Date: Sat, 30 Jul 2005 23:25:45 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Dad And Me, Part 2

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

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

Part 2

I was only there for about an hour, when there was
some chit-chat over the radio that the guards had, and
"my" guy came over to me again.  "You want a piss,
boy, or...?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Let me give you some advice, son.  First, you're a
slave now, and all men - free men, that is - are
called 'sir'.  You'd better start to learn that now,
as otherwise you'll certainly be punished.  And the
second piece of advice is never turn down an
opportunity to take a piss - especially when it's in a
 relatively nice place, like the facilities here.
Slaves get treated pretty badly, sometimes..."

"Thank you, sir.   Can I change my mind, and have that
piss?"  I felt myself blushing slightly as I said
this, as you don't really talk to older guys about
things like that, do you?  I mean, when there's a
group of us together we joke about it, but it's not
the sort of thing you talk about to men older than
your father.  And I hadn't anyway ever had to ask if I
could take a piss since I was a little kid.

"See, its' not so hard, is it, boy?  Sure you can,
follow me...."

He unlocked the gate of my cell and led me into the
men's room.  I'd thought that I might try to escape,
but at once saw this was impossible:  not only was the
window high up, and barred, but he just stood there,
waiting for me!  I fumbled at my Jeans for a bit and
got my dick out and stood as close to the urinal as I
could, but I could feel his presence hovering behind
me.  Look, I'm not normally piss shy, and I've got
nothing to be ashamed of when it comes to dicks, but
somehow having this old guy so close to me, watching
me, and waiting for me to perform, completely turned
me off - I just couldn't do it.

"Hurry up, son", he intoned.

"I've changed my mind.... Sir", I managed to get out.

"Son, you're a slave  And I said you can piss.  Now,
piss!"  His tone had changed completely from the
almost avuncular guidance he'd given me before, to one
of annoyance.

I pressed myself forward one more time ,and really
tried.  I clenched my butt, and did that kind of
"squeeze" thing you can do, and was rewarded by a tiny
trickle.  But, as so often happens, once it had
started, I couldn't stop and it got stronger and
stronger, and soon I was pissing away as normal. It
was a real relief.

As I wasn't cut as a kid I had to stand there for a
few moments squeezing my dick and massaging the last
few drops of piss out of it - that's about the only
problem with still having your 'skin, isn't it? - you
really do have to be careful that there's no piss or
anything trapped inside, or it soon gets to smell
really foul.  To my horror I found the guard leaning
over and watching me as I did this, and I pushed at
him, and almost shouted "Hey.... Quit looking at
me..."

No one had ever hit me before, so I was completely
unprepared as his hand struck the side of my head, and
I went staggering across the room, my dick flying free
as I did so.  I hit the opposite wall, and the shock
of it all made me lose my balance and I sank down to
the floor.  My ears were ringing from the force of the
blow, and the guard came over and stood in front of
me, looking down at me as I sprawled there in front of
him.  "That's another lesson, boy... Don't ever dare
to strike at a free man.  You're lucky I don't send
you off for a public whipping, or even to have you
castrated - some owners think that a slave who dares
to physically attack a free man has too much
testosterone flowing in him, and there's a simple way
to fix that!"

"But sir, you were looking at my dick..."

"So?  You're a slave now, remember.  And an owner, or
someone like me, acting as your owner, has a right to
look at his property.  A slave has no need to feel
modest in front of his owner, as his owner is just
that:  he owns him, remember?   I have a much right to
look at your dick as I do have to look at the front of
my car, or the screen of my TV.  And the sooner  you
forget all this rubbish about 'privacy' and 'modesty'
and understand that these are things that only free
men can experience, the easier your life will be.  You
probably don't realise it, but it's most likely that
an owner will buy you because you have a nice body:  I
mean, who wouldn't want to look at a well-setup
sixteen year old like you?  And the thought of having
your young flesh available to him whenever he wants
it...."

"That's disgusting..."

"Boy, remember your manners!  And how can anything be
'disgusting' when a man is just using something he
owns?  You'd better learn - and learn fast - that
things have changed for you now."

He stood there watching as I struggled to my feet and
tucked my dick back into my jeans, and then led me
out, his hand again resting almost proprietarily on my
shoulder as he did so.  We went back through the
holding area, and out through the door that dad had
been forced through.  Outside there was a small bus,
one of those that seats around twenty, and the guard
led me to the entrance.  I had to stand there, then,
as he and the driver went through an elaborate filling
in of forms, as I was formally "handed over" from one
to the other, with both of them almost totally
ignoring me - I began to realise that they were
treating me just as if I was a package, rather than a
person;  a package that needed to be signed for as it
went through the delivery process, and which had no
say in how it was dealt with.

When finally I was ordered to mount the steps, inside
I saw there was a big difference from the buses I
normally rode - down the centre was a partition
stretching from floor to ceiling, made of wire mesh.
I had to squeeze down one side of it to find a seat,
and it was there for a purpose:  my side of the screen
was guys, and on the other side, there were girls.
One other difference, too - with the sole exception of
me, all the others (and the bus was almost full) were
black.

I was sitting next to a guy about my own age, and I
told him I was called Steve, and he told me he was
Clyde.  "What's a white boy doing on a nigga bus like
this, then,  going off to slave camp?" he asked.

I told him about dad, and how fucking unfair it all
was, and asked him what he was there for.  "Oh, I just
deliberately broke a few store windows when the cops
were watching, and that was enough".  He grinned
broadly as he said this, and added "Man, when those
big fuckers shatter, they really do make a noise and a
mess."

"But why....  Especially if the cops were watching
you?"

"You white boys don't get it, do you?  It's better to
get enslaved now, and get properly trained at the
Centre.  That's what they all say.  My four older
brothers and two older sisters all went off to it, and
now it's my turn."

"What do you mean?"

"Look, Steve, I'm a nigga, as you can see.  And I
haven't got good grades at school.  So other than a
labouring job - and there aren't many of those now,
for free guys - there's no work for me.  So I'll have
to go on welfare, or do crime.  If I get caught when
I'm older, I'll be enslaved anyway.  And after four
years on welfare, they cut it off, and as a
'destitute' they enslave you anyway.  Don't you know,
Steve, that it's much worse to be enslaved when you're
a grown man?  They can do much worse things to you.
So all the guys at my school know we've got no hope,
and as it's going to happen to us sooner or later, we
might as well make it easier on ourselves by doing it
sooner."

"...all your brothers are slaves now?"  It sounded too
incredible to be true.

"Sure are.  And most of the guys  I was at school
with... And as soon as she's given birth, my girl
friend will be, too.... They say she's a whore as I
knocked her up before marrying her - but  I couldn't
marry her, could I, as I'm too young!"

"You've fathered a kid.... How old...?"

"Sixteen."

"Why didn't you use a condom?  That's what we're
always told!"

"That's OK for you white boys, but us niggas like to
feel the flesh against our dicks!  Do you fuck?"

"Well, yes...", I said hesitantly.  I didn't think my
one or two times of going the whole way really
counted, after what Clyde was telling me.

"..and you never tried it raw?"

"No."

"Man, you don't know what you missed!  Fucking in a
condom is like trying to take a shower in a plastic
raincoat!"

"I'll remember that, Clyde, and next time I get the
chance...".  I tried to make a joke of it.

"Oh you'll get the chance, all right!  You're a white
boy, and they'll surely want you to stud some of the
nigga slave girls - there aren't that many whiteys,
you know.  And if you're studding them, there's no way
you'll ever even see a condom again - they'll want
your juices shooting up hard and deep inside them."

"What?  What the fuck's studding?"

"Oh come on, where have you been, Steve?  Everyone
knows that whiteys fetch a premium over niggas, and
the paler the nigga, the higher the price!  So if an
owner buys you and me, he's going to breed from you,
isn't he, not from me?  That way the piccaninnies will
fetch a higher price.  I reckon you'll be spending
some time every day between the legs of a whole lot of
nigga girls, and women.  Everyone knows we're at our
most fertile now, and so it makes a whole lot of sense
to stud from us at this age - or from you, at least.
I reckon I'll be just jerking off from now on, or
fucking the ass of other niggas in my coffle."

"Oh, come on..."

"Oh grow up, Steve!  When you're chained into the
coffle by your collar, and working away stark naked
all day and every day in the fields, what else do you
think there is to do at night?"

"You're going to work in the fields....?"

"Hell, you are stupid, even for a whitey!  Who knows
what I'm going to do.  It depends on what my owner
buys me for.  But most niggas end up as field hands -
how else do you think the rich whiteys get all those
'hand grown' fruit and vegetables? "

I shook my head.  It honestly hadn't occurred to me
before.  I suppose I'd seen it all at the markets -
not that we could afford it - but it had become very
fashionable to have 'natural' produce, and the prices
were high, and the demand seemed to be there.  I'd
never thought through whose hands all that 'cherished
by hand' stuff passed through.  But Clyde was still
going on "You see, Steve, they know we can work out
all day in the sun, as nigga skin doesn't burn so much
and it's tougher and more leathery for when it rains."

"Oh, come on, you're joking!  And surely they can give
you stuff for when it's raining..."

"Haven't you ever driven through the South recently
and looked into the fields?  It's always coffled
niggas, and they're always worked naked.  For one
thing, you can't get a T-shirt on when you're coffled
by the neck.  But they also say it's cheaper - even
the tiniest scrap of cloth costs something, after all,
and then it would get dirty, and have to be laundered,
and that costs, too:  a nigga's hide can just be hosed
down every night."

One of the girls on the other side of the mesh
separating us called out "That's right, Clyde.  You
tell the whitey what it's going to be like for him,
too."

Clyde grinned broadly. "Hell, Louella, I reckon you
might get a chance to tell him yourself - whoever buys
you will want to breed you straight away, and Steve
here might be on stud duty!  He looks a nice enough
guy - hey, Steve, why don't you show her your dick?"

"Don't be stupid!"

"Are you ashamed of it?  Whiteys usually  compare
pretty unfavourably to us niggas...."

"Look, I don't go getting my dick out in public...."

"You mean you haven't previously, Steve!  Even if you
don't get coffled and worked naked, most owners will
be buying you as you're a pretty good looking piece of
man flesh.  And if your dick's even only just OK,
they'll want to see you studding away - you won't just
be walking around naked, you'll be fucking in front of
them."

I was going to carry on arguing:  I thought he must be
joking, as they wouldn't make guys fuck against their
wills, but the bus slowed at this point, and turned in
through a pair of tall gates which close behind it,
and we stopped on some sort of almost empty parking
lot surrounded by low buildings.  The driver got out,
locking the door behind him, went into one of the
buildings and came out a few minutes later with a
couple of what I assumed were guards as they wore what
was recognisably a uniform:  a short sleeved
khaki-coloured shirts neatly pressed and tucked into
smart shorts that finished just on the knee and were
in a darker shade of khaki.  The polished leather
belts around their waists were hung with a variety of
things - I recognised one of the things the old guard
had called a slave prod, handcuffs, a radio, and
something that made my dick jerk as I recognised it
for what it was - a short whip.  I began to realise
that being a slave might be tough, really tough.

They stood there and counted the girls out of the bus,
and again there was a lot of cross-checking and
signing of paperwork, and marched into the building
with them.  Us guys just sat there staring out
wondering what was going to happen, and then the
guards came out again and it was our turn.

They made us stand in a ragged line as they counted us
and signed for us, and then told us to march in step
into the building.  Immediately inside the doors was a
big tiled area, and after the outer doors were shut
and locked, one of the guards called out "Right,
strip.  Everything.  You've got to be showered and
deloused, as we don't know where you niggas have come
from!"

Well, I kind of expected that at some point we'd be
given a shower, communally.  I mean, you always see it
in prison films and stuff, don't you?  And I suppose
it was a bit like being after gym class at school, as
we all stood there and began to pull off our clothes.
What was different, though was that there was nowhere
to put anything - no benches, or clothes hooks - so we
had to kind of hop around to take off our sneakers and
socks, and then just drop our clothes on the floor.

I was glad I'd worn my most fashionable boxers that
day - dad had laughed when I'd spent a little bit of
cash I'd managed to save on "designer underwear" - he
just wore cheap stuff from Sears himself.  But at
school, the other guys would have mocked me if I'd
turned up in that kind of thing, and I just had to
spend the money.   Two of the guys though had no
underwear at all, and as they pushed down their jeans
and chinos, they were bare, and there was general
hooting and laughter.  I couldn't help but notice that
some of the guys had tattoos, and some had thick,
chunky-looking jewellery around their necks.

The guard saw us standing there, and snapped "When  I
said strip, I meant it!  All your underwear, any
jewellery you're wearing, watches.... And for those of
you with cock rings, those too!"

We laughed a bit at this, and it kind of helped to
relieve the tension as I pushed my boxers down and
stood there with the rest of them.  The guard then
snapped orders at the two guys nearest to him, and
they came along collecting all our stuff up off the
floor - they made no attempt to keep it separate, to
keep my watch and sneakers and stuff safe:  everything
was just bundled up together, and when some of the
guys started to complain about losing their jewellery
and stuff, the guard looked very cross and told us to
remember we were slaves, and that from now on our
owners would decide what we were going to wear.
Somehow, seeing my own clothes just bundled away like
that was another step towards becoming  slave, as I
realised I had no control over my life at all.

One of the guys was still protesting, though, saying
that he wasn't going to give up his ring as it was a
present from his girl, and went to bend down to
scrabble in the pile of stuff in front of him to
retrieve it - I did wonder why he had ever taken it
off in the first place, but perhaps he thought he'd
get it back.  The guard nearest him got something off
his belt - it was about two feet long, black, four
inches wide, and flexible.  Then the next moment there
was a tremendous "slap" noise, the guy fell forward
and sprawled on the floor howling, and the guard stood
there, looking down at him.  "See", he called out
generally "You slaves need to learn to obey. We use
the paddle a lot here to help you understand the
meaning of proper discipline:  it doesn't break the
skin as the whip tends to, so it keeps you in better
condition for sale.  But as you've all just seen
demonstrated, it hurts.  So obey, if you don't want to
feel it on your butt, too."

It really had never occurred to me that they might
actually use physical punishment on us.  Other than
that one incident when dad had spanked me, it just
wasn't done in our house.  And I'd never been one to
watch the slave programmes on TV much.  But as I
thought about it, I realised that that was almost all
you could do to a slave who disobeyed:  you couldn't
fine him, as he had no money;  and you couldn't lock
him up, as he had already lost his freedom.  So
physical punishment was probably the only thing left -
other than starving him or something, and that
wouldn't  be very good if you wanted to work him hard.
Periodically of course there'd be some outcry in the
papers when there was a case of a slave dying after a
severe whipping - you needed a court order to have a
slave killed, or permanently mutilated -  but this
just never related to me personally, not in the way
that the threat of physical force being used against
me now was.

Once all our stuff was cleared away, water drenched
down from the ceiling, and it must have had some
disinfectants or stuff in it, as it smelled foul, but
then it cleared,  became soapy, cleared again, and
then turned off.  We all stood there with our bodies
soaking wet, and I thought there might be something in
what Clyde said about niggas' skins being different,
as the water seemed to slide off them much quicker
than it did form me.  But they were mostly a lot
smoother than me, as I've got quite hairy arms and
legs, and a nice thatch, even at my age, on my chest
and belly:  I guess I really do take after dad.

What happened next was the most embarrassing thing
that had ever happened to me in my whole life.  I
mean, it's bad enough being forced to strip, and
having guards watch you as you piss, and shower.  But
then they marched us through in to the next room, in a
line, and in there, all lined up already, were the
girls from the bus, all as stark naked as we were.  I
just couldn't help it - my eyes almost came out on
stalks as they scanned down over the tits and cunts,
and I felt myself starting to bone up.  I flushed with
the shame and embarrassment of it, and you know how it
is, once you start thinking about an erection, it gets
worse!  I wasn't alone, though, as I saw most of the
guys were in the same state.

Fucking Clyde tried to make a joke of it.  He shouted
out "Hey, Louella - take a look at whitey now!  His
dick's bigger than most of us nigga boys'!"  My
embarrassment was doubled as everyone - all the guys,
and all the girls - turned to look at me, and I vainly
tried to cover myself with my hands.  But you can't,
can you?  When you're really hard, and it's jutting up
almost parallel with your belly, there's just no way
you can cover it even with both hands.

The guards told us to quieten down, and the one in
charge walked up an down between the two lines, and
told us that this was a valuable lesson for us - we
were slaves now, and there was no reason for slaves
not to be naked in front of each other as we were no
more than animals.  "You slaves have got to learn that
there's nothing wrong with displaying your bodies -
you don't see cats and dogs wearing clothes, and
there's no reason for an owner to clothe a slave,
either", he told us.  "You slaves don't have to worry
about modesty, or being embarrassed by nudity:  your
slaves, and it's only men who can feel like that about
their bodies."

Well, that's maybe what he thought, but I can tell you
that standing there all boned up in front of  a lot of
girls, and surrounded by nigga boys all mostly boned
up too, was just the most embarrassing thing for me.
But fortunately the guards started to distribute
simple one-piece tunics to the girls that came down to
mid thigh and covered them up decently, and then we
were given shorts - I was never so grateful for
anything in my life!  Mind you, these were the
standard sort of slave work shorts in that loose grey
cotton fabric, a bit like workout shorts, although
they were cut much, much higher on the thigh as slave
shorts are.  And it didn't help all that much until my
bone went down a bit, as like all slave shorts the fly
was just overlapped and there were no buttons or
zipper - I was constantly worried that I might bone up
again, and it would jut right out through the gap.

There wasn't going to be any sex that night, though,
as we were led off separately, girls one way, us the
other, and put into cells for the night, four to a
cell.  I got a bottom bunk, and we all just lay there
trying to get to sleep, wondering what was going to
happen the next day.

End Of Part Two.