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