurry. They left Brent hanging on the rack and I can't get him down."

Fortunately the cage door was now on the top and I quickly crawled out and dashed to the basement with her.

Brent was hanging there, unconscious, the marks of the three lashes plainly visible on his back and ass. Thank God there were no cuts! We laid him on his bed and I began to treat his injuries.

Master's trial was three days later.

Brent had to go to testify and show where his father had abused him. Mistress was a walking accusation of abuse, but the judge made her remove her blouse and bra 'so he could evaluate the extent of her injuries'.

I swear he leered at her.

The crown prosecutor had insisted I go along, too. I couldn't testify… what Master had done to me was not a crime… but he could show me to the judge to demonstrate that Master was violent.

So, I had to appear before the court naked and Brent had to remove his shirt and shorts to show his wounds as well. I was used to being naked in public, but Brent was not.

Faced with such overwhelming evidence of abuse, the judge had little choice, even though the defense tried to put forth the idea we must have all done something to deserve it.

Master was found guilty of assault on a policeman, assault on his wife and child, child abuse… for the whipping he had given Brent… and damage to property… me. He was sentenced to five and a half years in prison.

But then, to the horror of us all, the judge suspended all but three months of the sentence! The 'old boy' network carried the day; to hell with justice. Even so, Master was dragged from the courtroom, screaming obscenities and threats.

The crown prosecutor was livid, but could do nothing.

"Mrs. Connick," he told Mistress, "there is nothing I can do to protect you. He will surely come after you and the two boys when he gets out. I can't advise you officially, but you might want to consider taking the boys and fleeing."

She thanked him for his concern and we went home.

The next several days were grim. Mistress spent most of the time in her room, much of it on the phone with her solicitor. Brent and I spent the days and nights comforting each other.

Finally, one morning she faced us.

"Boys," she announced, "I've come to a decision."

"We must leave England. We must go where he can't get at us."

It was like a bombshell!

"But, where can we go," asked Brent. After a few moments he answered his own question. "You mean Israel? We would go to Israel?"

She nodded and Brent explained to me, "They don't allow slaves in Israel. A slave who goes there is automatically freed. You would be free and you would be my real brother!"

I stared at them dumbly. "You would do this for me? Give up your home and everything just so I could be safe?"

"Not just for you, Owen. For all of us."

I began to cry. "Mistress! I don't deserve this! I've caused nothing but trouble between you and Master."

Once more she took me in her arms. "Owen, I can never replace your real mother, but I think of you as my son, just as if I had borne you. We'll have no more discussion about whether you deserve to be safe and free. You may call me 'Mom' if you wish."

"No Mistress. I will always honor you by calling you 'Mistress'. I am so very honored you think of me as your son."

The next few weeks were a flurry of activity.

Mistress contacted the Israeli Embassy, but they would not issue us a visa to travel to Israel. The ambassador knew why we wanted to go, and he told her he was forbidden by treaty to assist us. But, he suggested we might try his counterpart in Paris.

So, we made plans to go on 'holiday' in France. We would take only enough clothes to demonstrate to the authorities we planned to return to England. She even secured a slave passport for me. There was my name, Owen Spencer Latimore. I hadn't used it for a long time.

The few nights that remained to us, Brent and I made tender love. We were both excited about the plans, but also frightened. Our bedtimes were a huge source of comfort. He was sad to be leaving his school friends, but told me, "Owen, you are the most important person in my life," when I questioned him. "For you to be safe and free and for us to be real brothers is all I could ever want."

My heart just overflowed with love for him and for Mistress.

The morning of our departure was sad; this had been a fairly happy home even with Master's savagery. We took one last look around… for Brent, it was the only home he had ever known… climbed into the car and drove to the train station. Leaving the car in the car park, we boarded the next train for Victoria Station in London. Brent and I had both been to London before but never on a train. We were fascinated as the countryside and the city rolled by.

We had about a two-hour wait at Victoria before the BritRail Paris Express would leave and tried our best to look like a family on holiday. I'm not sure we were very convincing.

On the platform near our meager luggage stood a cage containing three boys, accompanied by a black policeman. Two of them were about Brent's age, but the third was much younger… about six, I guessed. I wandered over to satisfy my curiosity; Brent started to follow me, but his mother waved him back.

The three boys in the cage were securely shackled, hand and foot, and fastened to the floor of the cage. They had ball gags in their mouths and each wore a covering over his boy parts. A tube from each ran down to a tank in the bottom of the cage. With their blond hair and fair skin, they looked like angels, until you saw the almost feral hatred in the piercing blue eyes of the older two. In the eyes of the little one, I could see a terror that cut completely through me.

I greeted the policeman with my best slave behavior and he nodded for me to rise. "They look like angels, don't they? You'd never guess they brutally tortured a little girl to death. They had been sentenced to death, but consigned to a drug company in North America for use as test subjects. Better for them if they had been hanged," he told me grimly.

I felt a great sorrow for three young lives that had gone so horribly wrong and a fourth so untimely snatched from life. Dropping to my knees, I offered a prayer for them and the little girl, asking that they might find peace and comfort.

The policemen watched me with interest and came and placed his hand gently on my shoulder. "You may be a slave, Owen,"… he had read my name from the tag on my shirt… "but you are a good boy. You understand the meaning of sorrow and have had much sorrow in your life. One day you will be free, I am sure. Until then, I wish the best for you and your family as you begin a new life."

He knew we were not on 'holiday'.

I returned to Brent and Mistress and told them what the policeman had said. We watched sadly as the cage was loaded into the guard car (baggage car) of the train to Plymouth.

Our train left shortly afterward, but I have often wondered what happened to the three of them in North America. I had been told they would probably not live long as test subjects.

The three hour trip to Paris was exciting. Ok, the dark time in the Chunnel, was a bit scary, but we were soon out in the sunshine again, rolling through the French countryside. Since the advent of the European Customs Union, the only formality at the border was a cursory look at our passports by a bored official.

We went immediately to the hotel Mistress had chosen and she left us at once to go to the Israeli Embassy. Brent and I wanted to go with her, but she felt it was best if we stayed behind so we wouldn't attract attention. So, Brent and I just sat quietly, waiting anxiously for her return.

The gods did not smile on her. She said the ambassador in France would not help us, either. And, he emphasized that most slaves who entered Israel illegally, were sent back to where they came from. Still… well, he had given us an address in Marseilles.

So, the next morning we took the TGV to Marseilles.

The address the ambassador had given us was a ship chandler in the port area of the city.

After much wrangling and paying a lot of money, the shop owner took us to a small coastal steamer anchored in the harbor. He introduced us to the mate who spoke some English, and said the ship would take us to Alexandria in Egypt. From there a 'friend' would take us to the Israeli border.

The ship had two tiny cabins we could use. One was for Mistress and Brent and I shared the other one. There was only one bunk in it so we had to sleep together… poor us! The food wasn't exactly first class, but we would survive for four days.

The ship sailed that evening and, after a restless night we awoke to find ourselves well out in the blue Mediterranean. There wasn't much for us to do except watch the distant shore slowly glide by.

Late in the afternoon the mate approached Mistress.

"Missey have very pretty black boy-slave. Captain, he like boy-slave to spend night in his cabin."

Mistress exploded, "Absolutely not! Never!"

The mate obviously did not wish to tell the captain his request had been denied. "Captain, he be very angry if black boy-slave not come to him."

Mistress continued to refuse vehemently. I could see where this was heading, so I interrupted.

"Please, Mistress. It's not a good idea to make the captain angry. He could have us all thrown overboard and no one would ever know." She looked at me with horror. "Let me do this, please. I can do this for you and Brent."

"No, Owen! It's wrong. I can't let you do this."

"Please, Mistress. You have done so much for me. Young Master, please. I can do this for you. Please."

Brent started to tear up, but he turned to his mom and said, "Please, Mom, let him do it. I think it's important."

Mistress started to cry. Oh Owen, my Owen. He'll hurt you!"

"No Missey, not hurt. Is promise!"

Mistress faced him and sadly nodded.

"Thank you, Missey. Captain be very happy, now." And he withdrew to tell the captain the 'good news'.

The mate came for me after we had eaten supper, led me to the captain's cabin, opened the door and pushed me in. I stood there for a few minutes while the captain looked me over He got up, closed the door and locked it… not a good sign, I thought. Then he said the only word he would utter the whole night, "Strip!"

I got the message right away and my clothes were soon in a heap on the floor.

He blindfolded me and tied my hands tightly behind my back, throwing the loose end up over a beam above me. He pulled on the rope, raising my arms behind me, forcing me to bend over and go up on my toes. My shoulders immediately began to hurt.

In a few moments, I felt his prick probing at my mouth. I opened and let him in. To my surprise, he wasn't even as big as Brent, but he smelled and tasted awful. He began to fuck my mouth and I decided to help him with tongue and lips… might as well get this over with as soon as possible. It wasn't long before he pumped a small load of the most vile tasting cream into my mouth. My stomach rebelled, but I managed to keep from throwing up.

After a few minutes, he pulled the rope still further up, leaving me hanging by my arms, feet completely off the floor. My ass was sticking up in open position and I thought I knew what was coming next. But all he did was put a plug in my butt and left me hanging there.

I heard him get into his bunk and I began to moan, "Please, Captain! My shoulders!"

He got out of bed and I thought he was going to cut me down. Instead, he gagged me.

I hung there, hour after hour, in agony. My shoulders just didn't bend that way. I thought they would come apart. Several times, I must have passed out from the pain, but snapped back when the boat shifted, putting even more strain on my shoulders.

In the morning, he cut me down, removed the butt-plug and dumped me outside on the deck, still naked, tied, blindfolded and gagged. Mistress and Brent were there in a flash and carried me to the bunk in her cabin. She was in tears and Brent was white, but dry-eyed.

"Oh, Owen. How could you stand it?" she bawled.

"I'm ok," I replied. "He didn't rape me. I just had to suck him off."

She gave me a look which said, "How did you know about sucking?" But she replied, "No, you're not ok. Can you move your arms?"

I couldn't.

It took Brent the rest of the morning, massaging my shoulders and arms, to get them functional again. His hands felt so good. It was almost worth the pain to feel his gentle touch.

Apparently, my time with the captain was what the Yanks call a 'one-night-stand'. He didn't bother us again. Good thing; I'm sure Mistress would not have agreed to a repeat performance, no matter what the consequences. Brent tried to be brave and not upset me further, but I could tell he was close to loosing it.

We docked in Alexandria without further incident and were spirited away by the mate to a garage on the outskirts of the city. There we met Hassan, the last link in out travel itinerary.

He had a decrepit truck, equipped for desert travel, so the next morning we set out across the Sinai Desert for the Israeli border. It would be a two-day trip. At Hassan's suggestion we stuffed all our belongings into backpacks once he told us we would have to hike the last kilometer or so to the actual border.

When we stopped for the night, we were all bone tired from the jolting ride through the canyons and hills of the Sinai. Mistress and Hassan held a lengthy discussion while Brent and I laid out our blanket rolls and tired to prepare a poor supper.

Later, as we lay in our blankets… it's amazing how cold it can get in a desert at night… Mistress told us some of the things she had discussed with Hassan.

"Tomorrow will be very dangerous. We have to reach the actual border on foot without being spotted by an Egyptian patrol. They will shoot us if they can. Once we cross the actual border, the Israelis will take us into custody, but we will be safe."

"If a patrol spots us, we will have to split up. Hassan says there are two places we can cross where he is taking us: a gate and a place you can wiggle under the border fence."

Then she looked very grave. "Brent and Owen," she said sorrowfully, "I want you both to promise me something."

"Yes! Anything!" we both replied.

"Promise me if anything should happen to me, you will go on and make a new life in Israel."

We both were too horrified at that idea to do more then nod.

As Brent and I lay together that night, I never … I never… I never thought it would be the last time I would hold him. The last time we would comfort each other. The last time we would be together.

But it was!

About mid morning the next day, Hassan stopped the truck just below the brown of a low ridge. "Border one kilometer [0.6 mile] over hill, Mistress. You walk from here. You see gate from top of hill. Also see rock on left hand away from gate along fence. Behind rock is hole in fence. If patrol comes, split up."

He explained his willingness to help us in one sentence, "I not like Israelis much, but hate Egyptian government much more. Salaam, Mistress. Salaam Brent and Owen. May fortune smile on you."

And he was gone in a cloud of dust.

We shouldered our packs and climbed up the ridge. True to Hassan's word, there was the fence with its gate and the rock tantalizing us. We started down the hill and disaster struck.

"A patrol!" screamed Mistress. "Owen, go for the rock!"

"No Mistress, I won't leave you!"

"Go for the rock, Owen!" echoed Brent. "I'll go with Mom."

They started running toward the gate and I reluctantly made for the rock. I heard a rifle crack and a buzzing object flashed past my ear and kicked up the sand in front of me. I reached the hole, rolled under the fence and sat up.

Mistress and Brent had almost reached the, now open, gate. I saw the Egyptian soldiers level their rifles. "Nooooooooooo!" I screamed.

I heard the crack as they fired and saw both Mistress and Brent pitch forward and lie motionless on the sand just inside the gate. "Noooooooo! It can't be!" I whimpered.

The Egyptian patrol was suddenly vaporized by a hail of gunfire and rockets as the Israeli guards came boiling out of their revetment. I learned later they were disciplined for this.

I sat staring at the scene, but not seeing it. My life was destroyed. For the second time my family was gone, cruelly and unjustly.

And I was alone!

The blackness took me and I remember nothing until I woke up here with a nurse gently holding me and sponging the dust off my body. I just clutched her and cried until I had no tears left.

'I am the LORD thy God, who brought thee out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage.

And a stranger shalt thou not wrong, neither shalt thou oppress him; for ye were strangers in the land of Egypt.

Ye shall not afflict any widow, or fatherless child. If thou afflict them in any wise--for if they cry at all unto Me, I will surely hear their cry- My wrath shall wax hot, and I will kill you with the sword; and your wives shall be widows, and your children fatherless.'

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