No longer free.Slave number 3 closes his eyes momentarily in despair at his predicament. The oldest slave on the team, he still remembers the time wh...n he was free and a man. A wealthy footballer with all the trappings that the game brought a young man of extreme talent. He remembers when he spent the morning before a game driving to the game in his sports car, dressed in expensive clothes like a man. Looking down at the fans as he passed them in the street. The same fans who now own his. My only question was when."Let's just hang here for a day. We can then leave tomorrow morning after breakfast," I suggested."That sounds good," she agreed.We finished our coffee and got dressed to go to breakfast.We sat with a map over breakfast trying to find out if there was anything of interest to see besides the Dallas Cowgirls. We failed miserably. It was nice weather so we decided a day by the pool with hot and cold running pool attendants was right up our alley.It was 10 by the time we. Karen obviously hadn't been here. And as soon as I got inside the door, I was met with the sight of dead fish and dying plants. Fucking Bentons. I'd left a message on their phone on Christmas Eve, asking one of their daughters — Barbie, Bobbie, Betsy, whichever was the oldest one in high school — to look after the house until I got home. I was really pissed off.I stormed down my driveway and stormed up the Benton's. Our driveway was about a quarter-mile long, and theirs was easily a half-mile. But I needed something to remember. A high to end it on. God, I had zero self-control!I pushed open the heavy door and slipped inside. Scott was sipping whiskey and looking out of the window. I locked the door.“You took your time,” he said, not turning around.“I was talking to Amber,” I said. It wasn’t entirely true, but I wanted to see his reaction. He turned and put his glass down on the desk.“Why don’t you come over here?” he asked.I remembered, with a flush, that the last time the two of us.
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