Date: Tue, 13 Sep 2005 00:24:16 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Dad And Me, Part 10

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

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

Part  10

Mr Stryker led me back to our sleeping cell in the
mower shed about twenty minutes later, and I lay there
on the mattress in absolute misery, waiting for dad to
come back.  When he did, he just lay down beside me
and rested there, as if he was deliberately trying to
keep away from me.  The silence was dreadful, and
finally I could stand it no longer.  "Dad, I'm
sorry...."

He just lay there, saying nothing.  "Look, dad, I'm
sorry... I didn't want to do it.... It's not my
fault...."

Still dad lay there, totally silent and immobile, and
I felt terrible.  I turned away from him, but on the
narrow mattress that was all we were allowed my butt
brushed against his thigh.  I loved the feel of his
skin, but still dad didn't react.  I just lay there on
my side, and the misery overcame me:  I'd been torn
from my life, from all my buddies at school, my
girlfriend.... And made a slave.  And then they'd made
my dad fuck me, and now I'd been tricked into fucking
him.  I just couldn't help it, I felt so sorry for
myself, that I felt my stomach clenching and my lungs
start to shudder as I desperately tried to stop myself
from crying.  Look, I know it's not the sort of thing
that a man ought to do, but  I was only sixteen.

Dad stirred next to me, and then it was as if thing
were going to be OK again - be spooned his body up
against mine and his big strong arm snaked over me and
his hand rested on my belly.  His face was pressed
into my neck, and his warm breath was comforting.
"It's OK, Steve.... I know, I understand."

"But dad, they made me fuck you..."

"I know, Steve.  They made me fuck you, too.
Remember?"

"But you're cross, dad.  And it wasn't my fault...."

"Oh Steve, I'm sorry.... It's not your fault.  Of
course it isn't!  It's mine... I got you enslaved, and
then it's this terrible system, that turns men into
animals.  It's not right, Steve - taking men and
making them into studs, and then using them for sex,
making them fuck each other for the amusement of other
men...."

"But dad, you used to say it was a good thing... It
got the drug pushers and the rapists and the murderers
off the streets.... "

"Sure, Steve.  But not guys who just did little
things, like be a bit elastic with the truth about
their taxes!  And I never knew that they treated
slaves like beasts, making them go naked, playing with
their dicks, watching them fuck:  we're just like
animals, Steve.  No, worse than that - most owners
treat their pets better than they treat their slaves."

I didn't know who I felt more sorry for - dad, for
having been fucked, or myself for being made to be
here as a miserable slave.  But when we then rolled
together and I moved my hand to get comfortable and
felt dad's legs, I saw there was a problem.  "Dad -
you're bleeding, or something...."

Dad's hand rested on mine, felt the liquid on his leg,
and muttered "No, Steve, it's not blood.  It's cum."

"But dad, I didn't produce that much.... All your
leg's wet.... It was my second shooting, and I only
produced a bit of cum, I'm sure...."

"Steve, you just don't understand, do you?  What do
you think the men in that room did after you'd gone?
Well, I'll tell you - some of them came and fucked me
as I lay there strapped to that studding bench.  They
just dropped their pants, and rammed it home into me."

"Dad, they couldn't have...."

"Steve, we're slaves, remember?  And free men can do
what they like with a slave, with his owner's
approval.  Mr Hawthorne had laid on an evening of
entertainment for them - first us both studding those
nigga bitches, and then having you fuck me.  So they
expected to continue to be amused, and some of them
didn't like having hard-ons with no relief possible,
so with Hawthorne's approval, they came and fucked
me."

"But dad, guys don't do things like that... They
looked like respectable men, rich friends of Mr
Hawthorne...."

"Steve, try and get it into your head, will you?
Respectable men like that, pillars of the local
community, wouldn't dream of fucking other men.
They've all got wives and kids and their position in
society to consider.  But we're not men, Steve, we're
slaves, remember?  And different rules apply to slaves
- if a man wants to stick his dick up a slave's ass,
particularly a slave's ass that's already well
lubricated, and lying there open for him, then he
can."

I hesitated a moment, and then asked, haltingly "And
is that what's going to happen to me, dad?"

"I expect so, Steve.  But Mr Hawthorne must have other
plans in mind for you at least at first, otherwise he
wouldn't have had Stryker take you out of the room.
Most of those men would probably have preferred to
fuck a young, almost virginal asshole like yours, than
mine!  After all, they'll all own a lot of big buck
niggas to work in their grounds, or their factories,
and they're probably used to taking strong, muscular
asses.... But a young white guy like you - well, it's
the fantasy of a lot of men to be able to fuck their
sons, or at least to be able to pretend that they're
thirty years younger, by fucking someone young who
they can think of as a kind of surrogate buddy!"

"But dad, I don't want to take dick.... It was OK with
you, but not a load of other men like that.  Some of
them were really gross and fat, and some of them were
really old, a lot older than you, dad...."

"There's nothing I can do about it, Steve.  And
nothing you can do about it, either.  If Mr Hawthorne
chooses to let his friends fuck you, you've just got
to take it..."

"No!  I'll fight...."

"Steve, look, listen to your dad for a moment, will
you?  I know you've got a bit of a temper, as you take
after me, but you've got to learn to accept the
inevitable.  You're a slave now, and if Mr Hawthorne
orders you to lie down and be fucked by some of his
friends, you'd better do so.  Otherwise he'll have you
punished..."

"I don't care..."

"You will, Steve!  You've been spanked, and we get
tawsed when we're working.  But I've seen a slave
being formally whipped, by a whip master, on the
whipping frame.  You don't want that to happen to
you... But even if Mr Hawthorne doesn't order that, as
it would destroy your value to have your back and butt
torn to shreds, he can send you to spend the night in
the nigga sheds... And I've told you what that did to
me.  So please, Steve... I don't want to see you
hurt.... Just learn to accept that there are new rules
now, and that everything is different for a slave."

"But dad...."

"No, Steve.  I don't want to hear any more.  You need
to learn that there are things you can't change, and
that there is one hell of a lot more of them now than
when you were free.  Now, get to sleep, will you?
We've got a long day tomorrow, as it's grass cutting
day again."

With that, dad kind of pushed me over on my side and
spooned up against me, put his arm over me, and
settled down to sleep.  It wasn't that easy for me,
however - although I'd fucked twice already that
night, I was still hard and somehow the thought of sex
with all those men was turning me on.  So I tossed and
turned as I tried to drift off, and this of course
meant that dad's dick was kind of massaged by my butt,
and that made it even more difficult as it was kind of
exciting.  But I must have drifted off eventually, as
dad woke me up when I was deep down in sleep the next
morning, and for a few moments I thought it was school
days again, and I was late for the school bus!

But no, it was off out to cut the grass again, and it
was tough:  there had been rain, so the fucking stuff
had grown a lot since our last cut, and that made it
much more work, and the wet grass stuck all over our
bodies, and the humidity made us sweat like pigs as we
toiled away.  I was in a foul mood most of the time as
I was bored, tired and kind of aching all over, and I
was glad when we finally finished and could shower and
get properly clean.  As dad and I were pulling on our
shorts, Mr Stryker came up and told me to cut across
to the house and see Amos and Andy, as they needed to
clean me out properly, as Mr Hawthorne wanted me that
night.

"No...", I started to say, but dad slapped me, hard,
on the butt!  "Remember what I said, Steve!  Now, just
think, will you?  You were always telling me how
fucking bright you were, so use your brain, and
remember what I said!"

I stood there for a moment, seeing dad's hard body
with the ring thing around his balls and dick making
him semi-erect, and knew that if he could take it,
then so could I.  I realised I didn't have any real
choices - at least if I went with Mr Hawthorne's
friends, some of them might be tempted to buy me off
him as a special toy or something.... And the
alternative was, anyway, pretty dire - I could see
Stryker almost enjoying taking me off to the nigga
sheds!

Amos and Andy were already naked when  I got to the
preparation room, and fell on me with obvioius
enjoyment as we all stood there getting properly
clean.  They seemed to delight in running their hands
over my body, and kept telling me how great it was to
have a young guy with nice muscles, rather than a big
stud like my dad, to play with.  They even turned the
enema bit into a kind of game, with one of them
standing behind me and putting is arms around me to
rub my swollen belly as the water forced its way in to
me - and as he did this, he rubbed his nips against my
back, and let his dick slide over my butt really
sensuously.

Once they were satisfied that I was really clean
inside, we all of us used the slave oil to give our
skins a nice gloss, and it's not true that it's not
slippery - you're probably used to seeing the slaves
when it's been massaged in and is lying there as a
dull sheen, but when you're applying it, three nude
guys covered in it can have quite a fun time rubbing
themselves all over each other!  Amos and Andy thought
that the hairs on my spoiled the effect, and got to
wondering whether Mr Hawthorne might order me to be
totally shaved - I hadn't realised that this is how
they had to keep themselves as a lot of niggas are
naturally pretty smooth, but they told me that when
he'd bought them, Mr Hawthorne hadn't liked the kind
of tight, wiry curled hair that niggas have on their
chests and so they had to keep themselves smooth.
Mind you, I didn't particularly like the last bit:
they made me bend over and grip my ankles, and one of
them used some thicker stuff to slick the inside of my
ass!

I really protested about this, but Amos just looked at
me.  "Steve, it's just Mr Hawthorne tonight, and I
expect he's going to fuck you.  He's not very good at
lubing and stretching slaves before he starts, so it's
best if we do this to you now - even a small dick like
his can hurt, you know..."

"A small dick?"

Both of them laughed.  "Yes, even for a whitey, he's a
bit undersized.  I expect that's why he likes fucking
young guys, like you, rather than big studs like your
daddy.... He doesn't like to see the comparison
between him and a big guy.... And it's why he doesn't
often have niggas in to fuck, either.... As you know,
we're all big...."

As he said this, both Amos and Andy grasped their
dicks and waved them around obscenely, and we all
three laughed, but suddenly they stopped, as if they
were really afraid and quickly finished towelling me
with a soft towel to really buff up my skin - I heard
sounds in the corridor outside, and Mr Stryker was
there to take me in to Mr Hawthorne.   I wondered what
Stryker did to Amos and Andy that could make them so
terrified of him, but obviously couldn't ask, so I
just had to stand there, hopping from one foot to
another, as they gave me a pair of "formal" slave
shorts:  crisp and starched, not like the usual thin
cotton things dad and I wore when we were working.

Mr Stryker led me through the house and knocked
politely before a large heavy door, listening for the
call to enter.  Inside it looked like Mr Hawthorne's
study:  a big desk with a PC and a phone on it,
bookshelves lining the walls, some containing filing
boxes, but mostly leather-bound books, and two
comfortable-looking couches flanking the fireplace.

"Thank you, Stryker - that will be all", Mr Hawthorne
said as Stryker stood there, as if waiting to say
something.

"Are you sure, sir?  The slave is inexperienced...."

"I can always press the panic button, Stryker.  And
even though he's inexperienced, I think I detected the
signs in him that he's gong to enjoy this. I'm not too
worried as he knows that we have his father, too, and
any wrong actions on his part and his daddy will be
lashed."  He changed his tone, looked at me, and went
on "That's right, isn't it, Steve?  You are going to
behave, aren't you?  You wouldn't want me to have to
order your daddy to be punished, would you, boy?"

I swallowed, and muttered "No, sir."

"Right, then, Stryker, I think you can leave us now.
But Steve, I'm your owner, remember? So you always
call me 'master'."

As Stryker left the room, still looking rather
reluctant, I think, Mr Hawthorne motioned towards the
couch where he was sitting.  "Come and sit here,
Steve."

I went and sat down at the far end of the couch, but
he smiled at me and said quietly "No, Steve, right
here, next to me.  You're not afraid of me, are you?"

Well I was, but a guy never admits that, does he? So I
muttered "No, master", and shuffled along.  My
Hawthorne then put his arm around my shoulders and
pulled my body close to his.  I felt the warmth of his
arm (he was wearing a short sleeved shirt) against me,
and caught the almost intoxicating smell of his citrus
cologne as I was so close to him.  His fingers began,
very gently, to stroke my nipple - no one had ever
done this before, and I suppose I was surprised to
find that my nip went hard and erect as he did this.

"Ah, Steve, you like this, don't you?"

I didn't answer, as it didn't seem necessary, and Mr
Hawthorne began to roll my distended nipple between
his thumb and forefinger.  This was almost hurting me,
but hurting in a way I'd never known before - I almost
wanted the pain, as it was doing something else to me,
causing me the most amazing sensations right through
my body.  I felt my dick straining against the
starched fabric of my shorts, and then, like a
prisoner breaking free, it sprang through the open fly
and stuck up as I sat there (like all the shorts worn
by slaves on the place, there were no zippers or
buttons, just an overlapping fly).  The dark tan of it
contrasted with the snowy whiteness of the shorts, and
as he continued to toy with my nip, Mr Hawthorne's
other hand crept across and began to stroke my dick.
My whole body almost shivered, so exquisite were the
twin sensations of his long fingers playing with my
nip and with my dick, and when he nudged my 'skin back
and let the tip of his finger nail scrape across my
piss slit, I couldn't help it:  a low moan escaped
from me, and I squirmed slightly, involuntarily, as I
shuffled on the couch to get more comfortable.

"Ah, Steve, like a lot of young men you like attention
being paid to your body... Has anyone ever done this
to you before?"

"No, master..."

As he spoke, Mr Hawthorne's hand moved right down my
shaft and delved in through the open fly of my shorts.
 I felt his fingers cupping my balls, and he gave them
a little squeeze - not enough to really hurt, but
enough to make another gasp escape from my lips -
again, was it pain, or was it pleasure?  He carried on
stroking my balls and dick, put his head close, then
pressed his lips to mine.  My nose was assailed by the
light lemony fragrance of his cologne now, subtly
overlaying his general manly smell, and I felt his
tongue probing at me.  I wasn't sure I liked it, as he
was so old, (well, old in relation to me), but he
squeezed my balls again, oh so gently, and allowed his
thumb and finger to really press my nip, and as I gave
a sigh of pleasure his tongue slipped in and began to
ravish the inside of my mouth.  Still holding my nip
and dick, he pushed my head back into the high back of
the couch with his, and began to forcefully kiss me,
his tongue constantly beating against mine, with just
an occasional break so that he could gently bite at my
lower lip before starting again.

I heard myself moaning with the sheer physical
sensation of all of this, and knew that pre-cum was
pouring out of my dick as Mr Hawthorne's stroking
seemed to get slicker and even more sensual.  I
couldn't help myself - I felt my balls begin to jerk,
and he next moment cum was fountaining out of me,
shooting upwards to hit my belly as I half sprawled
there almost underneath Mr Hawthorne by now.

He stopped kissing me, sat upright, and brought his
hand, covered in my cum, up towards my face.  "Look at
what you've done to me, Steve!  I think you'd better
do something about cleaning this up", he said in that
quiet tone that brooked no argument.  And as he said
this, his hand moved towards my mouth, and I smelt
that unmistakable smell of cum.

"No, please, master... I don't like it...."

"Nonsense, Steve!  What young man hasn't tried eating
his own cum?"

"Me, sir!  I don't like the smell!"

"Nonsense... Now, I want that strong tongue of yours
to lick me clean... Its good practice for you,
anyway...."

His fingers were right up to me now, and I just knew
he had me completely in his power:  not only were dad
and me his slaves, and I was worried that he might
order dad to be hurt if I didn't obey him, but his
fingers were still gripping my tit and this somehow
seemed to give him an immediate physical mastery of
me.  Tentatively I let my tongue snake out and touch
the white slime on his fingers, and was surprised -
there was almost no taste at all!  All those years
when Id thought cum must taste vile, and now I found
it just slightly sweet, slightly salt.  In fact, the
biggest sensation was the taste of Mr Hawthorne
himself:  the citrus smell of the soap on his hands.
As he held his hand there, I began to lick his
fingers, one by one, and then as I got started and
realised there was something sensual about sucking at
him like that, my own hand went and gently held his
wrist so that I could make a better job of it.

After a time, Mr Hawthorne pulled gently away from me.
 "Very good, Steve.  You liked that, didn't you?"

I blushed as I murmured "Yes, master".

"I think you're going to be a very good slave, Steve,
when I've trained you a little more.  So let's move on
a bit.  Get rid of those stupid shorts, and come close
to me again."

I raised my butt up slightly from the couch and pushed
at the shorts to get them down, then sank back down,
feeling the coarse wool against my bare skin as I did
so.  Mr Hawthorne now put one arm right around my neck
and shoulders and pulled me to him and began to kiss
me passionately again, whilst his other  hand roamed
down my back, then pulled my butt up slightly so that
he was stroking my thigh.  I moaned in pleasure, yes,
that's what it was - I was actually enjoying the
feeling of this man stroking my body like that.  I
could have let him do it for ever, but he suddenly
stopped, pushed me gently away, and said "On your
knees, Steve, in front of me."

Thinking I'd misheard him, I hesitated, and he said
again, firmly this time "On your knees, Steve!  Kneel
in front of me, here, between my legs."

I half slid off the couch and kind of crawled along a
bit.  I felt really foolish kneeling there in front of
him, totally naked, and even though I'd just cum, my
dick arched upwards again for some reason.  I looked
up into his face, which was smiling slightly, but
couldn't help noticing that he was suffering as I had
earlier - his dick was tenting the front of his
immaculately cut fine wool slacks, but there was no
escape for it as there had been for mine.  As I
watched, he pulled down his zipper, then reached into
his fly to release his dick.  It sprang to attention
as it was released,  but there wasn't all that much of
it, as Amos and Andy had said - well, not compared to
dad's, or theirs... or even mine!  It was shorter and
thinner than all of us.

"Suck it, Steve", he said in that same quiet tone of
command.

"Please, master.... No...."

"Yes, Steve.  Come on, you can do it.... You sucked my
fingers a moment ago.... Just put your head down, and
kiss my dick gently first, then start to suck at
it...."

I leaned forward slightly, and moved my head down.  I
didn't want to do it, but I was worried about what he
might do to dad and me.  As I got closer to his dick,
I smelt that same faint lemony smell of his soap, but
now it was overlaid with the faint smell of piss, and
that other scent that I now know shrieks "male", that
special scent you only find in a guy's pubic area.  I
thought I would gag  at first as I let my lips touch
his dick head, but once I realised how wonderfully
soft and warm it was, it was as if my fear evaporated.
 I liked at it experimentally, then, gingerly at
first, but then with increasing confidence, I opened
my mouth and let the head slide in through my parted
lips.

I bobbed my head up and down gently, not daring to
take all his dick in as I felt it might choke me, and
heard Mr Hawthorne start to give the same kind of soft
moans that I had been making just a few minutes
earlier.  Then, as I continued, I felt his strong
hands guide me - one on my bare shoulder, and the
other on the top of my head:  he pushed me gently, but
firmly, in a way that brooked no resistance, right
down, so that his whole dick was in my mouth and my
nose was buried in the soft fabric of his slacks.

He guided me up and down then, and at first I didn't
realise I had to keep my lips closed but my teeth
apart - I guess we all know how painful it can be if a
guy accidentally catches the soft skin of your dick
with the edge of a tooth, and when I did this, Mr
Hawthorne's attitude changed abruptly!  He pushed my
head back, and slapped my face hard - very hard.
"Keep your teeth out of the way - don't you know
anything?", he demanded.  But before I could reply, or
even make any protest, he pushed me back down on his
dick, this time not nearly so gently.

As my head bobbed up and down, he started to raise
himself up and down on the sofa to meet me, and his
moans and cries became louder.  I tasted something
salty in my mouth, and then he gave a great cry of
"Sweet Jesus.....", and pushed my head right down into
his lap one last time.  I felt the warm slime of his
cum fill my mouth and wanted to take my head away, but
his hands held me there as he stopped moaning and then
said "Good boy, Steve... Now, as you come up off me,
be sure none of my cum leaks out:  these are expensive
pants, and if there are any cum stains on them, I'll
thrash you."

I knelt there before him, swallowing and licking my
lips to clear my mouth of his fluids, and he pointed
down at his rapidly detumescing dick.  "Clean me up
properly, Steve - get down there and lick me clean!",
he said, quietly again now, and there seemed to be
nothing to do but to obey him:  I pushed my head down
and using a hand to hold his dick, suckled at it to
clean off any vestiges of cum, and then tucked it
gently in through his fly and into his boxers.

Mr Hawthorne hardly bothered with me then - he just
got to his feet, leaving me kneeling there naked, and
strode out.  I wondered what to do, but then Amos and
Andy peeped around the door, and seeing that Mr
Hawthorne had left, came over to me.  Laughing at each
other and at their boldness at daring to sit on the
furniture, the flopped down, side by side on the couch
in front of me.  "Now Steve, now you've learned how to
do it, how about sucking our nigga dicks?", Andy
asked, and both men broke out into raucous laughter.

End Of Part Ten