Date: Sat, 2 Jan 2010 04:56:12 -0500
From: Matt W <matt10019@gmail.com>
Subject: Bred Slave - Part 11

The following is a work of fiction.  All characters are over 18 years of
age.  There are depictions of sexual acts and homoerotic themes.  Please do
not read any further if you are not legally eligible or would be offended by
the material.

CHAPTER 13 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

"Please, Sir!  PLEASE!  Fuck!" I begged, my voice almost hoarse from
screaming as I bucked my hips pointlessly in despair.  My cock was rock hard
and dripping, flopping in all directions as it swang between my legs.

Ryan took hold of it for a split second, pushed it back between my thighs
towards my ass until I groaned in pain, and then released it so that it
snapped back and slapped against my stomach.

"This what you want, boy?" he asked, almost grinning at my state of anguish.

"Yes, Sir!  I mean...no, Sir!

"No?" He repeated the maneuver, letting my cock slap against my stomach
again.  "Then, what do you want, slave?"

He had kept me on the edge of cumming for nearly an hour.  We were in the
dungeon, deep within the basement of the main house, where I'd come to learn
Ryan would take me if he really wanted to make a point.  My legs were held
wide apart by a long bar that was chained to cuffs around my ankles at
either end.  Ryan had chained my wrists together with leather cuffs that
were looped through a hook that hung from the ceiling.  My arms were
pinioned high behind my head so that I was suspended by my wrists with just
enough slack to let the balls of my bare feet and toes cling to the cold
floor.

Ryan was dressed casually in gym shorts emblazoned with our university
letters and an old t-shirt.  He was sweating a bit from working me over,
a small flogger clasped in his right fist that he'd used generously on my
ass and thighs to distract me from my raging erection.  His left hand was
slick with the lube he had been using to bring me to the edge of cumming
over and over again.

"I said," he repeated, whacking my right thigh with the leather flooger,
"What do you want?"

"Gah!" I yelped.  "To cum!  Please, Sir!  Please!"  I swore that I could
feel my balls literally turning blue.

He snickered, "And, why would I let you do something like that?  You
embarassed me earlier with your inability to keep it up, so we're gonna have
to work on that.  Over, and over, and over."  To emphasize his last point,
he gave my dick another torturous pump with his lubed fingers.  "See, this
is what I'm talking about.  Nothing like a good bitch in heat."

We both turned our attention suddenly towards the heavy metal door of the
dungeon as it creaked open.  Mr. Grey stepped inside the dimly lit room, a
dark smile spreading across his face.

"Ah, I thought I heard something going on in here," he observed aloud,
crossing his broad arms.

"Just takin' care of some business," Ryan muttered.  He looked almost
sheepish, stepping back from me a bit as his father strode up beside him.

"I can see that."  My. Grey stepped closer to watch.


"The boy had a little trouble...performing earlier.  First time in a cunt and
he couldn't wait to get out," Ryan explained, giving my dripping erection a
flick.  "But, we've got him nice and hard now.  Don't we, boy?"



I inhaled sharply.  Even the painful flick sent a wave of pleasure through
my quivering loins, but it wasn't nearly enough to trigger my pent up
orgasm. "Yes, Sir."



Mr. Grey nodded and stepped forward, giving my cock a casual stroke.  I
winced, shuddering with a mix of pleasure and angst.  It no longer felt that
odd for him to handle my cock, either of them.  I had been all but naked for
the better part of 2 months now and endured an unimaginable range of
humiliation at their mercy.  "He'll learn," Mr. Grey assured, giving me one
more quick stroke for amusement.  "Easy boy.  Your punishment will be much
worse if you cum without permission."



I nodded, swallowing hard, knowing that he was right.  "Yes, Sir."  Wincing,
I tried to divert my thoughts from the agonizing desire to shoot my load
then and there.



WHACK!



Ryan helped to distract me by cracking his strap against my bare ass.  I
yelped in pain, lurching forward a bit, nearly losing my balance.



"Did you need something?" he asked, sounding a bit annoyed at his father's
intrusion.



Without missing a beat, Mr. Grey snatched the strap from Ryan's hand yet
retained an even tone, "Yes, I need the slave.  Get him down from there," he
ordered.  It was clear that despite Ryan's best efforts, Mr. Grey remained
firmly in charge.  "And, I suggest you lock that thing up before we get cum
stains all over the house."



I blinked, a wave of concern washing over me as I wondered what Mr. Grey
needed with me.  Equally concerning was what he meant by locking my thing
up.



Ryan grumbled a response and stepped behind me to grab something from the
shelves at the back of the dungeon.  He returned with something that looked
like a clear dildo and set it on the ground before stepping in front of me.
Glancing into my eyes for a brief second, he grabbed my dangling balls, and
twisted viciously, crushing them in his palm.



"Aghn!" I cried out, wincing my eyes shut as pain shot up from my groin and
exploded into my torso.



"Get soft," Ryan instructed calmly, twisting my balls in the other
direction.  "Focus on the pain.  You know how to end it."



I nodded between sharp, pained breaths, writhing slightly in my restraints.
He had never been so vicious in handling my balls before.  Fortunately, it
didn't take long for my erection to subside, despite my desperation to cum.



"Good boy," Ryan remarked, patting me on the cheek and releasing my balls.



I exhaled in relief as Ryan squatted down and picked up the device he had
deposited on the floor.  He held it up briefly for me to see, before
snapping it apart in his hands.  Grabbing my balls, he expertly worked them
to the base of my scrotum, and circled a hard plastic ring around the base
of my cock and balls.



"Chastity device," Mr. Grey explained as Ryan worked.  "Personally, I prefer
my slaves to go without.  The will it takes to avoid unauthorized contact
with your cock and balls is much more challenging for a slave than having
the option unavailable to you.  However..." he mused as Ryan slid my flaccid
dick into a clear plastic tube shaped much like my dick, "Sometimes the
device is a necessary evil and the only way to ensure you stay in heat while
you're being punished."



Ryan smirked as he carefully aligned the tube with the plastic cylinders
protruding from the ring around my cock and balls.  Clicking the two ends
into place, he fished two tiny padlocks out of his pocket and quickly
snapped one to either side of the device.  My cock was firmly locked into
the chastity device.



He shook the tube, testing that the fit was firm, and then nodded his
approval.  "How's that feel, boy?"



"Okay, Sir," I managed, a bit bewildered at my latest predicament.  It
wasn't exactly uncomfortable.



"Yeah?"  He asked, reaching between my legs and gently stroking the back of
my ball sack, creeping his fingers slightly towards the sensitive area near
my asshole.



Almost instantly, I felt my cock stir.  I gasped, feeling the blood rush
back into my dick and inflating until it was pressing hard against the
confines of the plastic tube.



"Careful," Ryan chuckled darkly.  "No room to grow in here."  To emphasize
the obvious, he tapped the cock tube with this finger.



"Alright, let's get moving," Mr. Grey interrupted.  "Get his hands."



Mr. Grey squatted down behind me, and began to unbuckle the leather cuffs
around each of my ankles, while Ryan used a key to unlock my wrists from the
dangling hook above.



Almost at once I was free, and I practically fell down to all fours from the
stress on my body.  Ryan's fingers laced in my hair almost immediately and
he jerked my head back as if to guide me up to my feet.



"Wait," his father ordered calmly.  "Give him a minute.  Let the blood flow
a bit."



Ryan grunted a sigh of frustration, but let me rest for a minute as ordered
while he held my head back tightly.



"Okay, up slave," Mr. Grey ordered.  "Present."



I struggled up to my feet, and as Ryan released his grip on my hair, I
placed my wrists behind my back, squared my posture and spread my legs
slightly to present as instructed.



"Gag him," Mr. Grey continued as he walked to a box near the entrance of the
dungeon and leaned over to retrieve a scrap of fabric.



Ryan disappeared again to grab one of the gags that hung on the wall.



Mr. Grey held up the fabric for me to see.  It was a very old and very used
jockstrap.  The material was almost gray, stained with any number of bodily
fluids.  "Put it on," he instructed, pushing it to my chest until I brought
my hands around to retrieve it.



"Yes, Sir," I said, as I opened the waistband of the dirty jock and stepped
into it, pulling it up until it was situated properly around my waist and
cupped my encapsulated junk.



"Open," Ryan ordered coldly, appearing suddenly in front of me with a
phallic piece of rubber aimed at my mouth.



I complied, opening my mouth just wide enough for Ryan to push the gag over
my tongue towards my throat.  When my mouth was thoroughly stuffed, he
gathered the leather straps behind my head and strapped the gag into place.



Without waiting further, Mr. Grey took hold of my arm and pulled me out of
the dungeon at a quick pace.  I stumbled after him, my stomach knotting in
nerves over where he was taking me and what he needed me for.  I heard Ryan
plodding casually along behind us.  His presence had not been requested, but
it appeared he was as curious as I was.



Without a word, I followed in his grasp through the basement, up the stairs
to the main floor, through the kitchen toward the garage.  We paused for him
to open the garage door, a blast of chilly air hit my nearly naked body
almost immediately, and I shivered.  He pulled me down the small set of
steps into the large garage, illuminated by four exposed light bulbs in the
rafters.  Fortunately, the large car doors to the outside were closed, but
it did little to warm the room.



It occurred to me suddenly that the garage was one of the most well-kempt I
had ever seen.  The near side of the garage was lined neatly with the
various machines used to take care of the property, large lawn mowers, leaf
blower, hedge clippers, shovels, and so on.  A long, custom made work bench
was lined neatly with tools and small gadgets.  Also close by was Mr. Grey's
prized luxury sedan, gleaming as if it was still in the show room.  The
garage floor itself was a smooth cement, nearly spotless except for a few
faint oils stains.



My sight, however, quickly turned to the far side of the garage where Mr.
Grey's large luxury SUV was parked, the trunk of which was propped open.  More
noticeably, however, was the nearly naked man kneeling by the back tire of
the SUV with his hands behind his back.  It was my father.



He looked up, and almost immediately we caught each other's eyes and looked
away and then back stealing curious, yet timid glances at each other as Mr.
Grey dragged me towards him.



"Present, slaves!" Mr. Grey commanded, his voice echoing slightly in the
garage as he shoved me forward.  "On your feet, boy.  In line."



"Yes, Sir!"  My father's deep, militaristic voice also echoed as he jumped
to action, pushing up to his feet, and presenting at attention exactly as I
had done moments ago in the basement.  He looked just as I had last seen him
on that fateful day of my submission, strong, handsome, and sincere.
Though, his nearly naked body and hefty metal collar made him as much of a
stranger as he was familiar.  A dirty jockstrap, similar to mine, was also
cupping his genitals, a small relief in the wake of my larger concerns.



I hesitated, but took my place next to my father, squaring my shoulders in
line with his, directing my attention toward Mr. Grey.



"Now, this is something I've waited a long time to see," Mr. Grey remarked
as he stepped toward us, a slight smirk on his lips.  "Two generations of
slaves, side by side in submission."



"Like father, like son," Ryan retorted almost in disgust from where he
leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms.



"Indeed," Mr. Grey agreed, ignoring Ryan's inflection.  He traced his
fingers lightly over my exposed chest and abdomen and then grasped my chin
lightly as he turned toward my father.  "You should be commended, slave, for
breeding such a well-manufactured offspring."



My cheeks flushed in embarrassment as I tried to maintain my composure.  Out
of the corner of my eye, I could see my father do the same, as his adam's
apple bobbed in this throat behind his collar.



"Thank you, Sir," he stated clearly, shielding any emotion from his voice.



Seizing the opportunity, Ryan stepped forward from the doorway and joined
his father.  "Yeah, you raised one hell of a cocksucker," Ryan added, giving
my father a firm pat on the shoulder. "Congrats."



I heard my father take a deep, controlled breath.  "Thank you...Sir," he
repeated, hesitating a bit on the last word.



"Boy's got a real nice tight ass, too," Ryan continued.  "Just like yours
used to be."



"Enough," Mr. Grey interjected, holding up his hand for Ryan to stop.  "Leave
us."



A thick air of tension fell over the room.  Ryan glowered at each of us
individually, and then rolled his eyes and left.  I realized almost
immediately that although Mr. Grey could not and would not apologize for the
actions of his son, our superior, sending him away was his way of
acknowledging that he had shot his mouth off a bit too much for one evening.



"As I was saying," Mr. Grey continued, "The boy is shaping up to be a fine
slave and you should be proud."



"Yes, Sir."  I heard my father swallow hard.



"Now, there is work to be done."  Mr. Grey looked to me to explain.  "My
slave just returned from picking up this new inexpensive desk for the slave
office.  Now that I've moved my slaves back into the main house, I'm in the
process of converting one of the spare rooms to a home office for them.  If
you remember, they are on payroll with my company, just as you are, but I'd
prefer to keep them under lock and key in the house," he paused.  "We have a
lot of lost time to make up for."  He gave me a playful pat on the cheek as
if to remind me that it was my fault.



He walked to the open trunk of the SUV and patted a large cardboard box that
was protruding from the vehicle.  We both turned to watch him.



"Of course," Mr. Grey sighed, "These cheap things come in a million little
pieces that need assembling.  That's where you boys come in."  He looked
down as his expensive watch, and then spoke in a much more serious tone.  "I'll
give you one hour to assemble the desk and move it into place.  If you're
not finished within the hour, I will strap you once for every minute you go
over.  Understood?"



"Yes, Sir!" my father acknowledged, snapping back into slave mode.



"Questions?" Mr. Grey asked.



"No, Sir."



"Good.  One last thing..." Mr. Grey turned and picked something up off of the
work bench.  Another gag.  "Open, boy."



Mechanically, my father opened wide and allowed Mr. Grey to stuff the gag
deep into his mouth before strapping it tight around his head.



"No idle chit chat," he explained, looking back to his watch.  "Get going."



With that, Mr. Grey turned and left us, slamming the interior door shut
behind him.  My father and I turned almost immediately and looked awkwardly
at each other.  The gags were a blessing in disguise.  If we could have
spoken, I didn't even know what I would say or what I would want to hear.  I
had so many questions that needed answering.  Had this always been a greater
plan?  Were my parents happy with the choice I'd made?  Did they have any
regrets?  Did they feel any guilt?  Was their slavery truly of their own
free will, as I'd been led to believe?  Was mine?



I wasn't sure I wanted to even know the answers.  At this point, what had
been done was done.  We were a family of slaves, for better or worse.



"Mm, mmph," my father muffled something and nodded towards the box.  He took
hold of one end, and nodded towards the other side.



I got into position on the other side of the box, and we worked together to
slide the box out of the truck, tilting it towards the garage floor.  It was
insanely heavy and awkward.  Tensing our muscles, we guided it slowly out of
the trunk, and then hefted the other end, sliding it slightly along the
garage floor until we had enough space to set down the back end.  In tandem,
we let the box drop the final inches to the floor with a slight bang.



My father wasted no time in rushing to the work bench where he grabbed a box
cutter and two handheld screw drivers.  Crouching over the box, he slit open
the taped seams, and working together, we pulled the flaps apart revealing
the interior contents.  A few large flats of fake plastic-stained wood, and
a mountain of smaller pieces with several bags full of screws and brackets.
We looked at each other at once knowing full well that this was no easy
chore.



Taking the lead, my father fished the white pamphlet of directions out of
the pile and opened it up to make sense of the step by step.  He began to
point from the paper to the various pieces, and somehow, we managed to find
pieces 1A and 1B along with the various screws we would need.



A few steps in, the palm of my hand was already sore from hand-screwing the
screws into the pre-drilled holes.  I paused without warning and walked over
to the work bench.  My father stopped and rose to follow me, tilting his
head in confusion.  I went to grab an electric screwdriver from the top
shelf of the work bench, but my father reached out to grab my wrist.



I spun to look at him in confusion.  He shook his head, and gestured that it
was a no-no.



"Mmph?" I asked through the gag.



He pointed to my pronounced bicep, and then tapped my collar lightly with
his screwdriver.  I got the idea.  We were slaves, and this was manual
labor.  Reluctantly, I followed him back over to the pile of wood pieces and
crouched back down to screw another hole.



I lost complete track of time as we worked.  Piece by piece, slowly but
surely, the desk began to take form.  Despite the cold, we were both
sweating a little from the constant crouching and screwing.  The palm of my
hand was red and chapped from the friction of the screwdriver handle, and my
wrist and forearm were sore from the motion.



With the exception of the awkwardness of our appearance, it felt almost
normal and familiar to be working with my father on a project.  We were in
sync, and as with many times growing up, it was how it'd always been.  He
took the lead, and I was there to help out until the project was done.



As an added bonus, I'd all but forgotten about my heightened state of
horniness that Ryan had induced earlier that evening.  My cock remained
comfortably flaccid in the chastity device, supported by the jockstrap.  I
wondered for a moment if my father's cock was also caged, and then decided I
didn't want to know and refrained from looking too closely.


"Mmph...mph!" I declared victory some time later with a final twist of the
screwdriver as the last drawer guide of the desk was screwed into place.



Tossing the screwdrivers to the ground, my father and I crouched at either
side of the desk, and lifting together, flipped it over upright.  I patted
the top, and ran my hand over the smooth surface, satisfied with our
work.  Although
I had no idea how much time had gone by since we started, I was anxious to
move the desk into position, and took hold of my end.



To my surprise, my father again gestured no, and pointed to the mess on the
floor.  The cardboard box, scraps of plastic, extra screws and various
remnants of the packaging.  I sighed into my gag, knowing that he was right.
Together, we crouched back down and began to gather up the mess.



When the box was neatly broken down and stacked into the large recycling
can, and the rest of the trash and extra hardware neatly sorted, we returned
to the desk.



"Mmph, mmph, mmph," my father counted, and we lifted the desk and shuffled
it across the garage floor to the door.  He opened the house door at the top
of the short set of steps, and again we hefted the piece carefully up the
stairs and into the mudroom that led into the kitchen.



I wasn't sure exactly where the desk was going, but my father seemed to
know, so I followed his lead as he shuffled carefully backwards across the
kitchen floor.  Confirming my worst fears, the desk needed to go upstairs to
the second floor.  When we reached the bottom of the back steps that led
from the other end of the kitchen upstairs, my father stopped to indicate
that I should take the front of the desk and he would anchor the back.



I shook my head in disagreement, as I was a tad taller, and it would be
easier to take the back.  He nodded, and crouched at the base of the heavy
desk.  I did the same, and on the count of three muddled grunts, we took
deep breaths and lifted the desk, awkwardly, yet carefully, heaving it up to
the second floor of the house.



At the top of the stairs, we set the desk immediately on the floor and
braced ourselves on top to rest for a moment.  Then, my father nodded over
his shoulder, and we picked the desk up again and moved it toward the dimly
lit end of the hallway, opposite from where the master suite and Ryan's old
room had been located.



I remembered one of the two doors at the dim end led into an unused nursery,
and the other was a secondary guest room, but no longer.  I glanced into
what had been the nursery as we walked by, my stomach knotted a bit as I
quickly took in the sight of two twin day beds with high metal frames
positioned about five feet apart dressed in simple bedding.  Clearly, the
nursery had been transformed into my parents' slave quarters.



The desk, however, was headed through the open door at the very end of the
hall, which had once been a scarcely used guest room.  Memories of building
forts with Ryan in the nearly empty room flashed through my mind as I
thought back to a much more innocent time.



We crossed the threshold and set the desk down in the darkness.  I felt hard
wood under my bare feet as my father felt his way to the light switch and
illuminated the bare room.  Glancing around, I noted the bare white walls,
heavily draped window, bare metal folding chair, and a small pile of boxes
stacked neatly in one corner containing various computer and phone
equipment.



"Mmph," my father grunted in the direction of the left wall and we moved the
desk flush against it, setting it into place at last.



I dusted my hands slightly, realizing almost immediate that anyone sitting
at the desk would be clearly visible through the open doorway.  Glancing to
my father, I gave a slight shrug with my shoulders as if to ask, "Now what?"



My father glanced over my shoulder, and I could see from his face that we
didn't have to wait long to find out.  Almost immediately, he straightened
into a present position.  Looking over my shoulder, I saw Mr. Grey poised in
the doorway, and he pointed for me to fall in line next to my father.



"Well boys, your work is complete, but," he paused to glance at his watch,
"It's been well over an hour.  32 minutes over, by my watch.  You know what
that means?"



We both bowed our heads slightly, knowing full well we would be punished as
promised.  It didn't seem fair.  We had worked as fast as we could, and it
didn't feel remotely that long, but we were in no position to argue.



"Remove your jockstraps," Mr. Grey ordered, calmly.



We complied, leaning forward slightly to slide the thin strips of material
down our legs and out from under out feet.



"Well, it's about time," Ryan exclaimed suddenly, striding into the room
holding two small leather floggers in his hands.



I glanced up at him just as I stood back upright, awkwardly holding the
dirty jock in my hand.



"I'll take that," Ryan offered, snapping the strap from my grasp.  I glanced
over my shoulder as he walked around behind us.  In a quick motion, he
flipped the strap over my father's head so that his nose and eyes were
covered by the pouch of the material.  Pulling the elastic straps behind his
head, he tied a small knot to secure the improvised hood in place.



Moments later, my father's jockstrap was flipped over my face, and the
material pulled tight against my nose and forehead.  Gagged as I was, I
couldn't help but breathe deep through my nose, my stomach curling a bit at
the inevitable musty scent.



"Over here, slave," Ryan ordered.  I could hear him guiding my father a few
paces.  "Easy...hands out.  Brace yourself on the desk.  Yup.  Arch your back.
Ass out.  Good.  Spread those legs."



I felt Ryan's hands suddenly on my upper arms.  He turned me to the right,
towards the desk, and shoved me forward a bit.



"Hands out, boy.  Brace yourself...there," he instructed.  Placing his hand
on my lower back, he pushed down slightly.  "Arch your back.  Legs spread.  Get
that ass up...okay, good.  Now, don't fucking move.  You either."  I heard a
slap against my father's ass.



"Slaves," Mr. Grey stepped forward and spoke, clearing his throat.  "You
were given a specific task to complete with a specified time limit.  Since
you failed to complete your task in the allotted time, you have earned a
strap for each minute longer you took.  This is time you have taken from me
which was not given to you.  You do not own your time...do you understand why
you are being punished?"



"Mmph, mph," we both spoke through our gags, almost in unison.



"Good. As my older slave well knows, it is important to understand why you
are being punished and to learn from each and every one."



"Here, dad," Ryan jumped in.  "How many they getting?"



"32," Mr. Grey responded.  "Each."



"Nice," Ryan responded.  "I want this one."



CRACK!



"Mmph!" my father yelped into his gag as one of the leather straps connected
with his ass.



I cringed, both from the odd shame I felt in hearing my father's painful
grunt and the nerves I felt in bracing for my own punishment.



"Very well," Mr. Grey agreed.



CRACK!



"MMMPH!"  I cried into my gag, as Mr. Grey's strap connected squarely with
my bare, exposed ass.  It stung like a bitch.



"Steady, boy.  Remember, you deserve this."



His words echoed in my head as I braced myself firmly against the top of the
desk, and the real assault began.



CRACK!



CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK! CRACK!



CRACK!



CRACK! CRACK!

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!



The small room was suddenly filled with explosions of cracking leather
against skin and muffled cries of pain.



"MMMPH!" I screamed into my gag, losing count of how many cracks I'd
received, squirming madly with my chest pushed firmly against the desk.  I
tensed my fingers on the smooth surface, nearly slipping several times and
covering my ass.



I couldn't see my father, but his grunts were more even and subdued than
mine.



"Steady," Mr. Grey coaxed, as he continued to strap my ass.  "Process the
pain and learn from it."



CRACK!  CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!



"MMMMMPH!! MMMMPH!"



CRACK!
CRACK! CRACK!



"And..."



CRACK!



"Done," Mr. Grey stated.



CRACK!



Apparently, Ryan decided to deliver my father an extra strap for good
measure.  I felt hands on my flaming ass cheeks massage them slightly for a
few moments.  It almost made the pain worse, yet it was comforting at the
same time as I squirmed against the desk.



"On your knees!" Mr. Grey ordered suddenly, the volume intended for both of
us.



I pushed myself up to my feet shakily, and Mr. Grey supported my upper
shoulders and helped to guide me down to the ground.



"Present, boy," Mr. Grey coaxed quietly, as I moved myself into a
respectable kneel.  I heard my father settling down beside me.



Suddenly, the jock was ripped from my face and I blinked in the light, my
eyes a bit blurry.  Behind my head, I felt the buckle of the gag loosening,
and then Ryan stepped around in front of me, slowly pulling the phallic gag
from my lips.



I moaned slightly, grimacing in pain as my sore jaw muscles screamed in
discomfort, as I stretched my mouth. Ryan ran his fingers roughly through my
hair for a quick moment, as if to congratulate me.



"Anything to say, slaves?" Mr. Grey asked.



"Sir, thank you for the punishment, Sir!" my father barked in response.



I glanced over my shoulder, and then swallowed, repeating a little more
quietly, "Sir, thank you for the punishment, Sir."



"You're welcome," Mr. Grey responded flatly, giving us both a light pat on
the cheek as we knelt side by side.



It was worth noting that neither Mr. Grey nor Ryan even appeared to
acknowledge the presence or the completeness of the desk.  Though, I was
certain that the timeframe we had been given was purposely unrealistic.



"You," Mr. Grey spoke as he poked at my father's abs with the tip of his
shoe, "Put away these toys and report to the garage for further inspection
of the work area."



"And you," Ryan added, grabbing the ring in my collar and pulling upwards,
"still have chores and studying to do."



I struggled to my feet, finding my balance just as Ryan began to pull me out
of the room.  I couldn't even look back, but I took with me a small modicum
of comfort in seeing my father in action as a slave.  It was evident, from
his body language to his responses, that Mr. Grey had not been lying.  Despite
the humiliation, despite the pain, despite the lack of freedom, something
inside him made him enjoy his slavery.



Ryan let go of my collar at the top of the stairs, and I fell in line behind
him as we descended the back stairs into the kitchen.



"Well, I hope you enjoyed this little distraction.  But, don't get used to
it," he warned, as we walked towards the back door that led out to the
courtyard between the two houses.  "And don't think I've forgotten about the
lesson I was teaching you earlier."



"Yes, Sir," I muttered in response.



He flung open the door and I shivered as the cold evening air assaulted my
naked body.  It never got any easier.  Keeping my hands respectfully behind
my back, and my head bowed slightly, I followed Ryan across the courtyard to
the guest house, trying my best to maintain my composure and suppress my
desire to run clamoring for warmth inside.



"Yeah, that cock is going to stay good and soft for..." He stopped suddenly.



I looked up, and my heart skipped a beat.  The silhouette of a man was
illuminated in the porch light outside the guest house door.  He was
knocking at the door.  We both stopped in our tracks as the figure turned
around, hearing us coming.  It was Brent.

***
To be continued. Comments and Feedback are encouraged: matt10019@gmail.com