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The field slave’s monotonous days were filled with back-breaking labor; that is what he had been bred for and that is what his master had purchased him for. When the sun set, he wolfed down his rations and, locked down securely in the barrack, fell quickly into a dreamless sleep. Very rarely, his seed was taken for ‘breeding purposes’ but he hadn’t been permitted any personal knowledge of women. The buck’s lonely imagination had to suffice.
He shrewdly guessed that a slave of the bed chamber did more than, um, change the master’s sheets, and the thought made him shudder…but, even so, observing the other’s easy life and sometimes catching the sound of soft cooing through a carelessly open window, well, sometimes the field slave knew a pang of pure envy.