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 19

I had forgotten what it was like to sleep in a proper bed, alone. I had forgotten what it was like to feel clothes against my skin. When I first went into the bathroom in my bedroom suite and saw a button marked "slave", I pressed it and was surprised when Amos appeared, and fell to his knees in front of me, and called me "Master Steve".

Although I did play with his body as we did when I too was a slave, it somehow was not as exciting, or as entertaining, and had I not been very frustrated and in need of relief I probably would not have fucked him.

They found me some clothes - I think Stryker was pressed in to giving up some of his, as there was a certain scent about them, a male scent that I recognised from the times when I'd been using and abusing his body. I couldn't get used to shoes, though, and even the open sandals they found seemed strange on my feet.

Dinner that night was a curious affair, too - Mr Hawthorne hardly spoke to me, Charles just glared, and I had all the problems of remembering how to eat "nicely" - as I've told you, all slaves were always kept just on the edge of hunger: we were only fed enough to keep our strength up and allow us to work at maximum output, and we always felt we needed "more". And now the slaves brought around great platters with the meat and vegetables on them, and helped me to as much as I wanted! I just ate and ate, long after Mr Hawthorne and Charles had finished, and I saw a faint look of disgust on their faces as I sated my appetite, wolfing down huge quantities of the food (and that's another thing: we always had to eat quickly as slaves, as we were supposed to move on to the next task, and not waste our time. Consequently I'd got into the habit of shovelling the food into my mouth as quickly as possible, and that can't have been a pleasant sight for the two more refined men to have to watch).

What really got me , though, was the wine: I'd never had alcohol before, as we were too poor to afford wine at home and dad restricted himself to a couple of beers every night and carefully counted the cans in the fridge so I couldn't sneak any. And as a slave, it was totally forbidden and never provided, of course. When the serving slave poured some of the (probably) expensive red wine into my glass, it was therefore a shock to taste something totally new, and I drained my glass almost without thinking. He did of course refill it, and as I gorged on the huge quantities of meat and vegetables I ate, I accompanied it with more wine.

After dinner, therefore, when Mr Hawthorne and Charles decided to watch a movie, I felt very light headed and almost as soon as we'd sat down in the cinema space, I fell into a deep sleep. They shook me awake at the end of the film, and I realised that I was lying there, kind of slumped, and feeling pretty rough. There was also a stream of drool running down my chin, where my mouth had fallen open as I slept, and I assumed I'd been snoring. "Dad, you can't be serious about keeping Steve here as a house guest!", I hear Charles say. "Look at his disgusting behaviour at dinner, swilling his food like that and getting drunk, and then this disgraceful performance tonight: he ruined the movie for me, if not for you."

"Well, Charles, what should we do with him? If we simply turn him out, with no education and no money, he won't find work, and he'll soon get picked up as a vagrant and he'll be back as a slave in no time."

"That's the best thing, if you ask me! A great oaf like that... He has the manners of a slave, the body of a slave, the look of a slave, and he's used to it... So it won't be any great loss to mankind, and not much of a change for him."

"Hey!", I cut in. "Look, I can work, you know that. I work hard. There must be some job I can do... I don't want to be a slave - I need to get a job, make money, and perhaps buy my dad from you, sir..."

Mr Hawthorne gave a wry smile "I'm not sure you will ever be able to save enough to make that possible, Steve. You're only likely to get low-level jobs, even if we can find one for you at all, as you just don't have the education. And it will be hard enough to make enough to live on, let alone save money, especially enough money to be able to afford someone like your father. He's a valuable property, you know:

a big, strong whitey, with a proven track record at studding.... It was bad enough losing you, and I'd need proper recompense if I came to sell Joe."

"Well, sir, I'm going to try!"

"Admirable, Steve. But Charles and I are going back to New York tomorrow morning, early, as usual. I think you ought to stay here for the time being, as my guest, and get more used to the life of a free man - relax, watch TV, catch up on the world, and next weekend I'll talk to you seriously about your future."

"Dad, you can't leave him here.... Suppose he steals things...."

"Oh Charles, don't be so ridiculous! Where would he go, f he did? He hasn't got any papers, and he still looks like a slave, with his SIN on his wrist like that. And you can see the white band around his neck where his collar kept the sun off. Steve won't leave here, it will be too difficult."

I hated the way they still talked about me just as if I was still a slave - owners often discuss their slaves in front of them, just as if they were not there, and Mr Hawthorne and Charles were still doing this. I was going to tell them, then thought that perhaps it was a bit impolite, but Mr Hawthorne was speaking again.

"Now, Steve, we won't see you in the morning - have a lie-in, breakfast in bed, a swim.... There's TV, papers and magazines - oh, I forgot, you have difficulty with reading - and just tell the kitchens to prepare you anything you want to eat: it will do the lazy slaves there good to have to work all week, not just on the weekends. And, of course, as my guest you can use any of the slaves who take your fancy."

"Thank you..."

"But Steve, I don't think it would be a good idea for you to bring your father into the house - it would unsettle him to see you living as a free man, whilst he's still a slave. And he'll be very busy this week - as I've lost you, he'll have to work extra hard around the place to keep up with the scheduled tasks. I've reassigned the new Mexican boy I bought from household duties to outside work, and that will be more trouble for Joe until he had the lad properly broken in! I think you'd be doing both of them a service by not interfering."

"Yes, but..."

"Steve, please do this for me. I know more about the management and control of slaves than you do, and this really is the easiest and best way to proceed. As my guest, please respect my wishes in this regard."

Mr Hawthorne's tone had gone to one of issuing a command as he said this, in spite of the polite words.

I was going to argue, but thought better of it - if I was to get a job, and to be able to help dad, I needed Mr Hawthorne's active assistance, and it would be better not to upset him. So I just said "Certainly, sir."

"Good, Steve. Now I'll bid you goodnight, and we'll see you next Friday evening." He turned and walked out, followed by Charles, who didn't even pay me the courtesy of saying goodnight or anything. I sat there, staring at the TV and idly flicking channels, but I was so tired that I soon left the room and climbed the stairs to the room I'd been given.

It was really odd to have to take clothes off before getting into bed - and that was strange feeling, too, as I'd been used to just flopping down onto a mattress on the floor. I missed having a nice warm, hard body to snuggle up to, and I lay there, tossing and turning, trying to get used to the feel of the sheets and blankets over me. Finally, still unable to sleep, I pressed the "slave" button on the bedside cabinet, and almost instantly Andy appeared.

He bowed low, and said quietly "Master? Your wishes?"

"Hey, I'm Steve, come on, you know what I like to do...."

"Master only has to command...."

"No, Andy, I want a bit of fun, like we used to... I can't sleep, and I need a bit of relaxation, a nice warm ass, a good fuck...."

"Certainly, sir. Is there any slave that you particularly prefer? One of the waiters, or one of the maids?"

"No, Andy! You! We always have fun, remember?"

"As you command, sir..."

Well, he got into bed with me, but that spontaneous fun and enjoyment we used to have was totally missing.

Before, we both knew that Stryker would probably punish us if he found me "wasting" my seed by fucking the other slaves, and it added a real touch of excitement as Andy and Amos and me sneaked away somewhere to enjoy each other. Now, he just lay there and waited for me to tell him what to do, and then he just did it, with no enthusiasm or energy! I began to get pissed off, and told him so.

"Sir, I'm a slave", he said. "You're a free man. And free men command slaves, sir. So just tell me what you need, sir, and I will of course obey."

I tried telling him I wanted it to be like before, but he didn't seem capable of doing that. So I began to lose my temper, and when he still didn't react properly I shook him a bit and shouted at him, and then when this still wasn't doing the trick I slapped him around a bit - well, mostly on his butt, to show him I meant business but I didn't want to harm him permanently. He didn't react, though, and when I finally just pushed him face down on the bed, kicked his legs apart, and took him hard, it was really not very satisfactory. Afterwards he just lay there and I was looking forward to those moments after a fuck when both guys lie there breathing hard and smiling and touching each other - but he was almost supine, and it really spoiled it for me.

I'd been intending to keep him with me all night, so that I could ease my dick as soon a s I awoke in the morning ,but his whole attitude so upset me that I kicked him out and told him to go back to the slave quarters, adding that he was fortunate that his attitude hadn't earned him a severe caning.. And then I felt vaguely guilty, and lay awake most of the night worrying about why Andy had been like that: we were just two guys together in bed, after all. But then I began to realise how different it might be as a free man when I wanted to fuck a slave - perhaps all slaves all resented it, as I resented being made to stud in public.

It was late when I finally woke up, and I decided to go for a swim to clear my head (I had a headache, I don't know why! Then I remembered the wine, and what people said about alcohol). I didn't even think about trying to find any shorts, and padded down the stairs and out to the pool - where the young Mexican guy was performing the duties that I had done for so many years. I smiled inwardly as I looked at his slim body as he worked away - I'd been like that, I remembered, before I matured properly and now had a real man's body.

The water felt fantastic, and I did seven or eight lengths, fast, before I stood there at the end, watching the Mexican as he still worked away on the other side of the pool. And then I was bored, and I thought about how Charles had used me as a "pacer", and called out to the Mexican, asking him if he could swim.

"Yes....", he said haltingly.

"Well get in here, as I need some competition..."

"No, I'm busy...."

I felt my anger rising! This guy wasn't only a slave, but he was a lot younger than me. I'd given him an order, and he was arguing!

"Get your ass in here... NOW!"

"No... I'm busy....."

I hauled myself out of the pool and went over to him. "I said, get in the pool!".

"Hey, man, fuck off, will you? I've got work to do here, and a long day as Joe says that it's grass cutting day, and it will be tough...."

"I told you to get into the pool!" I was really angry now, and I began to understand how frustrating it could be to have to deal with slaves, especially those who didn't obey instantly and completely.

"Just piss off, will you? I've got work to do..... Quit interfering!"

And then I realised what was happening: I'd come out naked, he'd seen my tanned body, tanned all over so that it was obvious that I was used to being stark naked under the fierce sun, and then he'd noticed my tattoos all over my back, and my SIN on my wrists... He thought I was a slave, and could ignore me.

"I'm a free man, boy, and you'd better do as you're told...."

"Oh, fuck off!"

I grabbed him by the wrist, dragged him over to one of the loungers, sat down, then as he started to shout and yell at me, I pushed his body over my thighs, held his neck tightly and pushed his head down, and began to spank his ass with my other hand. It's somehow very satisfying to let your physical side take over like that, and his cries of anger, turning to pain as I beat him, were somehow at the same time both calming and arousing: I could feel my dick straining upwards, stabbing into his belly and pubes as he lay sprawled across me. And as he wriggled and squirmed in a vain effort to escape, this only added to the totally erotic sensation.

Mind you, I can't recommend giving too much of a spanking with your bare hand - even if you've got work-hardened hands like me, it starts to really sting your palms when they make contact with the hard muscle of a working butt too often. I only hit him about eight times, and then stopped, my heart racing from the swimming and the excitement of what I was doing. Looking at his firm ass, glowing red now even through his dark skin, my dick got even harder, and I thought "why not?".

Look, he was a slave, and a good-looking slave with a trim body. He'd been working on the plantation for a couple of weeks at least, so I naturally assumed that Mr Hawthorne, or Charles, or both had used him. And even if they hadn't, Amos or Andy, and of course dad, as the kid was now doing my job, almost certainly had.

And my dick was throbbing now, so I grabbed his ribs, picked him up off my lap and turned him around so he was facing me, and sat him there so that he was forcing my dick down on to my belly.

"Bastard!!", he hissed.

I was beginning to really enjoy this. After the sullen, supine lack of reaction from Andy last night, this was more fun. He began to flail at me with his arms, trying to hit my face, and so I raised my hands up his body until they were almost under his spits, then dug my thumbs upwards into his arm muscles. I squeezed him, hard, so he knew he was under my control and he mostly stopped his attack on me. I raised him up, freeing my dick which sprang upwards, then gently lowered him, at the same time spreading my thighs out, forcing his apart, to give access to his ass.

"NO...!", he shouted as he realised the tip of my dick was positioned at my hole, and this turned into a scream as I lowered him, none too gently, down onto me. Was it anger, or was it pain? I didn't care! I felt fantastic to be making this slave do what I wanted, and as he continued to cry and shout I raised and lowered him on my dick, at the same time thrusting myself upwards occasionally to meet his body as it came down.

My own passion was now really up, and the more he cried out, the more of a charge it gave me. I fucked on and on, but amazingly soon I felt that wonderful tightening in my balls and tensing in all the muscles of my body as I got ready to shoot.... And then it was all over. He squatted there impaled on my dick, and I let go of my grip on his body, wrapped my arms around his slight form, and hugged him to me.

I always like to feel another guy's heart beating, the scent of his sweat after sex, the warmth of his hot breath as he pants and you hold him close, and the Mexican kid was no exception: he lay there, my arms surrounding him, making him feel safe and secure as I liked to feel with dad. But he wasn't enjoying it properly!

"Bastard", he whispered, and I could see him trying to hold back the tears in his eyes as his face was so close to mine. "You bastard! I'll tell Mr Stryker...."

"Tell him what?"

"That you fucked me, of course! He said that only Joe and he, and Mr Hawthorne and young Mr Hawthorne, were to use me. He said that I was to be kept for them, and that I wasn't even to go with the bath slaves.... He'll be cross, and I hope he whips you...."

I laughed. "But was it good? Did you enjoy it.... What's your name, anyway?"

"Juan. And no, I didn't... You fucked me, man, you fucked me when I didn't want it...."

I laughed again. "But did you enjoy it? Did you like taking a real stud's dick?"

"No!"

"So you don't like dick? You don't like Mr Hawthorne, and Joe...."

"I don't like Mr Hawthorne making me do things. But Joe's nice - he's gentle, he likes me..."

"But does he fuck you? He's got a big dick, as we can all see - does he make you take it?"

"Yes, but it's OK. He's gentle, he asks me...."

I just laughed. "Well, Juan, you've got a lot to learn about being a slave yet! It's not a question of what you like or don't like, or whether the other guy is gentle or not. You're a slave, boy, and if a free man wants to use your ass, use it hard or soft, that's all there is to it. I should know...."

"Yes , you should! And you ought to treat other slaves properly, and not..."

"Watch your mouth, boy! A strong man can always use a weaker one if he wants - you need to understand that! But I'm not a slave...."

He grabbed my wrist, and turned it towards us, holding his there next to mine.

"You're a fucking slave, just like me! There's your SIN! So what's your name? I'm going to tell Mr Stryker.... Or I can just give him your number...."

I reached up and tweaked his left nip - hard - causing him to wince and shout and squirm (and sending a shaft of excitement through my rapidly softening dick, still speared up inside him).

"Mind your manners, boy! I was a slave, but now I'm a free man. You can tell Mr Stryker whatever you like, but be sure to tell him that Mr Steve Masters took you and enjoyed your ass. I'm a guest of Mr Hawthorne, and I can use any of the slaves here as I like."

The kid began to look worried. "Sir, I'm sorry... But you looked like a slave, sir...."

I laughed, and helped him to get up slowly off my dick. He stood there in front of me, and I saw something of myself as I was at his age - unsure, uncertain, worried about how to react to a real man. I felt sorry for him, I suppose, and wondered how he'd got enslaved so young. So I asked him. He just shrugged "We were very poor, sir. And I wanted to help my family. So as soon as I was old enough I tried to cross the border.... And was caught. And the law now says that illegal immigrants are enslaved - it's assumed they like the USA so much as they're trying to get in, that they ought to be made to stay here."

"But what about your family?"

"I don't know, sir. Since I was enslaved there's been no contact, or anything."

I looked at him, and thought that at least I'd had dad. How much worse it must be for this young guy to be taken from his family and to be here, amongst all of us men, being kept utterly naked now and made to fuck. I felt sorry for him, but there was nothing I could do - he was a slave, after all, and here were millions just like him. He was lucky not to be on a nigga coffle, if he only knew it.

"Still, you've got Joe, he'll help you..."

"Yes, sir. He's kind, sir. But he makes me work."

"So he should, Juan. You need to grow up, to be big and strong, like Joe, so you'll be a credit to Mr Hawthorne. Now, get away, to work..."

He bowed, and loped off, and I watched his muscled young body as he went towards the mower shed. The morning sun was warm on my body and so I sat there for a few minutes, enjoying the luxury of deciding for myself what to do, and knowing that I didn't immediately have to start working on my next task. But as I did, I began to think, and realised how hard it was going to be for me: Juan had instantly assumed I was a slave, and so, I guess, would a lot of other people - well, at least I wouldn't be naked, I suppose, but my general build, my short hair, my deep tan, and, most of all, the big black SIN staring starkly out from the underside of my wrist, would lead them to the wrong conclusion. And as I mused on, something else occurred to me, though: it had been fun to make Juan do as I wanted, and there was no come back: I was a free man, he was a slave, and I could do what I liked with him. Even as these thoughts flashed across my mind, my dick began to go hard again.

All that week I then struggled to adjust to my new status in life. It was hard at first to get used to ordering the slaves around, but after a day or so it became almost natural to tell them to give me another glass of wine, or to be careful when they were washing my balls in the shower, or whatever. It began to feel "normal", too, to have clothes on. I watched a lot of TV, struggling to make sense of the world and what had been happening in my eight years of slavery when I had been cut off from it, and then I discovered that if I turned on the text along the bottom of the TV screen whilst there were simple soaps on, I could begin to follow the words! There was a plentiful supply of newspapers and magazines delivered to Manderleigh every day, too, and I made a determined effort to sit down with them and follow the printing with my finger, forcing my brain to start to "say" what they said.

I followed Mr Hawthorne's advice, or request, and stayed away from dad - I saw him, of course, toiling away, naked as ever, and on the grass cutting day I sat on the terrace with a cool drink and saw him and Juan pulling the heavy mower up and down the slopes. He had Juan trained already, I noticed, as he was made to do his share of the work, just as I had been as a kid, and dad now had the added device of the tawse to "encourage him" - although Juan gave as good as he'd got, as he "helped" dad when it was dad's turn to drag the heavy thing up the hill. As I sat there in the warm sunshine there was something very agreeable about watching work being done for you, something good about having an easy life,. Somehow it made it all the more satisfying to know that the slaves were being used efficiently, and were not sparing their efforts, or wasting their time as a result of the tawse and cane: leisure and idleness were made even more appealing by this contrast.

Mr Hawthorne seemed surprised at how much I had improved when he asked me to join him for dinned the following Friday evening, after his arrival from New York. I'd ordered a sandwich in late afternoon so I wasn't ravenously hungry, and only ate one plateful of food - and then only slowly; and I'd learned my lesson about alcohol, too, after having too many beers watching a match on TV one afternoon - I'd called a waiter in, and when I'd tried to fuck him I'd found my dick had a problem in going hard. After that, I'd been much more cautious, and now I sat and sipped slowly at the velvety smooth vintage that Mr Hawthorne provided for us both.

When we'd finished eating, Mr Hawthorne took me to his study, that room where he'd used my body so many times. We sat there in the firelight, and he looked a little uneasy as he began "Steve, we have to talk about your future. You're a free man now, and you can't go on living here - it will ultimately cause problems with Joe, and with the discipline of the slaves generally. On the other hand, although I have no obligation to you, I would feel badly about simply turning you our into the world, penniless. Men who cannot, or will not, work no longer receive welfare benefits, and if they remain destitute, they can be enslaved. It would be a pity if I had to lose you as a very satisfactory slave, only to find some other man lucky enough to be able to buy you again - and probably at a bargain price in a public auction of the destitute!"

"Well, sir, there is the matter of compensation..."

"Compensation? Steve, that simply does not arise. I bought a slave, validly, and used you for eight years.

And treated you well, I think. The mix-up in the courts was not my problem, and I do not think that there could possibly be any blame attached to me, or any question of 'compensation'. But, in any event, you generously waived that right, as you know...."

"Sir, I didn't, that paper, it was...."

"Steve, let's not argue! The position is that you did waive whatever rights you might have had - and, as I say, it's unlikely that you had any anyway. Let's look at the position we're in now, and remember that you need my help, shall we?"

I nodded, knowing that what he said was true and that I needed his good will. If he wanted to continue playing the kind, considerate guy, so be it.

"Well, Steve, I think there is a way out of this. I will take you to New York, and will find you a job in the bank. Although most of the low-level jobs are of course done by slaves, I'm sure there will be something you can do.... That will take you away from Manderleigh, and the possible problems with managing things here.... Would you like that?"

"But where will I live? Will it pay enough to live on? I need to save, so I can make you an offer for dad.... And what about him, sir?"

"It will be tough, Steve, as with so many slaves available we don't need to pay much at the bank for low-level work, and without an education, we can hardly offer you anything better - it would upset he other staff. But for the time being, you can have a room at my apartment - it was built before the time when it was realised that it was beneficial to make slaves sleep together in close proximity as when they're all crammed really close they get up to less mischief; and so there are one or two unused slave kennels: they're not luxurious, of course, but perfectly adequate for someone like you who doesn't need a lot of unnecessary comforts. And it's close to the bank, so you won't have to pay travel and so on - you could walk, or perhaps run, to keep you in shape: it wouldn't be proper to give you a ride in the limo that collects me each day."

I listened with fascination at this strange mixture of generosity and parsimony. I wondered how many rooms this apartment had, if it had, evidently, multiple slave kennels! And yet there wasn't a room to spare, only a slave space. And not even a ride to the office - still, I probably would need the exercise, as after only a week I was already beginning to feel my hard muscles lose their tone.. Mr Hawthorne was looking at me expectantly, and when I didn't react, asked quietly "So what do you say?"

"Thank you, sir..." I was hesitant. "I guess it's for the best.... But dad...."

"There can be no question of you having contact with your father, Steve. He's a slave!"

"But he's my dad, he...."

"No arguments, Steve! He's my slave, and I will not allow him contact with you. It will be unsettling for him, and for the other slaves - Stryker has a hard time as it is to run a tight ship here, without additional complications. So are we agreed?"

I thought hard, but what choice was there? I nodded.

"Good. Now, Steve, we've had many enjoyable times in this room. As a free man, I can hardly order you to take your clothes off, but you might want to show your gratitude in a tangible way..."

I could hardly believe my ears! Surely he didn't want to fuck me? But as he sat there, serenely calm, and totally in control, I realised he did. So what the fuck was I going to do? He held all the cards - I needed him for a job and a place to stay; he owned dad; he could probably call the Sheriff and have me arrested as a vagrant if I left!

I felt anger rising inside me, as he was taking advantage of me again. But something else inside was saying "What's the problem? He's fucked you often enough when you were a slave, so one more time isn't going to matter, is it?". But it did - being made to do something as a slave, and agreeing to do it voluntarily, are two quite different things. I just sat there, my brain racing away. And then I got to my feet, and slowly began to unbutton my shirt, Mr Hawthorne's eyes never moving from my body as a slow smile spread across his face. I was about to learn that lesson that so many men discover only when the realities of life hit them: that there's almost no difference between being a slave who has to obey because he is an owned object, and a free man who has to obey because another man is more powerful than he is economically.

End Of Part Nineteen.