Chapter 1

 

On our Earth during the sixteenth to nineteenth centuries, the black peoples of Africa were ruthlessly enslaved (often by their own people) and shipped in appalling conditions to plantations in the Americas and the Caribbean. It took decades of efforts by liberal-minded campaigners to correct this dreadful blot on mankind's history.

What is not widely known, however, is that there are many Earths, all existing together in other dimensions of time and space and on these other Earths, while much is often the same, there are sometimes glaring differences. Communication between these dimensions has not, at least until very recently, been possible. Indeed, it is only in the last few years that scientists even suspected the existence of these other worlds, let alone figured out how to get to them.

I was fortunate enough to be the scientist who worked out the physics and I was also lucky to be black for the world I landed on was dominated by the African Empire, ruled by a man as imposing as any Roman emperor ever was.

 

My name is Adam Blair. I am twenty-eight years old and have been a physicist since graduating from the University of Chicago some seven years ago. Ever since watching the TV show "Sliders" I have been intrigued with the possibility of other dimensions in our universe. I was lucky enough to be born to a very, very wealthy father who had long ago set up a trust for me and this enabled me to dabble along in my own laboratory and it was here I discovered the Math involved in moving between one dimension and another.

It was not "sliding" as in the TV show or by means of a "gate" as in the other one, "Stargate SG1". I am not going to detail exactly how it is achieved for indiscriminate travel could be downright dangerous to our Earth. Suffice to say I developed the machine and tried it out myself.

I landed on this other Earth, to find myself not in Chicago, USA, but in Zimbabwe, Africa. The reason for this is that I directed my machine to land me at the largest centre of population on the planet and on this world, Zimbabwe was just that. It was a city. A huge city and one that was well ordered and very clean. I would say it was a city that had developed to a level well past that of my own world. They had everything we had in a technological sense - and then some.

It was populated by black citizens although there were whites and Asians there too. These, however, were not citizens or even tourists. They were slaves. Real life slaves! I didn't realise this for some time, of course. It was clear they were not of the same class as us blacks for they were all employed as streets cleaners or other menials, or as personal servants following along behind smartly dressed black ladies whose parcels they carried.

The street cleaners were dressed in ultra-brief skirts that came only to the upper thighs and supported very low down on the hips. The personal servants wore smart uniforms whose livery, I discovered, indicated his mistress's rank. The menials were all working under the whips of their black overseers. There seemed to be as many females as males in this category and they were as subject to the whips as their male counterparts. They worked very hard for when they slacked, down came the whip and they jumped and screamed - and then got right back at it.

I prowled around a little, looking into shops and cafés and quietly investigating whether I could survive a few days here. Gold (and of course diamonds) were a medium of exchange and so I thought I might be able to come back with enough resources to last a while. Language could be a problem, however. On my world, English gets you by just about anywhere, at least in the major cities of the world. Not here, though. As I was to discover, England was a backwater, as was Europe itself. Here, Zulu was the language of the people. Again it was fortuitous for me that during my youth, when I had been all fired up about my own origins, I had assiduously studied the languages of Southern Africa and I thought if I brushed up on it, I could probably get by. As it happens, I have a bit of a flair for language and I was able to polish my pretty rusty Bantu well enough.

Accordingly, I returned home to prepare myself for a rather longer trip. I acquired diamonds, ordered clothes that would blend in with what I had seen there and then fished out my old Bantu textbooks and, while the bank was arranging the diamonds, I studied it diligently. In a few days I was ready and now armed with clothing and my jewels, went back to that intriguing city.

 

I booked into a quality hotel, passing myself off as a tourist from up north and then set about discovering what made this place tick. The first thing I discovered was that the blacks were supreme in everything and the Asian and white races were totally subordinate to them. Indeed, there were no free whites or Asians here at all. Discreet conversation with people (all blacks, of course) in bars and cafés made me understand that the business of slavery was big business indeed, with some of the larger entrepreneurs owning fleets of slave ships that plied the shores of Asia and Europe, including what I called the British Isles, undertaking raids on villages or dealing with local warlords who made it their business to enslave people of neighbouring tribes.

From all this I gathered that Europe and Asia had not developed with Africa. Indeed, those continents were still just emerging from what we call the middle ages while Africa (the whole continent being one country under the rule of a semi-despotic emperor and run rather like the Roman Empire with regional viceroys and local governors representing the emperor and his government) now led the world in the Industrial Revolution that in my world had been led by Britain, closely followed by Germany, the US and the rest of Europe. I am ashamed to say I felt exultant that on this world, my people, the Negroes of Africa were the dominant people on the planet and that one of my race was the world leader.

Having looked around the city of Zimbabwe for a few days, I was ready to explore the rest of the continent and here I was also lucky. One of my new friends, a man I met in the bar of the hotel, informed me he was a large-scale farmer with hundreds of white slaves as his workers. I was intrigued with this - the very idea of a black man owning white slaves was so contrary to everything I was used to and I asked him hundreds of questions about how the institution of slavery worked here.

"Why don't you come home with me and see it firsthand, Adam?" he said.

I grinned back at him. "I was hoping you might ask me, Dingane," I replied.

And so, a few days later, we boarded the train, travelling first class of course, up to his farm in the northern part of the province. We were met at the station by his wife, Zuella, a lady of beauty and charm and as well-educated as her university-trained husband. Waiting at the car was their chauffeur, a slave named James who was of English origin. Whereas we were all dressed formally in suit and collar and tie, he was dressed as befitted his rank as a slave - in a neat facsimile of the tiny skirts worn by the menials in the city - and nothing else. No shirt or shoes even. He was a very handsome young man and his body was pleasingly athletic. I looked at him but I didn't comment as he expertly drove us in a vehicle that was ultra-modern by my standards.

The roads were wide and in wonderful condition but I was intrigued to see everything on them from our magnificent limousine down to gigs that were small but beautifully crafted. These were not drawn by horses - at least not of the equine variety. No indeed. I was to learn they were being drawn by what were euphemistically described as 'ponies'. Human ponies - and they were naked. Stark naked. And all three sexes were used to draw them.

Three sexes? Indeed! There were male and female slaves harnessed to these vehicles - but there were also geldings. Males who had been castrated - and by that I mean everything! Not only had they lost their testicles - their penile members were absent, too. I stared, of course, but I had to be circumspect. I couldn't let on I was a slider (the term I used for my movement to this so-different planet) and although my cover as being from 'up north' excused some of my ignorance, I still had to be careful.

"Some of them are magnificent specimens, Dingane," I said, nodding to a team of four Asian male slaves drawing a light four-wheel carriage in which sat a beautifully attired black lady and gentleman while a white boy in livery sat on the driver's box, reins and whip in hand. Both of which he wielded expertly, the whip lashing down on the naked back of the beautifully muscled human ponies.

"That's N'dona, a neighbour of mine. His Asian slaves are second to none, at least in this province." He paused a moment, his eyes twinkling at me. "Which d'you prefer, white or Asian, Adam?"

I was caught but responded valiantly. "I like both, Dingane, as long as they are good-looking and athletic, I don't much mind ... although I think I prefer Asian."

"Many of us do. I too like my slaves to be handsome and athletic although I don't really have any preference. Ours are all like that, aren't they my love...?"

Zuella smiled at him and then at me. "Oh yes. You will find our slaves are fed well but not too much, Adam, and we make sure they are exercised to the peak of their fitness. We don't want any overweight slaves on our property ..."

"What do you actually farm?" I asked then.

"Oh, just about everything. We graze cattle and sheep but we also farm wheat and other grains and we also market garden in a fairly big way ..."

Fairly big way was an understatement and a half. Their property was enormous. Thousands of acres and all of it in tip-top condition. The homestead was a real mansion surrounded by acres of beautiful gardens and beyond them, the farm outbuildings which included the slave quarters. I ached to go down and see them first off but of course I had to be circumspect and appear nonchalant in the face of this mass of really handsome/beautiful humanity who weren't of course, really considered as human at all. Once a slave, you were less than a person. Not an animal. Not quite, but not far off.

One thing I did notice, as we sped up the lane that led from the road to the homestead, was that the slave workers on the property were universally dressed in no more than a tiny cloth that covered, sort of, their sex - and that was all. Female as well as male workers had a thong of leather around their hips. To the front of this was attached a small square of cotton. It was only ten centimetres wide and fifteen deep. It covered their sexual organs, just, but nothing else. The females' breasts were bare as were the buttocks of both sexes. I think it really accentuated their nakedness rather than covered anything but I didn't comment, of course. Hell, I was too busy admiring the physiques of the slaves. As Zuella had said, they were all as fit as they could be, their muscles sleek and well-defined without being overly developed. These were the muscles of workers, not bodybuilders. There was not an ounce of fat on any of them, the females' breasts being firm and without any evidence of sagging, the males with muscles that were as clean-cut as you could desire.

All were working under the supervision of black overseers but I saw no whips. I was to discover all slaves on the property had implants in their bodies and the overseers were expert at fingering the buttons on the controllers attached to the belts of their shorts to single out a particular slave and give him or her a nasty jolt. They were not at all loath to use them either. The slightest sign of laziness or rebellion of any kind and down went the fingers - and then the slave screamed and doubled over in a burst of real agony directed to the most sensitive part of his or her body but of course spreading out all over ...

But this was later. Right then, as the magnificent limousine sped up the long and very elegant lane to the house, all I could see were the dozens of slaves working in the fields on either side of the roadway.

The house was utterly beautiful. It was huge and double storeyed, being built of local sandstone and tiled with bright red terra-cotta tiles. We were met by the butler, one of only two black servants. He and his wife, the housekeeper, ran the household with a rod of iron and every one of the many domestic slaves was careful to perform his or her allotted tasks to the best of their ability.

It really was a beautiful house, luxurious in a quiet way but exquisitely tasteful, the polished stone floors carpeted with oriental rugs, the stone walls either panelled or covered with silk tapestries or bookcases; the lighting of the finest chandeliers ... I'm sure you get the picture.

The slaves were there but were unobtrusive and these didn't have the tiny cotton square over their genitals. They had on an even briefer covering: a metal pouch, shaped to cover the girls' pudenda or contain the boys' cock and balls. It was made of brass and was polished to a lustrous sheen. I was intrigued at what kept them in place for there was no hip-band to hold it there. I later discovered the males' units had a clip that went over the root of their cocks and kept it close to their groins while the girls' models had a dildo shaped like a baby's dummy that went into their vaginas. They were trained to use the internal muscles of their bodies to keep them in place.

They were beautiful items. Roughly triangular in shape with the outer surface bearing the heraldic arms of Dingane's family and thus marking the slave as his property, they were real works of art and I was to find their owners valued them highly, not only for their beauty, but because it marked them as domestic slaves - about as high as you could go if you were a slave.

I was introduced to Jambe, the butler and he bowed and then asked if I would care to accompany him to my rooms. They were upstairs and now I found I had not a room - but a suite of them. There was my bedroom, dressing and bathroom and a sitting room, all beautifully decorated.

There were also a dozen slaves, six male and six female, all young and handsome or beautiful as the case may be and all wearing only the tiny brass pouch at their loins, revealing bodies that had to be as athletic as the best track and field Olympic athletes on my world.

"The master always provides his guests with a valet, sir ... If you would care to choose ...?"

"My personal valet, Jambe?"

"Yes, sir. For your exclusive use during your stay with us. He or she will be happy to provide you with every service, sir - and I mean every service ..."

I smiled. His meaning was clear enough. I strolled along the line of males, admiring their physiques.

"They will expect you to test their muscles, sir ... Perhaps you would like to see them in their full state ..."

He didn't wait to explain what this meant, although I could easily guess, but nodded to the line of slaves, at which each quickly removed the pouch and placed it on the floor behind him or her. Now I really stared for each was one was quite naked. Not even a single hair at their groins to mar the beauty of their now naked genitals.

"The master and mistress like their slaves totally naked, sir," he explained then nodded to the slaves once more. They now began a routine that could only be described as incredible. It wasn't a dance and it wasn't a muscle display. Something in between, I would say. It was graceful, though, and showed off their now totally naked bodies to a tee.

I went back to the first boy and reached out to feel his skin. Of the six males, three were Asian and three Caucasian. This one was Asian, Japanese I would guess and his body was quite exquisite, every muscle perfect and skin as smooth as velvet. I inspected all six males in like manner, even hefting their balls (at Jambe's suggestion) but I really wanted to get to the females. I can admire a handsome male and I have even tried out gay lovemaking but I don't think I'm really bisexual. I wanted to try it out and I found it pleasant enough but females are really my thing and the six that now presented themselves to me were quite divine.

I suppose with hundreds of slaves at his disposal, Dingane had only the best in his household and what he was offering me were the best of these. Again there were three Asian and three white girls, all of whom were magnificent creatures. The three whites were fair (Scandinavian), dark (Italian) or redhead (French) and all were possessed of highly athletic bodies that were nevertheless exquisitely beautiful. I didn't want either of them, though. I have a thing for Asian beauty and the three girls presented to me now were about the most beautiful I had ever seen (and I had downloaded hundreds of pictures of Asian beauties from the Net back home on my own world). These three outclassed them in every respect.

The first in the line was a Japanese girl named Suko and I nearly swooned (well, I felt decidedly weak-kneed) at the sight of her loveliness) as I stood in front of her as she swayed her lovely body this way and that, fluttered her hands up above her head and pulsed her naked vagina at me. I reached out and cupped her full but not too big breast in my hand while the other stroked down her flat belly, admiring the play of the muscles there and then down further over her muscular thigh then back up to cover her mound ... Oh God! It was so warm and inviting and her black eyes stared at me in what looked like adoration.

I was startled. Why on earth would she be staring at me like this? I later discovered that Jambe was watching them all like hawks and if any one of them had shown anything other than desire to be my personal slave for the duration, his hand would have strayed down to the controller on his belt.

I later asked him about the implants. "They are inserted surgically, sir. Down here in their groins," and he pointed down to a point right near the junction of the slave's thigh and hip. "They are the shape and size of a coin and contain an atomic battery that is kept charged by the heat of their own bodies. It feeds a tiny unit that responds to these controllers and to programming from the central computer. They can receive one of two signals. The first is a tingle that warns them they are straying out of the envelope in which they are permitted to be, or are perhaps verging on a punishment dose. That is the other signal. You see, wires lead from the units down inside their bodies. In the males, they lead to a testicle whereas on the females they are attached to their clitorises. It takes only a minute current to give them exquisite agony.

"Believe me, sir, no whips or other goads are necessary when these units are available. Here is your unit, sir. All you need to do is code in the slave's number which you will see tattooed here on his or her neck, then either the pink or red button. You will soon learn to operate the unit without even looking at it, I know ..."

But this conversation was after I had inspected the remaining female slaves. The second Asian was Malayan and she was as good as Suko but the last one was Thai and she just about had me drooling. Her name was Chulakorn and if I had thought Suko was the ant's pants, now I wanted this girl more than anything in the world. She was everything that the Japanese girl was - and more. Her copper-coloured skin was as smooth as velvet and her muscular definition even better that Suko's. She was also exquisitely feminine. There was nothing about her lithe athleticism that took away from that. I walked around her, admiring her muscular thighs and buttocks. Therein lay the source of much pleasure, I thought for Jambe's words had told me my choice of slave was mine to use for my pleasure.

I glanced back at the males, wondering what they would think if I chose one of them and then ordered him to my bed. I quickly realised he would obey and would give me as good a time as he could for not to would mean painful correction of the worst kind. Prolonged shocks to his testicles could even emasculate him, I guessed.

I pointed to Chulakorn. "She will do," I said.

Jambe smiled. "A good choice, sir. She is well trained in the art of looking after a man..." Again his words had a hidden meaning. A meaning I was now anxious to test. He indulged me. He gestured for the other eleven slaves, who had now reached down to retrieve his or her pouch and replace it, to leave my rooms and then suggested I might need some time to 'freshen up' and to allow Chula, as he suggested I call her, to show me where everything was in my rooms. He then bowed and left me with the still naked Chula.

But first he gave me a demonstration. He thumbed her number into his controller and then pressed the red button. Her scream of agony was heart-rending and she doubled over, clutching at her groin until the burst of current ceased. "Now you try it, sir," he said softly. I glanced at him. I knew he was testing my resolve and so I did as he suggested, entering the number and then pressed the red button, watching as she repeated her terrible scream and the contortions of her body.

"But we also keep whips and canes in each guest room, sir. Here, beside each door is a small cupboard recessed into the wall. Inside, as you can see is a small array of the instruments of correction ..."

He took down a thin, leather-coated crop and ordered Chula to present her breasts. I watched in wide-eyed astonishment as, although clearly terrified, she squared her shoulders and thrust her beautiful breasts out at him. He raised the whip and lashed it down across both orbs while she gritted her teeth and stayed silent.

"You see, sir, we know they cannot bear the pain of the implant without screaming but the cane is another matter. If she had screamed now, I would have given her another stroke ..." He turned to the girl and gestured to her. She bent over, spreading her feet wide and grasped the back of her thighs with her hands. He then lashed her again, very, very hard, across her buttocks, the crop leaving a nasty weal across both cheeks.

"Any time this slave is lazy or impertinent, sir, the master will appreciate it if you would correct her ..."

"I understand," I said and he nodded, saluted me briefly and left the room.

I moved up to her as soon as the door closed behind him and now inspected her even more intimately. Oh God, what a body. If I had been allowed to design my own perfect female I couldn't have done as good a job as this. Her skin was so soft and yet under it I could feel the warm muscle; muscle that didn't take away from her loveliness one jot. I cupped both her breasts in my big hands - did I say I am pretty tall and pretty muscular myself and my hands easily covered her lovely orbs.