Date: Fri, 30 Sep 2005 03:33:26 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Dad And Me, Part 17

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

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

Part  17

Dad seemed to cheer up a bit, although I still
remained angry, when Amos and Andy clustered around us
and really exclaimed over our snout rings - they
seemed to have the same words as Mr Charles had been
using, and they explained to dad and me that they'd
heard Mr Charles and his father discussing these
things as Mr Charles had been excited having read an
article about the new fashion in some magazine or
other.  They also kept playfully stroking my cinched
dick and balls now, telling me how much better I
looked after I was 'skinned.  "You're just like all of
us now, Steve", Amos told me.  "All us slaves here on
Manderleigh are 'skinned, and it must be good not to
be the odd man out any longer."

Well, it wasn't!  I hated it,  I hated being always on
display:  guys who have never had a 'skin just can't
understand what it's like to suddenly have the entire
world looking at the most private part of you.  I
mean, unless I chose to, in "normal" life another guy
never got to see my dick head - at the showers in
school, for example, it always remained decently
covered as if I wanted to wash my dick head I always
turned towards the wall and away from my class mates.
 To have Mr Hawthorne have the power to be able to
order me to lose such a vital part of myself really
brought home to me how my life had now irrevocable
altered.  But most of all I hated being erect almost
as soon as they touched me, so sensitive had my dick
become.  And I realised what dad had had to put up
with all these years when they started to prepare our
bodies -  instead of just being able to do a really
simple scrape over my balls and a few snips to
generally shorten and neaten the small patch of pubic
hair I was allowed, they now had a much more difficult
job as they had to keep moving the rings slightly to
get a the skin underneath, shaving a very small area,
and then starting to move the rings again.  Not only
did it take a lot longer, but it was arousing, very
arousing!  Dad saw what was happening, and was of
course used to it.  "Careful, Steve", he called out
cheerily, as if it was the most normal thing in the
world.  "Don't let these two make you cum!  Remember,
we're supposed to be studding tonight, and even a
young guy like you won't perform at his best if he's
only cum a couple of hours before."

"I don't care!", I snapped back  "They should have
thought of that before they did this to me...."

"Oh Steve, don't start all that again.  Just accept
that you're a slave, son.  It will be easier for you,
you know.  If you just accept that they own you, own
you totally, and control everything you do, it will be
a lot easier for you.  You'll wear yourself out, son,
always arguing and stuff - and it's making you
unhappy."

Damned right it  was making me unhappy!  But there
wasn't any point in arguing with dad about it, as he
seemed to have accepted that he was a slave, and that
his life would never change.  So I just stood there as
quietly as I could whilst I was prepared by the two
niggas for the night's 'fun', 'fun' that would further
humiliate me.

It was Mr Charles himself who came to inspect us to
make sure that Amos and Andy had done their work
properly, and to  blindfold us and cuff us, as was
usual (and as I've told you about before).  There was
a difference now, though:  instead of cuffing our
wrists and then pulling them as high up our backs as
possible with a chain to our collars, he had a new
method of doing it:  Amos and Andy were told to fasten
special leather collars around our necks, on top of
our normal salve collars, and these collars had cuffs
kind of "built in".  The new collars fastened with a
small buckle at the front, our wrists were put in the
cuffs behind our necks, and that was it.  Although
there were only small buckles holding our wrists to
the collars, and holding the collars closed, we were
unable to reach them and so were totally powerless.
And there's something truly awful about standing
there, knowing that someone can do what he likes to
your body now and you will be unable to fight back.

"These new arm immobilisers are part of the  new
methods I'm employing", Charles told us.  "With your
arms right up around your necks now, everyone can see
your names properly, so if we have competition to see
who can do it fastest, it will be easier for them to
cheer their favourite."

There was another innovation, too - as I watched,
Charles put tiny goggles around dad's head, the black
plastic covers just fitting into his eye sockets and
covering his eyes.  "Much better than the traditional
blindfold", he said. "You slaves still won't be able
to see the bitches, but the audience will be able to
get a better look at your face as you fuck away.  And
now... the real piece de resistance...."

If you've ever been to a studding  recently you'll
know the reason why we had the snout rings installed -
Charles had a stick, about two feet long with a clip
at the end of it, and he reached out and fastened the
clip through dad's snout ring.  Dad stood there,
helpless, the stick hanging down across his body, the
end almost touching his dick.  "You know, they're
right!", Charles said to Amos and Andy.  "It was all
right leading the slave into stud by his dick, but
this way of controlling him is so much more hygienic
afterwards - I hated getting my hands covered in the
mating juices as he needed to be led away."    His
tone changed, and he went on "Right, Steve, now for
you...."

The tiny goggles fitted into my eye sockets and I was
blinded., and then I felt the vile rod being attached
to my snout ring. He let it fall, as he had for dad,
and it rubbed up and down my naked body, falling into
the deep cleft between my pecs, and with the end
rubbing up and down my belly.    We stood there in
silence for a bit, and then I felt the stick being
lifted, and a gentle tug made me walk forward.  I
hated it!  Look, it's bad enough being led off to a
studding session by your dick, but at least with your
handler's hand holding you there you're relatively
"secure" as he has to be close to you, and he can't
help knowing from the small movements in your body if
you're OK.  But being led by the nose, at the end of a
long stick, means that all this feedback is
eliminated, and Charles almost dragged dad and me
along, simply not caring about the pain that the snout
rings caused to our noses.

We knew at once from the sounds of voices and laughter
that Mr Hawthorne had a big gathering that evening,
and there was a round of applause as we were led in.
We stood there, knowing that their eyes would be
studying us intently, until Mr Hawthorne called for
silence by tapping a knife on his glass, and then said
"Gentlemen, you're going to take part in an experiment
this evening.  There's money riding on it, as my son
and I have a bet.  Although we have two studs in front
of you this evening - Joe and Steve - there's only a
single nigga bitch to be covered, and it's going to be
your votes that determine which of these handsome
studs will do it."

"What bet?", someone called out.

"I can't tell you the exact terms, as it might
prejudice your voting!", I heard Mr Hawthorne say.
"But suffice it to say that  my son and I  wagered on
whether a little project he was pursuing would be
successful.  Now, before you choose, would you like to
inspect each stud?"

There were cries of "yes", and before long, I was
being handled and fondled, as the half-drunk guests,
their breaths stinking of whiskey and cigar smoke,
pressed themselves close to me and did all those
things that, if they had done them to a man rather
than to a slave, would probably have been illegal!
And when, some minutes later they voted (when my dick
was almost at the point of shooting in spite of all my
efforts to remain calm), it was ten to one in favour
of me being used.

On those few occasions over the years when I'd been
studded, I'd got used to feeling the hands on my hips
as I was guided and "presented", as they called it, to
the bitch.  I'd never liked it, of course, as I'd kind
of lost any lingering traces of enjoying sex with
bitches.  So in some ways being "cinched" helped -
there was no need to stimulate my dick before
introducing me into her.  And after the ritual slap on
my butt - a slap now administered on my brand - I
could just do the business quickly and efficiently.
In fact, when I'd cum, and was lying there bent
forward as the practice demanded to give my semen a
chance to "swim" up her, they said, I noticed that I
was hardly breathing hard and it was really only the
sweat from her that was making our bodies slide
together.

When I was finally allowed to pull out, Mr Hawthorne
didn't even ask if they wanted to see dad in action,
too,  Instead, he told the audience that his son had a
new surprise for them, and the next moment dad and me
were guided to stand close together and our snout
rings were coupled together by what must have been a
couple of links of chain.  We were so close that our
bodies were touching all along their length, and my
juice-slimed dick slipped easily over dad's as we both
stood there.  Still, at least our hands were released
from the collars - I was glad of that, as the blood
circulation is a bit constricted in that position, and
I'd been like that for some time now.

"Right, gentlemen:  for your further pleasure, both of
these studs are available for use by any of you who
need a little relief.", Mr Hawthorne intoned. "As you
can see, joined together like this, they're completely
harmless and totally biddable.  If you wish to use
them, simply instruct the other one to lie on his back
on the table, then you will have full and free access
to the one you chose.."

There was a lot of laughter and shouting from the
assembled men, and various amongst them seemed to be
"dared" to fuck us.  There was talk of betting, then a
"pool" where everyone threw in a fifty, the total
being given to the man who agreed to strip off in
front of his friends, and even more raucous laughter
as someone suggested that he didn't want to seethe
dick of someone else in action, as it was bad enough
having to watch it in the showers at the gym.
Finally, there seemed to be general agreement that a
"Scott" would do it, as he was a real horny guy, and
then the  debate turned to which of us it would be
that he'd take.

>From the feel of Scott's hands on my butt, and the
rough way he pushed my ass apart so he could thrust at
my hole with a finger, I guessed he was a young,
impatient guy who, now that he was excited, just
wanted to get in and get fucking.  I felt the gasp of
breath from dad as he evidently did the same to him,
and then he was back to me again - he seemed to have
stripped off, except for some shorts, as I could feel
them against my bare butt as he pushed his body up
against my back, then made kind of "humping" gestures,
much to the amusement of everyone else.  The same must
have happened to dad, as the noise redoubled, and
finally everything went quiet.

"Come on, Scott", someone called out.  "Make your mind
up!  Don't keep us waiting all night."

"The young one's cute, of course", Scott replied.
"But I see butts like his every day at the gym.   I
can fuck that any time  I want to.  But the older one
- Joe - well, he's different.  For one thing, he's not
as tight as the young one, and for another, I like to
take an older guy..."  There were more cheers from the
others as he said this, and even one catcall of  "you
can take me anytime..."

"...so I'll take Joe".  Hands reached out and guided
us backwards, and I felt the edge of the dining table
against my ass.  I was kind of pushed down onto my
back, with dad lying on top of me, our noses lined
together by our snout rings.  His body was hot, sweaty
and heavy on top of mine, and we wriggled, as best we
could, to get comfortable - dad did his best, I'm
sure, to take as much of his weight as he could on his
own feet as he stood there bent over me, but it was
still hard to breathe.

Dad's breath was coming in big gasps and it was hot
against m face.  "Sorry, Steve...", he whispered, and
then he gave a great cry and I felt a searing pain in
my nose:  they must have done something to dad to
cause him to react like that, and he'd jerked forward,
putting terrible pressure on our snout rings  As dad
started to gasp and moan and his whole body crushed
and slid over mine, I realised that the Scott guy must
be fucking dad - he'd evidently not bothered to enter
gently and slowly, and had just thrust his way in.
And now he wasn't doing an elegant job of it, making
sure that dad enjoyed it as much as he did:  no, this
was more like an animal rutting, where the male is
only concerned to reach climax and pump his seed up
into the bitch as fast and as far as possible.

I could tell dad must be hurting terribly as he's not
a guy to complain and he'd normally take a fucking
almost silently.  But now his breath was coming in
short spurts, each one accompanied by a grunting sound
from deep inside him as he desperately tried to stop
himself from screaming.  I did my best to help,
wrapping my arms around his sweaty body to help hold
him steady and stop him from sliding around on top of
me - if he'd done that, both of our noses would have
been torn apart.

Mercifully, it didn't go on for long, as above the
cheers of the watching men I heard Scott shout "Jesus
fucking Christ... I'm cumming...." and then dad
stopped moaning.  The weight on me was very bad now,
and I guessed that Scott must be slumped across dad's
back, resting as he pushed out the last of his cum,
and in turn this weight was pressing down on me.  I
wanted to push them off, wanted to be able to take a
deep breath, but I couldn't - there was no way I could
move dad off when our snout rings were joined.  I felt
shut in, unable to see, hardly able to breathe, and
very hot from both the heat of the room and the animal
warmth of dad's body all over mine.  I was stifled,
and almost began to panic - well, I controlled it but
my body started to do "panic" things, and that only
made it worse:  my own temperature rose, I tried to
draw bigger and deeper breaths, to no avail, and sweat
was pouring off me.  And then I felt something else,
something I'd not felt before:  as well as all the
sweat dripping off dad onto me, there was something
different.  Something was landing on my face, gently,
and almost cool:  dad must be crying, and the tears
were falling down where I could feel them.

We were allowed to stand up as Scott evidently pulled
out of dad, and we heard a lot of laughter as he tried
to dress in front of his buddies.  Mr Hawthorne
offered us again to the men, and all we could do was
stand there and listen as they tried to persuade one
of the guys to fuck me, or, when he refused, to "show
them how to fuck Joe, but properly this time, not like
Scott".  More laughter, as we just stood there,
waiting.

Dad put his arms around me, and I did the same to him
as it was easier to stand there kind of embracing, and
there were hoots of derision from some of the watching
men, as they thought we were just making sexual poses
to try to attract them!  Far from it - there's nothing
either of us wanted less, than to be used again that
night, and our embrace was more one of mutual comfort,
as we consoled each other with having been used so
cruelly by Mr Hawthorne and his friends.  As our
bodies touched we each made soothing noises - I don't
know which of us was trying to comfort the other more,
and inevitably our hands slid a bit up and down each
others backs, as we reacted to the wonderful sensation
of male skin; or perhaps it was more than that, with a
father and son desperate to tell the other that he was
there for him.

They kept us there for hours.  Well, probably not more
than a couple of hours, as the drinking and carousing
went on, and all the time dad and me worried that
their thoughts might turn to sex again, and we'd be
used once more.  I suppose we needn't have worried all
that much, though, as we could hear the serving slaves
filling and re-filling glasses almost constantly, and
it must soon have been apparent that none of them
would be in any state to fuck anyone!  Finally, it was
Scott who suggested that he had to leave as he said
"Mary-Lou and I have been trying for a kid for some
time, as I think a lot of you know, and it's a good
time of the month:  I need to get back and give it to
her...."

Hoots of derision greeted this, as they said that he'd
wasted himself on dad, but he claimed he was just
"warming up" ready for "the real thing".  He left, to
more shouts and cheers, and then the rest of the party
broke up rather quickly as these things generally do
once one person has decided to call it a night.  Dad
and me were just left standing there, almost as if
they'd forgotten about us, and we just enjoyed each
others company for a bit, not saying anything, just
holding each other in that wonderfully comforting
embrace, and feeling our dicks rise and fall as they
reacted to the sensation of another body pressing
against them.

"Dad...", I began.

"Shhh!"  Dad sounded quite stern. "Keep quiet, Steve.
You know we're not allowed to talk when we're on
duty."

"Dad, that was disgusting, fucking you on top of
me..."

"Shut up, Steve!".  Dad sounded really urgent now.
"We're not allowed to speak, and we're not allowed to
criticise our owners, you know that!"

"Fuck that, dad, what they did was wrong..."

"Quiet, Steve...."

Dad's last words were followed by a very hard slap
across my naked butt, as Charles' voice thundered
"Listen to your daddy, you miserable slave!  He's
right, you're not allowed to speak on duty, and how
dare you criticise us...."

Evidently Charles had come back in to the room and I
hadn't heard him, as he was soon fiddling with our
snout rings, and a moment later dad and I were no
longer joined.  We stood there, and I reached up to
undo the blinkers that were still preventing me from
seeing anything.

Another slap on the butt - harder, if that's possible,
as Charles snapped "Wait!  If I want you to see, I'll
take the blinkers off.  Otherwise you just wait - I
thought that having you 'skinned and tattooed and
branded would remind you that you're a slave, Steve,
but you seem just as uppity as ever.   I'm beginning
to think that I really need to convince my old man to
call in the public whip master and make an example of
you!  He's refused to do so up until now, but you're
probably the worst behaved slave we have, and I think
you need a lesson - a harsh lesson - in proper slave
decorum."

I stood there, my fists clenching impotently at my
side as my body "knew" it ought to take a swipe at
that arrogant bastard, but my brain told me otherwise
and all I could do was clench and unclench my fists in
suppressed rage.  Still, after a minute or so Charles
did remove the goggle things ,and I stood there,
blinking my eyes as they got used  to the light again.

"You, Joe, come with me!", Charles said.  "I liked the
way Master Scott rode you tonight, and I want a bit of
relief myself after all this drink, if I'm ever going
to sleep."

"Please, sir, Master Charles... Take me....", I cut
in.  "Dad's been fucked once tonight, and Master Scott
wasn't gentle with him.... Take me instead, please,
sir."

"Shut the fuck up, Steve!  How dare you even suggest
that.  You're a slave, and slaves don't speak to their
owners without permission.  But for your information,
fun though it would be for me to pound your ass
tonight, it will  have to wait as my father has asked
for you.  And, anyway, I'm looking forward to hearing
Joe cry out as I fuck him - Scott did, as you say,
give him a hard time and I expect he's sore, if not
bleeding slightly.  I always enjoy the way a slave
bucks when he's in that state and another man's dick
enters him."

As he said this, Charles put his hand on dad's neck in
a gesture of total dominance and control, and dad
bowed his head in submission.  I was really angry now,
but before I could say or do anything, Charles snapped
"Cut along to my father's suite - you know where it
is, as you've been there often enough before, slave
boy."

I saw dad looking at me with that same pleading,
imploring look he'd given me before when he meant "do
as you're told, and don't be an idiot."  So what could
I do?  I just shrugged slightly, and turned and went
out into the corridor, then along to the door of that
quiet, calm study I'd been into so many times before.
I stood there, and knocked, then waited several
minutes before I heard Mr Hawthorne telling me I could
enter.

The firelight gleamed on my sweaty skin as I stood
there as I had so many times before, and Mr Hawthorne
signalled me to approach his customary place where he
sat on the couch as he usually didl.   Mr Hawthorne's
eyes raked my body, then told me to turn around, and
then to turn back again.  He gave a great sigh, then
said, as if to himself, but also kind of to me, "Well,
at least Charles was right about one thing - once he
made you look like a proper slave, they didn't
hesitate to choose you to stud the bitch tonight,
rather than Joe.  The only problem is that he's made
you look so much like a slave that I don't think I
like the effect very much - I preferred you when you
were a nice, clean-limbed fresh-skinned whitey, who
could have been my son, almost, if my son ever
exercised or worked properly!"

I knew what was expected of me, from so many previous
sessions in this room, and at a small gesture from him
I dropped to my knees in front of him and began to
nudge the front of his pants with my nose, encouraging
him to erect.  It was funny, though, as he was usually
ready, but after a couple of moments when nothing had
happened, I thought it best to move on:  as I always
did I gently pulled down his zip, then reached in to
take hold of his dick and ease it out into the air.
This was usually a bit tricky as Mr Hawthorne would be
semi-erect and I didn't want to hurt him as I had to
bend it to get it out (well, you know how it is:  the
fly opening of boxers and pants never lines up
properly, and it needs a careful hand to fish the dick
out!).  Then I'd gently kiss the tip, and he'd be as
solid as a rock, just as hard as a guy half his age.

Tonight was different, though - when I did extricate
it, his dick lay there against the material of his
pants all limp and lifeless.  I kissed it, licked it
gently, then bent and sucked it into my mouth, all the
time making the kind of appreciative "Mmmmm." noises
some guys like when you're playing with their dicks.
Try as I would, no amount of sucking and teasing a his
piss slit with my tongue seemed to make any
difference, and after a few minutes he pushed my head
away, and I continued to kneel there in front of him
as he sat on the couch and watched him tuck his dick
away and zipped himself up.

"Don't worry, Master...", I started.  "A lot of guys
get occasional failures.  I've even been known to have
them myself.  Well, I mean, sometimes it takes me a
long time to get hard... It's only temporary, I'm
sure...  You'll be OK tomorrow, these things come and
go....  Especially as you get older...."  Even as I
said this I kind of knew it was wrong - you really
shouldn't comment about a guy's inability to get an
erection, should you?

"Oh Steve, as ever, you're blaming someone else!  It's
not my problem, Steve, it's yours."

I listened in astonishment.  How the fuck could the
fact that this old guy couldn't get it stiff possibly
be my problem?

"Yes", he went on, "You're so much like a slave that
everyone else chooses you, but I no longer find you
exciting.  I think that snout ring is particularly
repulsive - the thought of you having that thing
anywhere near my body is such a turn off.  You've
turned into something more resembling some sort of
fetish object, than a desirable, fuckable piece of
ass.  I think you'd better get out, before you make me
retch."

I wanted to argue with him, point out that it wasn't
"my" problem  at all!  Who the fuck had ordered all
this stuff to be done to me?  Who'd decided that I
should have a snout ring?  But I knew I was on
dangerous ground.

"Please, master... Let me try again....  "

"Steve, I think my son's right about you.  You are so
dammed uppity that only a good whipping can really
cure it - I've held off as I liked your body looking
like a free man's, but now you're so disfigured
anyway, perhaps a few permanent scars from a dammed
good bull whipping will remind you constantly of your
place here.  How dare you argue with me - get out, as
you were instructed."

"That's so unfair...."

"Get out, now.  Get out before I call Stryker and have
you caged ready for whipping.  I don't want to see
your disgusting body in here again."

I went to say something else, but knew it was no good.
 A slave could never be right, could he?  I strode to
the door, my whole body posture screaming anger, tore
it open, and slammed it behind me.  Only when I was
standing there in the corridor, trembling with rage,
did it occur to me that this was an unwise way to have
left Mr Hawthorne - he did hold the power of life and
death over me, after all.  Well, not death exactly -
he'd have to apply to the Courts if he wanted to
terminate me, but short of that, he could do almost
anything else - cane me, order a public whipping, or,
of course, sell me.  As I thought of this I began to
shake a little as my reactions cooled and the sweat
evaporated from my naked skin:  what if he were to
send me off for auction tomorrow:  I'd never see dad
again!

By the time I'd got back to the mower shed I felt
pretty desperate, and wanted to tell dad all about it
and say goodbye, in case I was taken the next day.
But dad wasn't there, and when he did appear, some
time later, he was in no mood to speak.  By the light
of the moon filtering in through the windows, I could
see angry red lines all down his back, across his
butt, and down his thighs.  He was walking kind of
funnily, too, and he lay himself down very gingerly on
our mattress, on his belly.

"Dad... What's happened?  Are you OK?"

"Nothing that won't fix itself, son.  There's no
permanent damage, no broken bones, just a lot of
temporary pain.  That bastard Charles didn't want to
fuck me, he wanted to beat me."

"But why, dad?"

"I don't know, Steve.  I never did anything to annoy
him, I never disobeyed, I never was uppity, not like
you..."

"Look, dad, that's the problem with being a slave.
They can do what they like to you, and there doesn't
have to be a reason.  We all know you work hard, and
you're loyal, and everything, but if Charles chooses
to beat you, there's nothing you can do about it.
That's what's so fucking unfair."

Dad just lay there, moaning quietly.  I think he knew
I was right, but he'd been going on for so long about
being a slave and having to obey, that he just
couldn't admit it.  Not to me, not to anyone else.
Personally, I thought Charles had beaten dad because
his own father had taken me off for fun and games -
not that we'd had any -  rather than taking his own
son.  Charles was punishing me for something his
father did, by punishing my father.  It was such a
complicated world.  I just lay there, and wished
everything could be simple.

End Of Part Seventeen.