Two, he would learn how far he could take a slave without further training. He could assess what that training might be and then the proper personnel...to administer it. Three, it allowed him to classify his slaves. The Third Class slaves were deemed unfuckable. They were either too timid, too afraid, too frigid or physically unacceptable. These slaves were fully clothed in blue gowns and were responsible for all the household chores. They had no status in the household and were mostly. It struck me that I hadn't seen my daughter nude in years, certainly not since she'd ripened into womanhood. Those days are certainly over, I reflected, awed by the lovely creature she had become. Cherie nimbly lowered her naked body into the tub to sit facing me, then slowly leaned back, a blissful expression on her face. "Ahhhh... this feels nice," she sighed. The tub was so large that the two of us could sit quite comfortably, and even though I was still a bit astonished at my daughter's. “Well, Mr. Brooks, we both feel safe with you, plus you’re rather hunky, in a mature kind of way. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I joined the two of you after dinner?” The old man found himself blushing like a schoolboy at the mother’s bold but appealing suggestion. “My name is Alice, by the way. I suppose I should have mentioned that earlier,” she said, as Cherie bound into the kitchen and jumped onto her seat. “What are we talking about?” the little girl asked enthusiastically. “I’ve invited. "I don't think anyone else will volunteer to do so, judging from what we've just seen."It was only a day or so later that Harry Rogers walked into the Relief Centre. He was wearing his trademark tracksuit which was conspicuously less expensive than Oban Rushmore's suit. This suggestion of physical fitness was totally out of place on a man with such a grotesquely obtuse stomach. However, it wasn't his fists that he relied on to win a scrap, but rather the pistol and flick-knife that he.