Date: Sat, 24 Sep 2005 07:42:31 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Dad And Me, Part 14

Dad And Me   by Pete Brown.  petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories in
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

Part  14

I got used to being Charles' work-out partner and even
gave him some coaching tips.  But I soon learned I had
to be careful:  he wanted to race against me for
training, and he didn't mind losing - provided the
margin was not too great!  So on those days when he'd
appear at the pool looking hung-over and worse for
wear, I had to slow my strokes or risk being punished.
 On the other hand, of he detected that I was
deliberately "not trying", he'd fly into a rage and
would punish me there and then.  He'd ordered Stryker
to leave one of the thin, long "stingers", as that
type of cane was called, down at the pool, and if he
found fault with me it  would be used immediately on
my body - usually on the butt of course, but if he was
in a particularly foul mood on the thighs, or belly,
or even, on one memorable occasion, to slash at my
nips with!  The consequence of all of this was that
what ought to have been a time of relaxation and
enjoyment for me - doing something I adored, swimming
- turned into something I almost began to dread.

Fortunately, though, he only came down on the weekends
with this father and so I was "safe" for the rest of
the week:  safe, that is, except for the occasional
beatings that dad and  I both got from Mr Stryker if
he believed that we were not working properly.
Mostly these were well deserved, I suppose - dad and I
might try to take a little break from whatever we were
doing, as all slaves will, just to get their breath,
or wipe away the sweat from their brows to stop it
running into their eyes.  We all know it's not
allowed, as if you're ordered to work away at
something, that's what a slave is supposed to do, so I
guess I oughtn't to complain if Stryker caught us out
occasionally and then caned us on the spot:  it was
considered best to beat a slave at the time of his
failure, rather than waiting until later, as slave
management principles said that the failure followed
immediately by punishment burned the slave's offence
into his brain more readily.  I always  though that
Stryker caned me more than dad - when he and I
compared out butts if we'd been punished, there were
usually more weals on me, and the bruising was always
more severe.  Dad always claimed it was because my
butt was more tender than his, but I think it was
because, possibly unconsciously, Stryker was
"punishing" me for using his ass on those nights when
I was taken to his quarters.

You may think I was living a pretty enviable life, I
suppose:  I got to fuck women pretty often, Mr
Hawthorne was a gentle, considerate owner (and I kind
of enjoyed his sessions with me), and whenever I
wanted sex, Joe (well, dad) was always available.
Compared to some young men of twenty who are
frustrated, or who have to prowl bars and stuff
looking for pick-ups, I guess I had it easy.  But I
knew I  wasn't free, and I hated the thought that I
couldn't now do things I used to be capable of -  it
was almost as if I had traded my prowess with my dick
for my intellectual abilities, almost like that
traditional idea that there are "academic guys, and
guys who are just thick, but have tough bodies...
White collar and blue collar, but more extreme..

It was presumably in that week that is the traditional
"Spring Break" from college that Charles brought a
group of his buddies down to Manderleigh during his
first year.  Amos and Andy were full of it, telling me
that it was because the college had ruled that
students were not to rent motels in Florida and so on,
on pain of receiving demerits, as the college
authorities did not want to become items on national
TV again following "incidents" the previous year when
after far too much alcohol a group of them had made
public spectacles of themselves by using all the
domestics at one hotel for a mass fuck-in.   There
were six of them in total, and they mostly lounged
around the pool all day, drinking and laughing.  But
in the evenings they wanted "entertainment" and at
first Mr Charles suggested they fuck the nigga girls
who worked around the place, and on their first night
they had the ones under twenty five lined up and
stripped, then went and "inspected" them:  Amos and
Andy knew this was going to happen, and they and me
peeked out from the upstairs landing as all this was
going on in the giant entertainment space below.

The six young men prowled up and down the line of
naked niggas fondling their breasts, then callously
pushing their fingers in to their cunts and ass holes,
all the time laughing about whether it would be more
fun to fuck them "normally", or to take them up the
ass.  "We don't want to end up with a lot of 'breeds,
after all", one of the joked, "So perhaps it had
better be up the ass..."

"Hell, no!  If we're going to fuck ass, what's wrong
with a real muscular guy's butt?" Another one replied.
 "Aren't there any big strong bucks a man can really
get his dick into on this place?  I thought it was
supposed to be a plantation....", another responded,
turning to Mr Charles.

"Oh sure, we've got lots of big buck niggas, but
they're mostly in the working coffles, and my father
doesn't allow them in the house.  There's Amos and
Andy - the two niggas who carried in your bags, and
who would serve you in the bathrooms, if you want....
You've seen them...."

"Yes, and pretty nice bodies they've got, for niggas.
But what about that pool boy I caught a glimpse of
this morning - that's more what I had in mind.  It's a
pity he's not a slave!  How on earth do you find a
free man prepared to strip off and work like that?"

"Oh, he's not a free man!  Steve's a slave, just like
the niggas."

"Well, he sure doesn't look like a slave...."

"Oh he does - he's collared, but you just probably
didn't see it, as dad allows him and Joe to just have
thin ones, not the heavy ironwork we use in the
coffles.  And his serial number is on the underside of
his wrist, and it's not visible when he's working..."

"That white guy is a slave?"  Another one of the young
men was joining in now.  I always knew your father
must be rich, but to have a young white slave like
that....  He must have cost a packet, as anyone would
be prepared to pay real money to have that around,
available for fucking..."

"Oh sure, he is the president of the bank, after all.
And Steve's not the only one - we have his father,
too, Joe.  But he looks much more like a slave..."

All of the guys had stopped "inspecting" the women
now, listening to what Mr Charles was saying.

"Hey, Charley, what are we waiting for?", one of them
cut in.  "Let's get these whiteys in here, and take a
closer look...  It's OK for you, who probably fucks
them every weekend.  But spare a thought for your frat
brothers who haven't got rich folks and who have to
make do with the nigga maids...  "

"Well, I don't fuck Joe or Steve...", Mr Charles
began, but soon shut up when they started to josh him,
asking him if there was something wrong with him, or
if he was afraid of getting his dick lost up muscular
asses like ours.

I began to tremble with a horrible foreboding of what
was about to happen.  But there was nothing I could do
about it, and Amos and Andy, hearing it too, gently
led me away, down the slaves' stairs at the back of
the house, so that when Mr Stryker appeared in the
mowing shed, I was back there, whispering to dad about
what I'd seen.

"This is going to be tough for you, Steve!", he told
me.  "Look, son, keep that temper of yours under
control.  You can take it, I know:  you get dicked by
Master Hawthorne every week, I know, so it's not a
problem for you.  So keep calm, and just lie there and
let them do what they want.  If you don't, they might
tell Stryker to have you flogged.... Or they might
even think of tossing you into the nigga coffles'
shed, just for fun..."

"But dad, they're college guys... Guys my own age....
I could be one of them if...."

I saw dad looked crushed as I inadvertently made
reference to our enslavement again, and I hadn't meant
to hurt him, but sometimes these things just slip out.

"Look, Steve, how do you think I feel?  A load of
college boys... It's not just you they're going to
inspect, you know.  If  I can take it, son, so can
you."

"But dad..."  I realised I'd slipped into calling him
"dad" again:  it had to be the stress!  I stopped
there, as Stryker came in and ordered us over to the
house, where Amos and Andy hastily cleaned us out
inside,  quickly checked to see there were no bits of
stubble on our balls or anything, gave us a quick rub
down with slave oil, and handed us pairs of the
"formal" shorts we wore in the house.

I could feel my heart thumping away in my chest as
Stryker led us into the great room, and I saw the
leering eyes of the college guys staring at us.  The
nigga girls were still standing there naked, and
almost as soon as we were in the room, Charles called
out "OK, you two, shuck those shorts.  We want all the
slaves in here in their bare skins so my buddies can
get a better look at you."

It was as if they totally forgot the nigga girls as
soon as dad and I were standing there in front of
them.  All six of the college guy started to run their
hands over our bodies, sparing no part of us.  They
laughed at the way dad's dick was almost erect already
because of the band he was made to wear, and they all
seemed astonished that I still had a 'skin.

"Oh, my father kept meaning to get him done from the
moment he bought him", Charles informed them, "But
somehow he never got around to it."

"So what do these slaves do?"

"Well, work around the grounds near the house, the
pool, the lawns, the vegetable garden, cleaning the
cars, that sort of stuff.  Just the same as a nigga
would do, but dad thinks they're kind of easier on the
eye..."

"And you fuck them, too..?"

"Not personally...".  I saw Charles blush now.

"You mean you've never tried out these asses?"

"No...", he almost stammered.  "Well, you know, when
they were new, dad did the usual thing any owner does
to a new slave... But personally..."

One of the others began to laugh.  "I do believe
you're blushing, Charles!  You've got two gorgeous
asses around the place, you come here every weekend,
and you don't fuck them?  Are you some kind of queer?
If my father had two beauties like this at our place,
I'd be up them every night!"

"No, it's just that... Well, my father doesn't like me
fucking the slaves, buck or bitch.  He thinks it's
wrong, somehow, and wants me to wait until I get
engaged..."

All the other guys burst out with laughter as he said
this, and I almost shouted out with indignation on his
behalf - Mr Hawthorne had been telling him he couldn't
fuck, when he himself was taking me every time he came
for the weekend!

Charles shouted "Look, it's easy for you guys - you
probably have liberal parents!  But since the divorce,
my father has kept me on a tight rein as he says he's
worried my mother's ways will have rubbed off onto me.
 So other than when we get new slaves or something,
dad doesn't like me fucking them - he says too much
fucking is not good for a guy, as it takes my mind off
my work...."

There were howls of laughter now, as they were at
least half drunk, and another of them called out "Well
it isn't working, is it?  Looking at your grades, I'd
have thought your mind wasn't on it at all.  I guess
you must be in love with your right hand!"

Another one shouted "Well even if you aren't allowed
to partake, I don't want to let an unbelievable body
like this go to waste... My daddy doesn't mind what I
fuck as long as I don't end up dropping a baby into
some nigga slave.  No problem with these two, though:
they're not nigga's, and there's no risk of
pregnancy!"

More howls of laughter for them all, especially as he
put his hand on dad's neck and pushed him towards the
back on one of the couches, then pushed dad down and
kicked his legs apart.  I felt sick - why didn't dad
stop him?  Why did he just submit like that?  Dad was
at least four times as powerful as the college boy....
The college boy who, to cheers form his comrades, had
dropped his Jeans and was reaching into his boxers to
release his straining dick.

"Come on, guys!", he called out as he began to push
his dick into dad's ass, "I don't want you all
watching me!  There's the younger one - he looks like
a real treat.  And if you don't want ass, there are
all the bitches...."

The memories of that night are too painful for me to
be able to describe them in detail.  I wasn't a great
one for taking dick, as you know I like to be in
control.  And it was just so humiliating to have all
these guys of about my own age fucking me, and dad -
none of them wanted to use the bitches, it seemed, and
it was worse for dad and me to have to lie there and
take it knowing that these women who we saw every day
were watching our humiliation.

As you can imagine, Charles moved in the "jock" set at
college, and so all these men were strong and lusty,
and so it wasn't just a case of a gentle fucking and
then we'd be let go.  No, dad and me were kept there
until about two a.m., being fucked repetitively.  And
it wasn't just the usual stuff, either - it was my
first experience of being "spit roasted", when one of
them was vigorously reaming my ass as another almost
choked me with his dick in my throat.   When dad and I
eventually got back to the mower shed we just lay
there in each others arms, cum running out of our
asses, but too exhausted to do anything about it.

It often happens, doesn't it, that you can be so
exhausted that you're too tired to sleep, and so it
was this night.  Dad and I lay there, taking mutual
comfort from our bodies pressing together, but we just
couldn't sleep.  Finally, dad said "You didn't like
that, did you, Steve?"

"You mean you did?"

"No, son, but at least I accept it.  I know I'm a
slave, and so if they want to do that sort of stuff
with me, they can.  But I think it's different for you
- you don't accept that they have the right to use you
that way, do you?"

"No, dad."

"Well, Steve, we've been slaves a long time now, so I
guess it's not going to get any easier for you.  But
you ought to try, you know - it's OK for you to have
attitudes like this when we're here, as Mr Hawthorne
is a considerate owner, and Stryker seems to treat us
reasonably, too.  But at some other place - if you
weren't properly subservient, I reckon you'd be in big
trouble."

"But surely not everyone wants a totally subservient
slave, dad?  Surely they'd like a guy with a bit of
spirit..?"

"Spirit, yes.  Especially if the slave is to be used
for sex.  And I think you're like that, aren't you?
You like to really get in there and fuck?  Well,
that's OK, that's what an owner is looking for when he
buys a slave who's supposed to 'top'.  But in anything
else, any sign of reluctance, defiance, criticism....
Anything.... And the slave would be flogged until he
learns that there's only one way a slave should
behave, and that's to be totally and utterly under the
control of his owner.  So I'm worried about you,
Steve.... What if Mr Hawthorne decided to sell you?  I
can imagine you being flogged and broken...."

"Look, dad, he's not gong to do that!"

"And why not, Steve?"

"Well, he likes me. He likes what we do together...
You know..."

"Oh Steve, you can be so naive.  You always think
you're so clever, but you were just a kid when we were
enslaved and you don't really know how the world
operates.  Look, son, and owner buys a slave, he uses
him, enjoys him, and then he begins to tire of him.
He sees a 'newer model', or one that he thinks is more
interesting, or something.  So he sells off the old
one, and buys the new one.  Think about how you were
with all those PCs and things - the one you had was
always perfectly serviceable, but then something came
out with more of this or a bigger that or a faster the
other.... And you and all the other kids just had to
have it.  It didn't matter that the PC you had was
giving you perfectly good service - you saw the new
stuff, and you had to have it.  Well, son, I guess
it's a bit like that with slaves:  we're only owned
property, like a PC, after all....  So I wouldn't bank
on Mr Hawthorne continuing to like you for ever, and
you've got to remember that we're expensive slaves:
there aren't too many 'whiteys', so when he does tire
of you, or me, he'll want to cash in his investment
before he buys a replacement."

"But dad, surely he wouldn't split us up?"

"Steve, get real, will you?  First, he probably
wouldn't want to sell both of us, so only one of us
would go off to the auction.  But if he did sell both,
how many people would want a father and son?  I mean,
I'm not as young as I was, and they might doubt I
could do the work..."

"But we'd never see each other again..."

"That's the way it is with slaves, son.  Think of all
the niggas in the coffles on the plantation - they've
all been taken from their moms, wives, brothers and
sisters..... A slave can't afford to be sentimental
about his family, as all of that is completely under
the control of his owner."

"But dad, I can't lose you..."

"You may have to, Steve.  But you are grown up now,
and the time does come when fathers and sons move
apart.  I mean, you might have gone to college, and
got a job up north, or on the west coast..."

"Yes, but there'd be holidays and  stuff...."

"Yes, Steve, but it wouldn't be the same as living
together, would it?  So just get used to the idea.  Be
prepared.  It may never happen, of course, but if it
does, I don't want you arguing and shouting about it.
Accept it, if it happens, and try to start your time
with a new owner with a proper attitude.  An owner
forms an opinion of a slave in the first few minutes,
you know, and if you get a bad reputation, it's really
hard to change his mind about you.  So remember."

I lay there for quite a time thinking about what dad
had said.  It had never occurred to me before that I
might be sold - or that he might be sold.  I guess I
hadn't given much thought to "the future" - after all,
it wasn't as if I needed to think about a career, or
anything, did I?  So I suppose I'd just though that
we'd go on for ever, living at Manderleigh, cutting
the grass, keeping the grounds neat....  But perhaps
if  I was sold, it would be for better place, a place
where I'd be allowed books and stuff.... Maybe I might
find a new owner who wanted a clever slave, and would
let me use my brain.... I began to get really excited
at the thought, and wondered if there was any way that
I could get Mr Hawthorne to sell me!  Look, I know it
sounds cruel, but if it was the choice of staying at
Manderleigh with dad for the rest of  my life, or
being sold off, never seeing him again, but being able
to use my brain, I'd have to choose the latter.

_________________________

Life went on as usual after that spring break, and
although I kept thinking about what dad had said,
there didn't seem to be an way of moving it on.  Mr
Hawthorne didn't seem to tire of me, and neither did
Stryker, who I was generally summoned to humiliate
every other week or so.  Charles continued to come
down on weekends, but he never tried to fuck me again,
and gradually he stopped swimming, too, so I was only
really aware that he was there if I saw him in the
grounds, or  if one of the house slaves mentioned him.


Dad and I were told to prepare for a studding session
one Saturday afternoon, though, as Mr Hawthorne's
neighbour had a nigga bitch who needed knocking up,
and as usual, dad and I were stripped and standing
there, blindfolded and cuffed, whilst the neighbours
chatted to Mr Hawthorne about what a fine pair of
specimens we were, and how they were looking forward
to being able to breed a bit of lighter skin tone into
their holdings.  There was the usual discussion of
which one of us was to be used, and I felt the big
hand of what  I assumed to be the neighbour feeling my
balls and 'skinning me back to "judge the suitability"
as he said.  They seemed to be settling on using dad -
as generally happened - until I heard Charles say
"Perhaps that decision is a little hasty?  I know the
older one has a proven track record, so to speak, but
aren't you overlooking something?"

"And what's that, Charles?"  The voice was a woman's,
so I guessed that the neighbour and his wife had both
come along to see the fun.

"Well, ma'am, a studding isn't just about getting the
nigga  bitch pregnant - we could just send them off
and let them rut together in private, if it was.  No,
it's also about giving ourselves something interesting
to look at, breaking up the tedium of the afternoon,
before we take tea.  Now, I give you the fact that the
older one has an excellent stud record, and that he's
pretty sensational to look at, but I think you're
overlooking the charms of the younger one.... I mean,
look at the length of the legs, the curve of the butt,
the was he tapers so excitingly from shoulder to
waist.... He's a much sleeker, refined model of the
older one, and I think we owe it to ourselves to see
him in action.  Young men like him, and me, have a lot
more vigour, remember!"

There was polite laughter as he said this, as they
evidently thought it funny that he was comparing me to
him in that mildly sexual way.  Then the women seemed
to be talking to her husband as I heard "Maybe there's
something in what Charles says, dear.  It would be
interesting to see someone so young and vigorous in
action... The older one, after all, is very powerful
and well built, but I can see what Charles means when
he talks about the legs and thighs of the younger
one.... If Mr Hawthorne has no objection, I think we
should go with the younger one..."

"Oh no, pick whichever one you please", my owner aid.
"But there's another option, you know:  we can always
delay tea a little, an you can have the proven ability
of the older one first, to get the job done, so to
speak.  Then, as an encore, we can put the young one
to her, and enjoy the spectacle.  Then we'll have
something to discuss over tea... It will be a bit like
one of those essays we used to be asked to do in
college, you know, the ones that began  'compare and
contrast....'. "

There was general assent to all of this, and as usual,
I stood there listening as dad was taken and
"presented" to the bitch,  soon followed by the
unmistakable sounds of dad in action:  his heavy
breathing, the slap of his skin against the bitch's,
his little muttered cries of "Yes..." as he thrust
away, and of course her moans and cries as dad did the
business.  Then it was my turn, and in  spite of the
heavy scent of sex in the air, I really didn't feel
like it - the idea that they'd all now be watching me
really turned me off.  Well, I wasn't the idea of them
watching me -  I was used to that by now, of course -
but the idea that they were particularly looking out
for my "vigour" and the way that I differed from dad.
I mean, no one really likes to be compared to their
dad, do they?  And this was probably the most extreme
form of that comparison you're ever likely to
encounter!

Still, Stryker took old of my dick, slid my 'skin up
and down a few times to really "prime" me, and in the
traditional way led me by it over to where the nigga
was still lying,  and "presented" it into her slit.
He gave me the usual hearty slap on my butt and told
me to get fucking.

Look, I don't really know what it was, but  I had one
of those totally embarrassing failures that even
virile young studs like me can have from time to time!
 I wasn't all that keen on fucking women anyway now,
and knew it was a "duty" rather than a pleasure, and I
didn't much like the way that a cunt doesn't really
make you feel at home, and grip you, like an ass does.
 But now, with it all slicked with dad's cum already,
it was all loose and kind of slimy, and it hardly gave
me any sensation at all!  Then I remembered that they
were all watching me:  Mr Hawthorne, Charles, the
neighbour and his wife - they were all watching, and
comparing me to dad.  They were feasting their eyes on
my thighs and butt as I stood there, and probably
making notes so they could chat about us as they
sipped their tea and ate their little pastries and
sandwiches.  And as I thought about all of this, the
inevitable happened - I just lost my erection and kind
of fell out of her!

There was an almost stunned silence at first, and then
an amused kind of polite laughter.  "I think it's just
as well, Hawthorne, that we used the older one first!
I thought this was going to be spectacular, but it's
total rubbish.  What a god job we were not relying on
this to get the job done!"   Mr Hawthorne's
neighbour's voice was almost sneering as he said this.


"Quite so!  I'll have the slave punished, of course.
Most upsetting - I do hope it won't put you off using
the services here again."

"Oh no, Hawthorne, the older was perfectly
satisfactory, and, as I said, we want to have some
lighter niggas around the place.  But I think you're
right - a good, sound whipping ought to be
administered to teach that young one to keep his mind
focussed."

I stood there, my dick almost shrivelling up, in shame
and embarrassment.  I mean, a young guy ought to be
able to keep it up, oughtn't he?  And to fail so
publicly -  if I'd been a normal free man, it would
only have been my girlfriend, or wife, who would have
known.  But they could all see, and I didn't doubt
that Amos and Andy would be watching from somewhere,
too, and so the story would be around all the house
slaves in an instant.  I thought of how awful it would
be at supper time to see all the maids and everyone
sniggering and whispering and pointing at dad and me
when we went in to eat.  I just wished the floor would
open up and swallow me.

We stood there and heard them all go out, and then
Stryker came and undid our cuffs from our collars, and
we were able to take off our blindfolds.  "So,
Steve... Not quite so much of a cocksman as you
thought, eh?", he almost sneered at me.  "I've heard
of some humiliating things - but a man with a big dick
like yours, unable to use it?  Personally, I think it
shows that size is not everything!   Still, we will be
able to see if it's true that a man always gets an
erection as the whip slashes into his flesh, won't
we?"

He walked out, and dad came and put his arm around me.
 "Ignore him, Steve.... Look, we all have the
occasional failure, it's nothing to worry about..."

"But dad, the whip..."

"Son, there's nothing you can do about it.  If Mr
Hawthorne orders it, then you've just got to take it.
Only worry about the things you can change, not those
you can't!  I guess this whipping is inevitable, so
quit worrying about it - it won't change things, and
there's nothing you can do about it as slaves just
have to take their punishment."

Look, I know dad was only trying to help, but it
didn't really cheer me up at all.  I went around
feeling really miserable for the rest of the day, and
as it got closer to the time we had to go over to the
main house to be fed, I felt almost depressed:  those
fucking bitches would be laughing and pointing at me,
and sniggering about how I wasn't as much of a man as
my dad was!

"I don't want to eat tonight, dad", I said.  "Go on
over without me... You can have my portion." I thought
dad would like this, as one of the things at
Manderleigh was that although there was always enough
food, there was only just enough:  Mr Hawthorne liked
his slaves muscular, but never even slightly
overweight, so we were always just on the edge of
hunger, even after a meal.

"Steve, you know that's not allowed.  Slaves have to
eat regularly, to keep their strength up.  You're not
allowed to skip a meal."

"Please, dad... Just tell them I'm ill, or
something..."

"Steve, it won't do any good!  You'll have to face
them sooner or later.  If you don't eat tonight, what
about breakfast?  It's no good postponing it... You've
got to face them, son.  And if you don't do it
tonight, it will be worse, far, far worse, as they'll
know you're chickening out... So face up to it, son.
Come on, I'll be with you...."

"But dad..."

"No 'buts', Steve.  You're a man now, you know, not
some snivelling kid.  You've got to face up to your
responsibilities, and the challenges of life.  You can
do it, son - of course you can.  It's only a lot of
silly nigga bitches...."

"...and Amos and Andy..."

"And since when did you care about what those two
niggas think?  I know you fuck them, and fuck them
hard, I imagine... So they know you're a real man,
whatever they might say tonight to try to take a rise
out of you."

I thought on, and of course what dad said was true.  I
didn't really care about the nigga bitches, as they
were always giggling and laughing and telling stupid
tales about one thing and another, and dad and I
usually just sat there and ignored them.  And there
was no way that Amos and Andy could doubt my manhood -
they screamed and shouted enough when I really powered
my dick into them.  In fact, I wondered what would
happen if they started joshing me and I just pushed
one of them down on to the table and fucked him good
and hard, right there, in front of all of them?  Just
the thought of that made me feel better, and I kind of
squared my shoulders, and dad and I made our way over
to the house.

When we got there, though, Amos and Andy met us at the
door and told us that the orders were for us to skip
dinner as we were to be cleaned out and sent up to Mr
Hawthorne's study.  I was instantly curious, as Mr
Hawthorne usually used me alone, and had never fucked
dad after that ritual first time, when we'd arrived
all those years ago.

Dad seemed to be unusually tight-lipped as they worked
away at us - well, I mean the enema hose is never
exactly pleasant, but we usually managed to joke about
something as it was going on, but not tonight.  Amos
and Andy seemed subdued, too, and made no attempt to
tease my 'skin, or tweak my nips, as they usually did.

As they were massaging the slave oil into our skins,
dad put his arm around me and said quietly and calmly,
"Well, this is it, Steve...."

"Is what, dad?"

"Son, they're getting you ready for the whipping."

"I thought they were joking...."

"I don't think they joke about stuff like that, Steve.
 And it all adds up - you're not being fed, so you
won't puke it all up as they do it.  And we've been
cleaned out, so, well, you know...."

"No, what?"

"Well, a lot of guys can't hold their bowels closed
with the pain. So they've emptied us out, just in
case."

I got a kind of sick feeling in my guts, and felt my
heart begin to pound.  I mean, in the slave eating
room in the big house they were always going on about
whippings and stuff - there was a fair bit of trading
of the nigga maids and such like, and they always
seemed to have some tale or other to tell of public
floggings they'd seen, or of slaves they'd worked with
whose backs had been a mass of heavy scar tissue, even
years after a whipping.  Even if half of it was a huge
exaggeration, the other half was pretty scary.

"But why are you here, dad?  It wasn't your fault I
embarrassed Mr Hawthorne in front of his neighbours."

"Steve ,think about it.  You're known to be a bit
wilful, wild even.  And you're really tough and
strong.  So they probably think you'll do something
stupid, and so they want me to be there to restrain
you, if needs be."

"Dad, you can't let them do this to me... Don't hold
me down, dad, and let them flog me..."

Dad looked really unhappy, but he looked me squarely
in the eyes, and said "Steve, you'll thank me for it
one day, but probably not now, or even next week....
But I will hold you down, or do whatever else I'm
ordered to do, to get you in place for the whip, and
to hold you there, or whatever.  I've got to, son,
please understand..."

"No, dad!"

"Yes, Steve.  If I don't, what will happen?  They'll
just get in some of  Stryker's guards from the
plantation, and they'll do it.  And in the meantime,
you'll have done something really stupid, like wreck
the place, or hit Stryker, or even Mr Hawthorne...  So
it's best if I restrain you right from the start - I
think I'm still more powerful than you, you know!  If
you do something really stupid like losing it and
causing damage or injury, that will be the end of
you...  I can't risk it, Steve, so for your own good
I'm going to help them punish you."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh come on, Steve!  You know how they 'calm' the
niggas on the plantation who get into  fights and
stuff..."

"No, what do they do?"

"Oh, well, when I was coffled and having my brains
fucked out, I tried to fight them off at first.  And
then they told me what would happen if the niggas were
found fighting all the time:  they call it 'calming'
or 'taming' the bucks... It sounds pretty harmless
like that, but actually it's pretty dramatic:  they
take away your manhood totally, cut off your balls,
that is!"

"They can't do that - cut a guy's balls off..."

"Of course they can, Steve.  What's to stop them?  Mr
Hawthorne owns you, you're his property, and if he
wants your balls off, that's all there is to it.  And
I don't want that to happen to you, Steve.  So if I'm
told to restrain you, restrain you I will.  As I said,
it's in your own best interests...."

At that moment, Stryker came in, and told us to follow
him to Mr Hawthorne's study.

End Of Part Fourteen