Date: Sun, 11 Sep 2005 07:14:22 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Dad & Me, Part 9

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

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

Part  9

Look, you can get used to anything.  And at least I
had my dad there to guide me and give me advice.  I
soon forgot being embarrassed about wearing at most a
set of slave shorts and after three weeks of doing the
pool every morning stark naked, and the grass cutting
for several hours just with the tiny loin cloth, my
body generally started to colour up nicely.

It wasn't so bad being a slave, I suppose:  the house
niggas joked with us, and the work, although hard,
wasn't stressful.  I no longer  had to worry about
getting good grades or anything, and as long as I
worked physically hard, that was all there was to it.
It was pretty boring, though:  we weren't allowed
books or newspapers or TV or anything, and at first it
was hard to be so isolated and not to know what was
going on in the world. But soon I began to realise
that my "world" was just the Manderleigh Plantation,
and, indeed, even smaller than that:  just the house
and pleasure grounds of the Plantation, as we were not
allowed to go out into the fields where the coffled
niggas worked.  And once I accepted this, I began to
see things I wouldn't have seen before - the sly looks
exchanged between the house niggas who were always
plotting and scheming to fuck each other, the way that
the plants grew, how I could tell the mood Mr Stryker
was in by the way he held his body when he approached
me.... Once I realised that this was all there was to
my life now, it actually became very interesting
indeed.

I could see why dad slept so soundly at night, too -
firstly, he was physically exhausted as he tried to do
some of my work in addition to his own, so that Mr
Stryker wouldn't beat me.  But most of all he was
completely unworried - he'd always been thinking about
money before:  did we have enough for the bills, was
my college fund building fast enough, would the car
break down and need costly repairs....?   And he was
getting regular sex, too - about twice a week he was
taken away for studding, and I guess for a man of his
age that was pretty good going as he'd have found it
hard to find that many casual fucks in our old life!

It was tough for me, though, as now all the sex I got
was jerking myself off at night, as always trying not
to disturb dad too much as I did so!  At a time when
I'd have been really making it with my girl friends, I
was restricted to fucking my hand.  Well, I suppose
it's not so bad, as a lot of young guys only ever get
to jerk off until they're older, but then they do so
watching a video, or stuff from the internet, and all
I had was my imagination.

One morning there was something different, though, as
we breakfasted:  it seems that Mr Hawthorne had come
back from a business tour of the Far East, and was
expected to fly down from New York later that day for
the weekend.   Mr Stryker had given all the house
slaves orders to make the place especially clean and
tidy, and dad and me were told to really get the grass
cut, the pool sparkling, and everything in absolutely
perfect condition as our owner was expected to have
some guests with him and he deserved to be able to
show them Manderleigh at its absolute best.

Dad and I really did work - I suppose we had a certain
pride in what we did - and by evening the whole place
had never looked better.  Dad and I were showering,
when Amos (or Andy) poked his head around the door and
told us to get over to the main house, as they had to
prepare us.  I heard dad say "No....", but Amos (or
Andy) just muttered "Mr Stryker's orders, Joe...."

Still wet, we didn't even bother to pull our shorts on
as we jogged over to the house through the twilight,
and Amos (or Andy, I still hadn't had time to ask) led
us off into a slave shower.  The other one was there,
too, and they at once stripped off and turned the
water on.  Dad stood there, tight lipped, as both
niggas soaped us down and then knelt to shave our sacs
and trim our pubes, but then he put his arm around me
and said quietly "Look, Steve, I'm sorry about
this.... But just hang in there, OK?  It's not all
that bad, and some folk pay good money to have this
done...."

Well, some folk may pay to be given enemas, but I
wouldn't!  Dad knew what was coming, and  just knelt
there on his knees and elbows as Amos inserted the
tube up his ass and started the water flowing.  I
hated it - that feeling of utter violation as a guy
pushes the cold, shiny metal up through your
sphincter, and then that totally unnatural feeling as
water flows in to your guts, instead of out!  And, of
course, I absolutely wasn't prepared for the feeling
of total, unbelievable fullness as we stood there with
our bellies swollen out from us almost as if we were
pregnant - both dad and I had lovely flat, hard bodies
,after all.  And the almost explosive way your body
finally expels it all took me completely by surprise:
I just had to crouch there, almost helplessly, as the
vile stream of dark water just poured out of my ass -
I was totally unable to stop it, once it started.

Amos and Andy gave us four "flushings" until they were
satisfied - I saw Andy pry dad's butt apart and
actually stick his nose right up to his asshole before
pronouncing dad "ready".  And then he did the same to
me, slapping my butt affectionately afterwards, and
telling me how the smell of a young guy's ass, freshly
cleaned, was one of the best in the world.  Dad and I
had to stand there then as they rubbed us down with
slave oil - you know, the special oil they sell to
make your skin kind of glow with a light sheen,
without leaving it sticky or greasy to the touch.  I
only realised what was going on when, after we'd been
given fresh, crisp "formal" shorts, the two niggas got
a whole lot of leather stuff out and came up to us.

"No, guys...", dad said, almost pleading.  "It's OK
for me, but he's still a kid...."

"Hey, Joe, he's no kid.  He's sixteen.  And, anyway,
what do you expect us to do about it?  It's Mr
Stryker's orders."

I thought dad was going to burst out in fury, but then
I saw his shoulders kind of droop, as they had
sometimes before when he realised that what was going
to happen was inevitable.  We both just stood there as
first they buckled collars around our necks, and then
gently, so as not to hurt us, guided our hands behind
our backs, cuffed them, and then pushed them as high a
they could up our backs so that the cuffs could be
fastened to the collars.  It was only when they
approached us again with blindfolds that I realised
what was going on -  we were both being prepared for
studding!  I stood there, the scent of the soft
leather filling my nostrils, and could feel my dick
tenting the front of my shorts as I thought about what
was going to happen to me.
Amos and Andy led dad and me on into the house, not,
as I had expected, out across the yard to the studding
barn.  Their touch was light on my shoulders as I
shuffled along the passageways of the big house, and
it seemed somehow solemn, and that caused my voce to
lower and I whispered "Where are we going?"

"Don't you worry, Steve", Amos or Andy whispered back.
 "Master  Hawthorne has a big party of friends here
tonight, and you are going to be the after dinner
entertainment - two of them arrived with bitches for
studding, and you and your daddy are going to
'perform' for them once coffee has been served."

"Steve, I'm sorry....", I heard dad whisper then.  "I
didn't want this to happen to you...."

"Hey, dad, it's OK - it's not as if I haven't fucked
before...."

We were halted then outside what must be a set of
doors, as I could heard vaguely the chink of china and
the muffled sounds of male voices, occasionally
bursting into raucous laughter as if some particularly
disgusting joke had just been told.  Then I heard the
door opening, and Stryker's voice saying "You niggas
can go back to your normal duties... Now, come on you
two, in here....."

The smell of food, and overpoweringly that of cigar
smoke, assailed me.  Mr Stryker put my hand up onto
dad's shoulder, and then dad moved on in to the room,
with me following.  I had no idea how many there were
in there, but it just felt like a lot - I felt sure
that there must be at least ten, and possibly as many
as sixteen of Master  Hawthorne's guests gathered
there.

The laughter and talk continued, and then there was a
tapping sound of a spoon against a glass to signal
attention, and the hubbub died away.  "Friends", I
heard Master Hawthorne say, "For your entertainment
this evening we have a little treat after dinner:
some of you, I know, have made use of the services of
my white buck, Joe, for studding your niggas. But this
is the first public outing for my newest buck who will
be at stud, Steve.  You may notice the remarkable
similarities between Joe and Steve, and that's because
they are father and son - if you had any reason to
doubt whether Joe's splendid physical characteristics
would breed true, then Steve here is living proof that
they can - just look at them, gentlemen,  so alike:
the younger one is of course not yet fully muscled up,
but you can see the same deep chest for lots of lung
power, the long limbs so important when you need
really hard work from a slave, and the tight, firm
butt carried high like that - again, symptomatic of
the power and strength there, but also holding out the
prospect of a lot of delight if you choose to use the
slave sexually.  Altogether a most pleasing package,
as I always say, and well worth the stud fee.  If
you're looking to breed a lighter tone into your
slaves, then either of these fine studs would give you
superb genes to work with.  And even though their eyes
are covered, as we like to follow the old traditions
here and not allow them to see the bitches they're
going to cover, you can, I believe, also determine one
other thing:  they're both handsome devils, so it's a
good opportunity to make something attractive from
your general run of the mill nigga stock:  as I said,
it seems that Joe's genes breed through, as Steve here
amply demonstrates."

"Let's have a proper look at them", a voice called
out.  "You keep telling us that these are handsome
studs, and from what I can see so far, you're right!".
 There was a vague chorus of "yes" and "quite so" and
"fucking true" from others in the room, but the first
voice continued "But we all know that the true test of
a stud is the dick - I like my slaves to be well hung
and to have a good, long, thick dick, and I'm always
worried that breeding white blood into the niggas will
lessen that - most of my niggas have the proper
characteristics and are big down there, and I don't
want to mess with that...."

"Fucking right!", and "I agree" came muttered from the
room, and there was some general laughter.  "I don't
think you gentlemen need worry on that score", I heard
Master  Hawthorne say.  And then, in a different tone,
"Stryker, please be so good as to reveal them."

There was some sort of fumbling at my waist, then my
shorts were simply pulled down, and  I was curtly
ordered to lift my feet so they could be moved away
totally. I knew all the men in the room must be
looking at me as I now stood there collared and
cuffed, utterly helpless, and in response my dick
started to erect.  I could hear appreciative murmurs
from the audience, and then Master Hawthorne said
"We're all friends here, so there's no need to stand
on ceremony - feel free to examine the studs in
whatever way you wish...."

I stood there, totally defenceless, wondering what was
going to happen next, and then the first hand touched
my bare skin.  Someone was examining me, as I'd seen
them examining dad before, running their hands from my
shoulders right down my back, and then cupping my ass
in their hands and digging their fingers in to the
muscles, as if trying to determine the power in them.
It got wore after that - the hands started to paw at
me all over, and I do mean all over.  Well, I suppose
that if you're interested in using a white guy to stud
with your niggas and worried about their dick size,
then you're going to want to feel the stud's dick:
but this wasn't a simple examination of my tackle -
no, this was much more overtly sexual.  There was a
hand on my butt, kind of steadying me and preventing
me from backing away, and I was being stroked to full
erection  and my 'skin teased back.

I heard the men exclaiming about how well hung both
dad and me were, and then someone else called out
"Steady on there!  Look at the way the boy's
leaking.... We don't want him to shoot yet, as we want
him to stud!".  I was blushing furiously as I knew
that pre-cum must be flowing freely out of my dick as
a result of the stimulation, and it was almost more
than I could bear to be used so humiliatingly in this
way.  They must have been doing the same to dad, too,
and then my nose was filled with that familiar
ammoniacal smell as a moist finger was smeared along
my upper lip.  "Is that you, or your daddy, boy?"
someone called out, but it was clearly a rhetorical
question as the laughter that rocked the room made any
reply from me unnecessary.

A hand gripped my hard dick and guided me forward, and
I knew from the faint scent of his sweat that I got
and from the "presence" of another body right in front
of me that they had steered dad and me together.  I
felt dad's hairy pubes touch my exposed dick head, and
almost shot my load there and then, as someone said
"There, I told you - the boy's dick is just a fraction
longer than the father's - see, his is touching the
older one's skin, but there's no contact from the
father on the son!"

More raucous laughter, and then the hand that had been
guiding me did something different - my dick was
squeezed against dad's, so they were both lying
alongside, and I felt his moist warmth all along the
whole length of me.  "Shall I stroke them off,
together like this, and see who cums first?" A voice
asked, to be met with a chorus of "no", and "stop
playing with the slaves" and "let's get them fucking,
and see who cums first then!".

To much more shouting and general hilarity, the hand
gripped my dick again and I was led across the room,
then told to wait.  I could hear them bringing up dad,
and we had evidently been positioned at the open legs
of the bitches who were secured on studding frames,
and Mr Stryker called out "Can I have someone to
assist me then, please, if you gentlemen want a
contest?  I need someone to guide one of the slaves
into his bitch whilst I do the other one, then, when
they're properly positioned, we'll give them the
traditional slap on the rump to get them started, and
see who cums first."

"I will", someone called out, and then the hand was
gripping my dick again and pulling me forward.  My
thighs brushed against naked skin, soft naked female
skin, and I almost convulsed and shot as my dick made
contact with the bitch.  Firm but insistent pressure
on my butt pushed me forward until my dick was buried
in her, and then Stryker called out "Ready?", and when
there was an answer of "OK", a hard slap on my butt
caused me to start forward and thrust myself right in.

Well, once I'd started, it all seemed pretty natural.
I mean, it wasn't all that much fun, as I like to
fondle their tits and so on as I fuck them.  But once
you're inside a woman it's as if your body knows what
do, almost automatically, and you can't stop it, can
you?  I felt myself thrusting away and it almost
didn't matter all that much that my hands were bound
behind my neck as I just did it from the hips,
thrusting myself in and out.  I suppose it occurred to
me that there was a whole lot of guys watching my
thighs and butt at work, but once I'd got going, it
didn't matter at all, so intense was the sensation of
actually fucking.  But  I was only sixteen, and you
all probably remember how you were at that age - a few
thrusts, and I shot my load deep into her.  I could
hear dad still pounding away next to me, and from the
shouts and cries I heard it seemed that the audience
had been betting on us, and the winners were already
claiming their prizes.

I went to pull out, but a hand on my butt held me
there inside her, and I heard Mr Stryker say "No,
Steve, stay in!  You can lean forward if you like, but
keep well inside her until I tell you to come out - we
want to keep your little swimmers bottled up and don't
want them to leak out yet....   So as gently as I
could I leaned forward, pressing my body against the
nigga bitch under me, and feeling the silky smoothness
of her sweat-drenched body against mine.  She murmured
seductively, and half wriggled her hips as if to try
to suck me even further into her, and at the same time
I heard dad give a stifled cry, and knew he must have
cum.

We  can't have been left there for more than five
minutes, although it felt like longer, knowing that
dad and me were being watched, and then Mr Stryker was
telling me to stand up straight, and pull out.  I
stood there, and brushed against dad and that was
somehow reassuring - no matter what I might just have
had to do, somehow it didn't seem to matter as much
having dad next to me, being made to do the same
thing.

"Shall I take them back to the slave quarters, Mr
Hawthorne?" I heard Stryker ask, and the reply was
"No, take them out into the corridor and let them rest
- we haven't finished with them in here yet.  But keep
them ready for studding again so don't release their
cuffs or anything - we'll just let their juices
recover so they'll be read for another bout."

It must have not been all that pleasant for Mr Stryker
to have to lead me out of the room by my dick as I
could tell by the feel of his fingers on me that I was
covered in my own cum and her juices, but I guess it's
part of the job of being an overseer to have to do
things like that on occasion.  He pushed me back
against the wall, and said "Well done, Steve.  Was
that your first time?"

"No, boss, I've fucked before...."

"I mean was that your first time in public?"

"Of course!"

"Well, I think Mr Hawthorne was really pleased with
your performance.  Now, slide down the wall and sit
quietly whilst I fetch Joe."

I did as he said, feeling the wood cool against my
bare butt, and soon dad was settled there too, next to
me.  Our arms kind of entangled with each other as
they were still cuffed to our collars, and I leaned a
bit against dad, enjoying the comfort of his body
against mine.

"Are you OK, son?"  dad asked - we'd started
whispering, as we didn't know whether we were allowed
to speak or not.

"Sure, dad.  And are you OK, too?"

"Oh yes, I've done it lots of times before.  But I
hate the thought hat they made you do it in public
like that...."

"Dad, it's no worse for me, than it was for you..."

"Yes it is, Steve.  It's my fault I'm a slave and
having to do stuff like this for their enjoyment, but
you're only a young guy and shouldn't be a slave at
all.  And you shouldn't have to perform for a lot of
men like that - you ought to be out with your
friends...."

"Dad, please don't... It doesn't help.  Look, you keep
telling me that we are slaves and we have to do as
they tell us.  And didn't you tell me the first time I
had to wear that stupid loincloth that it didn't
matter what we wore, or even if we were totally naked,
as it was no longer our decision?  You told me that an
owner takes total responsibility for the slaves he
owns, so it's not a problem for me, is it, having to
fuck publicly?  If Mr Hawthorne wants me to do it, I
just have to... That's what you said."

"Yes, Steve.  But it's not right, somehow.  You ought
to be out there, enjoying life...."

"Hey, dad, a fuck's a fuck, after all!  Once I got
going it was pretty exciting....  But it doesn't
matter, anyway:  I'd rather be here, close to you,
doing the things you're doing, two men together, than
out with a lot of other young guys just hanging around
the malls and stuff."

"Steve, that's a nice thing to say.  I never had much
time to spend with you before as I had to work so hard
and at weekends and all, and it's good to be close,
but I didn't want it to be like this.  If things had
gone right, you'd have gone to college, got a good
job, and might have ended up owning slaves yourself.
You could have bought yourself some nigga bitches for
when you wanted to fuck, and not be forced to do it
like that in front of all those guys...."

"Dad, don't torture yourself!  You did your best, and
I'm not blaming you, honest...."

Dad pushed himself against me, as if to reassure me
with his body, and then we just sat there in a special
companionable closeness that you don't often get,
waiting and wondering what was going to happen next.
We could still hear the faint noises coming through
the heavy doors, and if anything, the laughter and
shouting got louder, and went on for longer.  After
some time, the door opened and Mr Stryker's voice
boomed out from in front of us "OK, Joe... On your
feet.... You're needed again...."

"Leave my dad", I called out.  "Take me instead,
boss...."

"Shut the fuck up, slave!  How dare you interfere.
Your turn will come.", he rapped back, and then in a
different tone, "Come on, Joe, before I pull your dick
off - follow me properly, as you normally do."

I heard dad's naked feet slapping on the bare wood as
he was led off, then the door closing, then more
laughter and shouting as I guessed dad was being
studded again.  It fell silent after a bit, until the
door opened once more, there were footsteps, then Mr
Stryker told me to get to my feet.  I struggled up the
wall - it's hard, with your hands cuffed behind your
neck -  and he led me back into the room where there
was a sort of expectant hush now from the assembled
men.  He'd not dragged me in by my dick, but had
guided me with one of his strong hands on my shoulder,
and butt, but now he reached down and started to
stroke me into a full erection gain.

"Are you OK, Steve?  Ready to fuck again?  You young
guys usually recover pretty quickly!"

"Yes, boss, I guess so...."

"OK, Steve.... It's the same as before.  I'm going to
position you, and then I want you to fuck away, really
hard and vigorously, just like you did before..."

Using my erect dick as a handle he pulled me gently
forward, then 'skinned me back and nudged me gently
forward again until I felt warm, moist skin against
the tip of my dick.  "It's a bit different this time,
Steve", he told me, reassuringly.  "You need to force
your way in as this studding isn't been done
voluntarily..."

His big hot hands were on my butt now, pushing me
forward, and it was hard to make my dick go up her -
was this what it was like to take a virgin, I wondered
for a moment?  Had they got me taking the cherry of
some young nigga bitch who hadn't been with a guy
before?  The thought of taking a bitch's virginity
really excited me, and my dick was almost painful as
it strained away, and I surged forward with new
vigour,  to be rewarded with one of the tightest grips
on my dick that I'd ever felt.

"You're in - now fuck, boy", My Stryker whispered, and
I started to thrust myself in and out, taking really
long strokes as it was somehow really sensual.  Mind
you, she didn't seem to be enjoying it - I could hear
muffled groans and shouts as I carried on fucking, and
from the way the body under me was moving, almost
writhing, I supposed that this really was a first,
really was being done against her will. Still, she'd
better learn, I thought:  if I had to stud like this,
she'd just have to learn to take it, as that's what
slaves do.

Somehow the thought of fucking involuntarily was a
real turn-on:  I knew I was near to cumming, and  my
strokes got longer and harder.  I suppose I might have
noticed that the skin I was slamming in to wasn't as
smooth and silky as the first bitch, but all that was
swept away as I felt my balls begin to contract, and I
really thrust right hard inside her in one great final
push to get my dick buried right to the hilt.   I
heard myself give a shout of triumph as I finally shot
my load, and stood there, heart racing, lungs sucking
in air, and sweat streaming off me.  I no longer cared
that all the watching men would have seen my body
performing this most intimate act - all that mattered
was that I had fucked, and that's what men are
supposed to do.

Mr Stryker's voice again came to me "OK,  Steve,
relax.  Stay inside, but you can rest forwards".  I
leaned forward, eager to feel the caress of a woman's
skin on me, but there was something wrong... It wasn't
soft and silky:  there was a forest of harsh, wiry
hair.    I heard the men around me all begin to laugh
uproariously, and then the blindfold was pulled off my
eyes - and there underneath me, lying strapped down to
the studding bench with his legs pulled right up and
back so that I had had access to his ass, was dad.
They'd gagged him so that he couldn't make a warning
sound, and now I saw his eyes darting backwards and
forwards as they looked at me, and he make desperate
mumbling noises through the gag.

I jerked backwards, pulling my deflating dick out of
dad's ass, and the laughs of all the watching men got
even louder.  "Bastards!", I started to shout, and Mr
Stryker went to slap me to silence me.  I grabbed hold
of his wrist to stop him, he looked at Mr Hawthorne
who gave him a nod of approval, and Mr Stryker roared
"Right, slave!  I warned you about daring to stop a
master when he was punishing you.  Now you're going to
get a real whipping...."

"No, Stryker", Mr Hawthorne said quietly.  "Not the
whip.  I want to keep his skin unblemished for the
time being.  But I think these gentlemen would like to
see that muscular young butt that has just given us so
much pleasure getting a little punishment.... You may
use a strap on him."

Before I could do anything to resist, Mr Stryker
pushed me down so that I was again lying along dad's
body, then, as he held me pressed down with one of his
hands on my neck, he began to beat me with what seemed
to be a leather belt.  Dad was going frantic
underneath me, but there was nothing he could do to
help as he was still strapped down.  He was trying to
break free, but al he succeeded in doing was to make
our bodies slip and slide over each other. As the
strap repeatedly hit my tender flesh, I couldn't help
it - I screamed and screamed as it really hurt me.
Somewhere in all this turmoil and confusion of my
senses I could see all the watching men leaning
forward, as if they were eager to see my butt being
punished, and this somehow made it worse:  I was a
man, and another man has no right to beat another like
that.  And no man wants his dad to see him being
beaten, either.

Stryker must have given me at least ten strokes of the
strap before he stopped, and I just lay there, feeling
the stinging and terrible throbbing pain from my butt.
 He pulled me upright, dragging on the chain joining
my cuffs to my collar so that I almost choked, then
led me around the room so that all of the men in turn
could rub their hands over my battered ass and feel
the heat radiating from it.  I'd never been so
humiliated, as I felt just like a young kid who'd been
spanked by his dad, and I had a real job in preventing
tears from breaking out.  Fortunately, though, after a
circuit of the room, Stryker opened the doors and
literally threw me out into the corridor, where I
collapsed in a sprawled tangle on the floor - and now
I did feel tears streaming down me, but they were
tears of humiliation, and rage, not caused by the
physical pain.

End Of Part 9