Date: Sun, 25 Sep 2005 07:54:32 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Dad and Me, Part 15

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