Dad and Me

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

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

Part 15

Stryker led us into Mr Hawthorne's study, where I had spent so many not unhappy hours over the past years. I was, in turn, terrified at what might happen to me, and pissed off at the total unfairness of it all. And that made it worse - it was all so unfair, firstly that I'd been enslaved; and then that they'd shown me the joy of sex with men, and then blamed me when I couldn't fuck a woman! I wasn't certain that my angry thoughts could be contained - if Mr Hawthorne ordered me to be whipped, then , try as I could, I wasn't sure that I wouldn't blurt out what a rotten fucking system they had, and how it just wasn't fair on me. And then, I knew, the consequences might be almost too terrible to contemplate . If dad was right, and he usually was, then it was quite likely that Mr Hawthorne would decide that I did need "calming", and then it would be the loss of my balls.

Stryker ordered us to stand near the fireplace - there was a cheery fire burning, but it didn't alter my mood of fear and anger - and told us to wait, silently, for Mr Hawthorne to come. He went out, and dad and I stood there in the normal slave waiting position, our heads bent, hands clasped neatly behind our backs, and feet apart. I was closer to the fire than dad, and I could feel the heat on my legs, and soon began to sweat from it (and, I guess, the tension I was under).

The longer we stood there, the hotter I got, and I felt sure my naked leg was beginning to burn, so I moved away from the fire.

"Steve!", dad hissed at me. "Aren't you in enough fucking trouble already, without making it worse? Mr Stryker told us to wait for Mr Hawthorne, and now you're moving around..."

"Oh can it, dad, I was only moving because I....."

"There you go again, Steve! YOU were moving because YOU.... Mr Stryker ordered us to wait, and you decided to do something else. No wonder you have a reputation for being a wilful, uppity slave. "

"For fuck's sake, dad, I was only moving because...." I got no further, as dad, with the amazing agility that the really fit are capable of, even though they have big bodies, moved in front of me and hit me, hard, with his open had across my face! I was so surprised that I didn't react for a moment or two, and then the automatic "fight or flee" thing cut in, and at once put my fists up, and almost hit dad. But something stopped me, just in the nick of time, and I shouted out "What the fuck did you do that for?"

"Steve, I think I failed you somewhere, long ago, when you were a kid. I always allowed you to do more or less what you wanted. Always let you argue with me. And perhaps it would have been better if I'd controlled you more, made you knuckle under more often when I told you to do something.... Maybe I should even have spanked you when you were verging on the cheeky or disobedient. If I had, we might not have been in this mess now...."

"Oh, right, dad... So it's your fault I'm probably going to lose my balls. Big deal! It's a pity you didn't think more about me when you started to cheat the IRS...." The moment it was out, I knew it was wrong. But you can't call words back, can you?

"That's typical of you, Steve!" Dad sounded angry now, rather than sad, as he had been when I'd thrown that in his face before. "You know you're in the wrong, and now you're trying to blame someone else. It's time you grew up, Steve, time you took responsibility for your own actions. Yes, it's my fault you were enslaved, and I've told you before, many times before, that I'm sorry, desperately sorry. But we can't change it - once enslaved, you're a slave for life. So a clever guy like you should have figured out how to live with it, how to make the best of it.... And instead of that you get sullen, or uppity, or both, and so things just get tougher for you."

"Well, I don't want to be like you, dad - just lying there and fucking taking it! Letting them walk all over you, letting them dictate everything you do, letting them breed from you, letting them make you fuck me, even...."

"There you go again, Steve! Denying reality. 'They' didn't 'make' me do anything. I'm a slave, Steve. I recognise that. And in our world slaves have to do as they're commanded, or else there's trouble. I know that, it seems a pretty easy concept to get to grips with, so why can't you understand it, too?"

Dad and I were standing almost nose to nose now, shouting at each other, and the fire was hot against the bare skin on the backs of my legs, thighs and back. I think this was adding to my temper, as I almost screamed at him "I'm fed up with you, dad, fed up with the way you always want me to conform, I wish you were a real man, dad, one who stood up for his rights..."

"You still don't get it, do you, you stupid young fucker! Slaves have no rights. We're possessions, Steve. Owned by Mr Hawthorne. We have no more rights than his automobile does, or anything else he owns. If you can't see that, no wonder you're having problems, and no wonder he's probably going to have you 'calmed'. I don't like to say this, but maybe it will be the best thing for you.... Maybe you won't be so unhappy as a slave in future - without some of that fire in you, you might be able to adjust better, and live a happy life. And that's all I ever wanted for you, Steve, even from when you were a tiny kid - that you should have a happy life! I never wanted it to be like this, of course, but that's probably the only option now..."

At that moment, the door opened, and Mr Hawthorne strode in, accompanied by Charles.

"Ah, I see my father and son slaves are having, a..... shall we say, 'family discussion'!", he observed drily. "You and I are not unfamiliar with those, are we, Charles?" Mr Hawthorne's words, spoken with icy calm, caused dad and me to stop instantly.

Dad at once fell into the proper "slave rest" position, but I couldn't do it. I stood there, fists clenched at my side, breathing heavily, chest heaving, heart thumping, covered in sweat.

"So, Steve", Mr Hawthorne continued, "You and your father have been having a 'discussion'! Was it about your failure this afternoon? That was very embarrassing for me, you know, to have a prize young stud, a stud who I could sell for lots of money, fail like that."

"Yes, but..."

"Silence!". I'd never heard Mr Hawthorne raise his voice like this before, and it had the effect of stopping me in my tracks. I stood there, my body still exhibiting the "fight" stance.

Dad saw and heard this, of course, and to my utter astonishment he fell to his knees in front of Mr Hawthorne, touched his forehead to Mr Hawthorne's feet, and began to cry out "Master, please.... Please don't send Steve for 'calming'. I've talked to him, sir, and I'm sure I can make sure he behaves properly in future. He doesn't deserve it, sir, even though he can be uppity, I know, and I understand why you don't like uppity slaves, master.... But he will improve, I promise, and when he's got a better attitude, I'm sure he'll succeed at studding, master, if that's what you want, master. Please, master, spare him.... He's my son, master, and it's my fault he was enslaved, my fault he wasn't brought up right to respect authority properly, my fault...."

"Oh stop it, Joe! Your feelings as a father do you credit. I know myself how difficult it can be to bring up a son. I have many 'discussions' with Charles about proper behaviour, the need to work hard, the need to do the right thing.... But you at least seem to have got a son who, when he is working, really buckles down to it, and is not idle and feckless. So perhaps you did do something right.... I wish I could have inculcated my son with at least some of the work ethic that Steve seems to have - I've watched you over the years, and now he puts his back into it at least as hard as you do, Joe.""

As he said this, I glanced at Charles and saw a look of pure hatred in his eyes. I don't think he liked being compared to me at all . Well, it wasn't my fault, was it? It wasn't me making the comparison, so he had no right to be pissed off at me. And then I thought to myself oh shit - there I go again, starting to get angry about something I couldn't change.

Mr Hawthorne went on "Get up, Joe. I don't know why you thought I was going to have Steve 'calmed' - he's a valuable asset, you know, even though he seems to have gone off studding!"

Dad scrambled to his feet, and he was almost crying "Oh thank you, master. We just assumed... I know it was wrong, master... But we assumed that because he failed at studding and embarrassed you so badly, you'd order him to be whipped. And as he's so headstrong, he'd argue with you, and then you'd decide that the time had finally come to have him 'calmed' - if he wasn't going to stud, and if he argued, it seemed the logical thing to do...."

"And this is what the argument was about?"

"Yes, master. We were waiting, and Steve started to move around instead of holding 'slave rest' as we were ordered to by Mr Stryker, and I told him that the was in enough trouble already, and that his behaviour might tip the balance...."

"Joe, your care for your son does you credit, but have no fears - I wasn't going to have him whipped anyway, so there was no possibility that we'd move on to arguing about it! I like a slave with spirit - provided, that is, that he ultimately recognises when to call a halt and begin to obey. And Steve's a nice boy, you ought to be proud of him. He works hard, he looks after his body, he's a pleasure to spend an hour or so relaxing with... I wish another son, not so far from here, exhibited at least some of those qualities!"

He looked meaningfully at Charles, who shot me another stare of pure hate at me, and went on "No, I had you both brought here because I wanted to get Master Charles' opinion as to why the clients always choose you for studding, rather than Steve. I know you've got a fantastic body, one most men of whatever age would envy, but Steve is in his prime now... He must be twenty three, isn't he?"

"Yes, master."

"Well, at twenty three, I'd have expected most clients to be selecting Steve, rather than you, as the stud. Few men can resist seeing a really fit, powerful, well-hung young guy in action, after all.

"Loo, dad", Charles cut in. "I've told you I know why it is. I saw our neighbours looking today, and it was obvious."

"Charles, this is nothing to do with you. I have decided to examine Steve and Joe, in detail, to see if I can detect some defect, some reason.... Now keep out of this, it's none of your business."

"Yes it is, dad! Manderleigh will be mine one day - or so you always say - and I don't want to be always worrying about what the neighbours are thinking. And Joe and Steve will be mine, too...."

"You're right, of course, but I do wish you wouldn't sound quite so eager to see your old dad pushing up the daisies, so you can take over." My Hawthorne smiled as he said this, so it was presumably some private joke between him and Master Charles about inheritance or something. "...so, then, son, what's your theory?"

Charles turned to dad and me and said simply "Strip. Get naked. Both of you."

Well I shouldn't have been shy, should I? After all, they'd both seen me naked hundreds of times. But somehow, in this quiet study with only the crackling of the logs making a sound, it seemed to be odd to be dropping my shorts and having one father and son stand there naked in front of another father and son - us utterly naked, and them dressed in that casual, formal elegance that only the most expensive clothes can bring. The fire now felt hot on my ass, and Charles said "See, dad... Take a close look....", and then, after a minute or so, he snapped at us "Now turn around...."

We did, and now it was my dick feeling the heat. "Take a look again, dad", Charles said. "Take a good close look, and tell me what you see..."

"I don't see anything", Mr Hawthorne said. "Joe's body is fantastic, and Steve's is superb. I can't see why men wouldn't choose to see either studding away... And yet, they always seem to choose Joe."

"That's the problem, dad! Look at Steve again - if he wasn't tanned all over, and had a white butt like free men, you'd never know from looking at him that he was a slave! That collar is so thin and expensive looking - well, I guess it is costly, with all the electronics and stuff - but it looks like a piece of jewellery that a fag might wear. So from the back, you might think he's a fag, one of those guys who lie around naked all day, or works out in the gym, or something... But if you look at Joe, there's no doubting that he's a slave: his name in those giant letters across his shoulders is a dead give-away - not even a fag, into tattooing, would disfigure himself like that. And then there's his slave identification number - look at how the SIN emphasises the top of his ass crack like that, at the base of his spine. It makes you look at his ass, doesn't it?"

He paused for breath, and snapped again "Turn back and face us!".

Dad and I rotated again, and I saw both men peering intently at our dicks, as that's what guys tend to look at first, isn't it? And then to take in our bodies generally.

"See, dad", Charles continued "No mistaking Joe is the slave! Anyone seeing his dick and balls cinched out like that would know instantly that he was a slave. After all, although some men do wear cock rings when they're out for a night's sport, no one would have the subsidiary ring pushing their balls down at the same time: it's obvious that it's a slave device, designed to make him more prominent at all times."

"Yes, yes.... And your point is?"

"Look, dad, it's fun to watch a studding, we all know that. And it is mostly for fun, isn't it? You don't make any money at it?"

"No, of course not! By custom, the fee to cover a bitch is only twenty dollars, and that hardly compensates for the loss of work by the slave when we take him away from his normal duties. Then if you add in the cleaning out, oiling, all the other stuff... Of course we don't make a profit! It's so that us and the neighbours have an opportunity to get together from time to time, and then so that we have the chance to share a common interest - everyone wants to improve his slave herd, after all."

"Well, I think they're embarrassed when they see Steve!"

"Oh rubbish, Charles! How could they be embarrassed by seeing a slave naked? Especially when he's next to another naked slave...."

"That's the point, dad! They wouldn't be embarrassed at seeing a naked slave, but Steve doesn't look like a slave! He looks like a free man, at least at first sight. I've seen the women glancing at his dick, and then turning away in embarrassment, in a way they wouldn't be at a slave dick, one properly cinched and displayed, as Joe's is! And it's the same from the rear - Steve' got a magnificent butt, fantastic thighs, and the way his shoulders taper is all that it should be on a man - but when you look at him, it's like looking at a free man. All these folk who have sons about my age probably squirm with embarrassment at the thought that it might be their sons they're looking at.... And the lack of cinching causes another problem, too..."

Mr Hawthorne looked interested now. "How so?"

"Turn around again, Steve, and spread your legs a bit.... And bend over....."

I did as I was told, and heard Charles say "See - you can see his dick and his balls hanging down between those thighs. If he was cinched, that wouldn't happen, and some people find the sight of a man's balls from the back rather unsettling."

"So you really think that they're not choosing Steve to stud as they perceive him as a free man?"

"Exactly!"

"You may be right, Charles. The solution is obvious, I suppose... But I'd put off having Steve inked as I find the male form rather more pleasing without it."

"It's up to you, dad, of course, but if you want to get on with the neighbours, and don't want to get a reputation for mounting lewd displays..."

"What on earth do you mean, Charles?"

"Well, yesterday, as they were leaving, I heard our neighbour's wife whisper to her husband that it wasn't surprising that Steve failed at stud: how could we expect a sweet young guy like that to have to put on an exhibition, especially with a slave present..... She thought it was vaguely disgusting, that you'd bribed some college boy to come along there and perform by the side of the slave....

"You may have a point, I suppose", Mr Hawthorne was thoughtful now. "Reputation is everything, Charles, especially when you're a banker. I wonder what's for the best.... Perhaps I'll give up on using Steve for stud..."

All of a sudden, my day seemed to be getting brighter.

If I didn't ever have to stud again, that would be too soon for me. "...but on the other hand, with an absolutely superb specimen like Steve, I'll then be missing out: to a certain extent, having a whitey of such power and beauty as him does say to the locals here that I'm a power in the land - after all, none of them have any whiteys at all, in general. Or, if they do, they're very poor specimens - thin, weedy recovering drug addicts, and general poor white trash.

None of them that I've seen match the magnificence of Steve, or Joe."

I hated all of this. I hated hearing myself just discussed in these terms, as if I had no more meaning to them than as a status symbol. I thought that Mr Hawthorne really liked me - after all, he'd been using me for sex for years now - but it seemed he was only exhibiting his power to own, and to control, and he had no real concern for me at all. I could feel my anger rising, and I was tempted to tell them that they were inhumane bigots, who didn't care about people at all. But remembering what I'd seemingly narrowly escaped, I controlled myself and stood there, seething inside with impotent fury.

But then Charles was speaking again. "Dad, if you agree with me that this is the problem, then let me fix it for you. You're a busy man, with a whole load of worries as it is.... Why don't you just let me sort this out for you?"

"Are you sure, Charles? I'm not certain I can entrust you with something like this...."

"Dad, that's so fucking typical! You always complain that I'm irresponsible, that I don't pull my weight in the family, and stuff like that, and then when I offer to help you, you turn it down...."

I saw Mr Hawthorne considering for a few moments, and then he said "Oh, very well. Take care of it. Stryker can help you, if you need any assistance..."

"Dad, a simple matter of fixing a slave so he looks like a slave.... I can do that myself!"

Mr Hawthorne muttered "Very well then, Charles. Now, shall you and I have a couple of hands of piquet after dinner? You used to enjoy that when you were younger."

"Dad, I'm a grown man. I'm starting work in the bank next week - there are other things a man can do in the evening, you k now, other than play cards...."

Mr Hawthorne looked at me as I stood there, and as his eyes roamed over my body, I felt myself getting hard. "Oh, I expect I can find something to do by myself, too", he muttered, and got up and went out. Charles followed him, and dad and I stood there for a moment.

"You were fucking lucky, if you ask me, Steve!", dad whispered as we stood there, waiting to see what happened next. And, I suppose, I had to agree with him. Just then, though, Mr Stryker came in, nodded at me, and said "The master wants to see you, in private, as usual. You have been cleaned out, haven't you?"

"Yes, boss."

"Good - follow me - he's in his bedroom..." Well, I knew what this meant. A lot of playing with my nips and my dick, a lot of his tongue in and out of my mouth, and then some really strenuous work for me, as I had to fuck myself on his dick as he lay there groaning at the pleasure I was causing him. Still, I'd done it before - lots of times, now - so I gave a little shrug and said "See you later, then, dad", and followed Stryker out.

It was just as I expected, and later that night, my ass still slicked with Mr Hawthorne's cum, I staggered back to the mower shed and flopped down beside dad - over the years, as it had become clear that we were never even going to try to escape (not that with our collars that would have been possible, I suppose), Mr Stryker had gradually relaxed a bit and we were no longer locked in. But we had to return there for sleeping, nevertheless, and it was the same old hard mattress now as it had been all those years ago. Dad didn't seem to be in a very good mood as I put my arms around him and twined my legs around his to try to get comfortable - I suppose it was nice in a way to be able to do this, as so many young guys have to sleep alone, and having another body next to you, one you're totally familiar with, one that's really great to feel, and touch, and taste, and smell, is fantastic. It's one of those things I think you don't really appreciate until you've lost it.

But dad didn't seem to be returning my embraces, and I tried to cheer him up a bit by gently worming my hand between his thighs, and trying to stroke his asshole. Then I felt it - that unmistakable warm, slimy feeling of cum.

"Hey, dad... You old dog! Did you stop off and pass the time with Amos and Andy? I thought you were getting too old for a couple of lusty studs like them...."

Dad just lay there, then said quietly "No, Steve. It was young master Charles."

"He fucked you, dad? Charles?"

"Yes." Dad was very monosyllabic, and I thought he was angry, but didn't want to sound it.

"Hey, he's never wanted to fuck me! Even when we were swimming, he did a lot of looking, but no touching."

"Well tonight was different, then."

"Hey, that's some turn-up for the book. Charles dipping his wick..."

"I suppose you think it's funny, Steve! That's so fucking typical of you - never give a thought for anyone else. How do you think I feel?"

I was still pretty pissed off with the way dad had treated me earlier, I suppose, and my face still felt warm from where he'd hit me. So I said, almost sarcastically "I'd have thought you'd have been pleased. If you're a good slave, as you always claim, then you ought to have been delighted that your owner's son fucks you. It would have been better if the owner had, I suppose, but then, he was fucking with me. So Charles was a pretty good substitute - and if you wait long enough, he'll be our owner anyway...."

"I's not funny, Steve!"

"I never said it was. I said it was an honour...."

Dad turned on me then. All of a sudden we were rolling around, wrestling and grappling and punching at each other. And as he did, I could hear dad muttering "Fucking arrogant kid, mocking me.... He doesn't understand what it's like... To be fucked by a guy young enough to be your son...."

We might have done each other serious damage but, deep down, even though we were fighting in earnest, I think we didn't really want to hurt each other. Dad was probably more powerful than me, and had about twenty pounds on me as he'd always been kind of "chunkier" whereas I was longer-limbed. He had experience, too - he'd told me he used to do a bit of brawling in bars and stuff in his young days - but I was more resilient, and probably had more stamina. So we went on and on, clawing at each other, landing the occasional punch, and rolling around the floor of the shed, banging into the mowers and stuff. I'd have won eventually, I know, but I suppose I felt bad about what I'd said to him earlier, and he obviously was pretty upset by Charles having fucked him: so I let him win.

He squatted there on my chest, his slimed ass hot against me as he pushed his knees into my biceps, pinning me down. His dick was brushing my face, and he was erect, and dribbling pre-cum over me. I smelt its heady odour as it trailed across my lips, overlaying dad's sweat and that special masculine smell from the scent glands between his thighs.

Dad seemed really cross "So, you think it's funny, to get fucked by a kid young enough to be your son, do you?"

"No, dad.... But you said that a slave has to obey, and if an owner wants to fuck you...."

"Can't you see the difference, Steve? It's one thing to have your owner fuck you - an owner, like Mr Hawthorne,.... But it's something else to have a young guy, a guy who's the same age as your own son, do it!"

"Actually, no", I sad, very conscious now of dad's dick hovering over my mouth. "After all, not all owners are old guys like Mr Hawthorne. As he pointed out, one day Charles will inherit all of Manderleigh, and with it, you and me, dad. And then your owner will be a young guy. So if he wants to fuck you then, it will be OK, I suppose?"

"Stop it, Steve! Stop trying to confuse the issue! The fact remains that someone of your age just fucked me. Fucked me hard, against my will, and you think that's OK?"

"No, dad, I didn't say it was OK, I just said....."

I never finished the sentence, as I knew it was no use arguing with dad when he was in a mood. The kind of life he lived in construction you didn't go much for rational argument. I knew I was right, but there was no way dad was logically going to agree with me, was there? So I just shut up, and put my tongue out, and licked at the tip of dad's dick.

It was as if I'd touched dad with something electric. His whole body rose, with a almost a sucking sensation as his wet ass came up off my sweat-soaked chest. He wasn't just erect now, he was almost past that, as I could see the veins on the side of his dick actually throbbing with excitement. A huge drop of pre-cm formed in his piss slit, and dripped down into my open mouth. I savoured its salty sweetness, and made an appreciative "mmmmmmm" noise.

"Stop it, Steve!". Dad sounded almost desperate. But I didn't stop, did I? I raised my head, and managed to get dad's dick head almost between my lips.. Then, making another effort, and really straining my neck forward, I took his whole dick head into my mouth and let the tip of my tongue tease around it, delving into the salty moistness of it, and then pulling my neck down again so that my lips caressed the flange of his head.

It was too much for dad! He started moaning, and even though the words were "No, no, Steve, don't.....", he made no effort to release my pinioned biceps so I could get free. I carried on sucking at him, gently but sensuously, and at the same time got one foot up and began to stroke dad's back with it - I loved the feel of my toes against dad's spine, and the movement of my foot against him seemed to almost drive him wild. Suddenly, as I carried on teasing him, something inside him snapped and he gave up: he leaned forward so that his dick was directly over my mouth as I lay back, his balls were slapping against my chin, and he began to fuck my mouth fast and furiously.

Above the sounds of our bodies and the noise of his dick pistoning in and out, I could hear him muttering to himself "So you want to know what it's like to be humiliated.....? Well, it's like this, Steve...."

Look, I've taken dick before, lots of times - although I usually fucked Amos and Andy, I wasn't averse to a bit of foreplay and would sometimes suck at their dicks and balls as a kind of warm-up. So don't get me wrong - I've got nothing against taking a dick in my mouth. But this was different - dad wasn't doing this as foreplay, as a harmless thing guys do together for fun. No, he was fucking me seriously - plunging his dick deeper and deeper into me until I started to gag as it bounced against the back of my throat. I tried to shout "Stop it, dad", but I couldn't: I was retching now, and trying to throw up. And suddenly the idea of giving in to dad didn't seem so much fun - try as I could, I just couldn't dislodge him from kneeling on my biceps, so I was effectively trapped underneath him (You try it! However strong you are, once a guy has you pinioned like that, especially a heavy, muscled guy like dad, you can't escape).

I tried kicking at him, but I couldn't get any power at that angle, and my feeble attempts to strike his back only seemed to excite him more. "That's it, Steve... Now let's see who's the toughest!", dad was almost shouting. "How do you like being used when you're helpless? That's what happened to me earlier tonight: Charles had me tied down to a fucking frame, so he could abuse me in whatever way he wanted."

He carried on plunging in and out of me, and I was now seriously worried as he was blocking my throat and that, and the gagging and choking, was making it very hard for me to breathe. My whole body was thrashing around as I tried to dislodge dad, but couldn't. But then it was all over: dad gave a great cry, and stopped, his dick just in my mouth, and I felt a huge stream of his cum fill me completely. Dad pulled out and sank back onto my chest, and looking up, I could see his whole muscled frame heaving with the effort he'd been making. His cum started to dribble out of the corner of my mouth, as I continued to lie there pinioned, and I just lay there, helpless, looking up at him.

He stared down at me, and I saw a look of triumph on his face. I think this was the first time he'd treated me as another man, a man he could fight if he wanted to, and not as a son.

End Of Part 15