Date: Thu, 13 Oct 2005 22:25:41 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Dad And Me, Part 22

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

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

Part  22

Something in me said that I should return to New York,
sell Manderleigh, and just let dad go with the rest of
the assets.  He was a slave, and he knew he was a
slave, he accepted it, and that was his destiny.  It
would have been a neat way of solving a terrible
problem for me.    But my time as a trader had taught
me not to run away from confrontations, and to face up
to whatever I needed to do.  Consequently after the
morning service on Sunday for all the slaves I told
Stryker to have dad brought to the study.

You may wonder why we had a service - I'm not
religious of course, as before I was enslaved I'd been
a clever, intelligent person with no need of these
stupid props:  I think I gave up on religion as soon
as I realised that god was just another one of the
myths that kids were told about, like the tooth fairy
and Santa Claus.  Anyway, one of the worst things
about being a slave was the compulsory attendance at
these stupid Sunday services:  we were all lined up in
the yard, and the local preacher came in and told us
all about the love of Jesus and how things were going
to be better in the next life!  When I became owner of
Manderleigh my instinctive reaction was to have the
whole stupid business stopped, but Miles pointed out
to me in his laconic way that it was well known that
religion was good for slaves - or, rather, for their
owners.  "You perhaps haven't done enough history,
Steve, to see that throughout human civilisation
rulers have always used religion to oppress the ruled
- they get the churches to preach these fairy stories
about after life and everything to them, so it makes
the life the miserable serfs live here on earth seem a
bit less harsh.  And all religions preach obedience to
authority, too.  Your slaves will be told by the
preacher that it's god's will for them to obey those
in authority over them, that they're to love those who
oppress them, and that if they do everything right,
there reward will be sure, in heaven.  It makes most
of the slaves much easier to handle here on earth!"

"Whereas I'll burn in hell?  Do they get told that
too, Miles?"

"Oh no.  You'll be redeemed by the love of Jesus,
too."

We were lying together in bed at the time, and I
laughed as Miles said this, and flipped him over on to
his back and before he could say any more, jerked his
legs in the air and pushed my dick at him.  "So I may
as well sin again, Miles...."

Anyway,  I digress, and I had in fact kept the
services going as it did, I suppose, keep some of the
slaves more subservient.  So I was sipping my morning
coffee when Stryker brought dad in once the service
was over, and his skin had a delightful sheen of sweat
all over it from where he'd had to stand in the sun
for an hour or more listening to all the pious
claptrap.    Dad kept his head respectfully bowed - he
had become such a cringing slave - so he didn't at
first notice me, and stood there at "slave rest" with
his hands neatly clasped behind his back, his feet
spread, and his hips thrust slightly forward so that
his cinched dick was even more prominent than usual.

I went over to him, and said quietly "Dad....    It's
OK,  you can look up... "

He raised his head.  "Master..... Steve....."

"Are you OK, dad?"  I know it's banal, but what else
do you say, in the circumstances?

"Sure, son.... Master....."

"How's life?"

"Much the same, son.... Master....  I work, I
stud....."

Look, this was tough going, and quite painful for me.
If dad had just said something, done something, told
me he hated being a slave, thrown his arms around me -
I was his son, after all - things might have been
different.   But he didn't.  He just stood there,
subserviently, calling me "master" most of the time,
and showing that he was so deeply mired in slavedom
now that it seemed impossible to believe that this was
the man who I used to admire and respect.  And I saw
that there was just no way that I could return him to
being my father.  As happens normally when your
parents get very, very old, it was time for the next
generation to assume control and look after them - but
dad couldn't have been more than fifty, and his body
was in superb physical condition.

I talked to him for a bit - was the food OK?  Was the
work too hard?  Did he get on with Juan? And so on,
but he just didn't spark, just gave me mostly
monosyllabic answers.  Finally, I called for Stryker,
and told him to take dad back to work, and to return
to the study.

"What's happened to Joe, Stryker?"

"Nothing, sir.  He's just become the perfect slave.
It happens - at some point a man realises he's never
going to be free, and that the way to a better life is
to accept what he is.  And not only to accept it, but
to embrace it.  Then work is no longer a chore, it's
his whole reason for being.  And a tawsing or caning
isn't punishment, it's what he deserves for not
working hard enough.  He ceases to struggle, never
thinks about disobeying, and we could even remove his
collar as it is inconceivable that he would even try
to escape."

"Does this happen t o all the slaves, then?"

"Oh no, sir.  Only to the lucky ones, we say!  After
all, slaves are always slaves, and there is no escape.
 So if you learn to accept it, life becomes a whole
lot easier for you.  Imagine how awful it would be if
Joe was always fighting the system, was always pushing
back instead of accepting things....   As it is, he's
happy, and contented.  Indeed, the harder he's told to
work, the more contented he becomes as he understands
he's doing his very best for his owner.... For you,
sir, that is."

I sat here for a moment, thinking about it.  And I
could see that what Stryker was saying appeared to be
right, from the conversation I'd just had with Joe.

"Stryker, you've had much more experience of slave
handling than me, and you describe a credible
scenario.  So Joe still works hard?"

"Yes, sir, 'he works like a nigga', to use an old
phrase!"

"And he still studs?"

"Oh yes, sir.  He's still in demand, as he's been at
it long enough now for there to be lots of his
progeny...."  Stryker looked a bit embarrassed now and
he sort of mumbled "...some of whom might be yours, of
course, sir, from those double studding sessions....
Anyway, the progeny show all the traits that owners
are looking for - big strong bodies, long legs, and of
course a paler skin.... There's a whole lot of
piccaninnies in these parts who are strikingly like
each other, sir."

"Stryker, I'd never thought about it.... They're my
half brothers and sisters.... Or perhaps my sons and
daughters...."

"Oh no sir.... No daughters and no sisters.... No
owner bothers to breed females, and as soon as a bitch
gets in the club, they have her tested and any females
are aborted so she can get studded again as quickly as
possible."

"But lots of half-brothers, and sons...."

Stryker looked embarrassed again, and shuffled
nervously.  "Well, actually not, sir.  In law, they're
slaves, as they were sired by a slave and bred from a
slave..."

"Well that may be OK for Joe, but I wasn't a slave, as
we now know...."

"Yes, sir, but don't worry:  the dams were slaves, so
that automatically makes the sons slaves anyway.  I
mean, it's no worse than an owner personally getting
one of his bitches in the club, as some owners like to
do, is it?  The offspring is always a slave, and you
have no responsibility for them at all, sir."

"Well I can see the position in law, Stryker.  But  I
don't like it all that much....  I think we will
withdraw Joe from stud."

"Sir, please don't do that!  Mr Hawthorne spent a long
time building our reputation here - a Yankee coming in
and buying a plantation, then flaunting his wealth by
flying in from New York on the weekends.... It didn't
go down well with the neighbours.  And he only got
accepted when the local folk saw how generous he was
by making such a superlative whitey as Joe available
for stud at the same fee as you'd charge for a normal
nigga.   Don't throw it all away, sir.... Folks will
talk...."

Yes, I thought to myself.  I want to move in society
here else the weekends will be lonely and boring, and
if I withdraw Joe, they'll quickly make a connection
between him and the new owner of Manderleigh!  So
perhaps I should leave Joe on stud, as it will make
things easier for me.  And I did like watching dad in
action, after all - those thighs, his butt....  And,
after all, Joe enjoyed it!  I remembered all those
times when I'd been faintly disgusted at having to use
my dick in some nigga bitch, but dad had been happy,
almost bragging about his prowess at fucking bitches.


"Very well, Stryker.  I agree with you.  Let's not
upset the status quo at the moment.  Keep him on the
outside work, and at stud, as usual, and I'll think
about what's to be done in the long term."

______________________________________

By that strange coincidence I mentioned earlier, by
the following weekend there had been news about
Charles.  One of my executive assistants at the bank
came to me with a rather curious official
pronouncement from the New York City Slave Processing
Authority "requiring and demanding" that I remove my
slave from their care "forthwith".  I didn't have time
to do anything about it - that's why executives have
assistants, after all - but told the man to
investigate.  It seems that Charles had "recovered"
and was considered "cured" although the Authority
"strongly recommended" that the slave be assigned
duties where "close confinement or shackling would
ensure that he had no access to drugs".

Some "cure", I thought!  Still, it sounded as if he
was alive and not permanently catatonic, and I
wondered what to do.  Although the apartment was
massive there were no adequate provisions for caring
for possibly troublesome slaves - all the slaves there
were properly subservient maids,  waiters and so on,
and so it seemed reasonable to have Charles
transferred to Manderleigh where Stryker and the other
overseers would be available to deal with him.
Accordingly I told my assistant to make the
arrangements to have him caged and carried down with
us in the hold of the executive jet the following
Friday.

I was enjoying my usual relaxing gin and tonic in my
study at Manderleigh before dining when Stryker came
in and told me that Charles' crate had arrived on the
slow truck that brought the luggage from the airport.
I was vaguely curious to see what had happened to him,
and accompanied Stryker to the goods inwards bay in
the plantation, and Stryker and I stood on a balcony
and watched as the slaves broke open the crate to
reveal the transit cage inside.  Charles was curled up
in the foetal position - I suppose he was used to
that, so it wasn't a particular hardship - but even
from a distance I could see that he looked very thin
and not in good condition at all.  As they unlatched
the lid of the cage he stood up, and I could see that
they hadn't cared for his body at all - his hair was
long, he had several days of beard growth, and
generally looked very scruffy.  Still, he did seem to
be "functioning" as he began to complain to the
slaves, and demand to know where he was!

They didn't reply, of course, as they were well
trained and used to handling new stock.  "Have him
properly cleaned up - inside and out.  Get his hair
cut:  standard slave trim.  Have his pubes trimmed and
his balls shaved, but  leave the rest of his body
hair.  Give him some slave shorts, and then bring him
to see me after I've dined", I told Stryker.  One
advantage of having a good chief overseer is of course
that you can make these generalised statements and
don't have to explain what a "standard slave trim" is,
as he knew how I liked all the slaves at Manderleigh
to look.

I left Stryker to give the detailed orders, therefore,
and strolled back across the immaculate grounds to the
house - dad and the Mexican were doing a good job, I
noted with some satisfaction.  I finished my drink and
went into dinner, and as usual on Fridays Stryker
joined me as he updated me during the meal on things I
needed to know about the plantation - not much,
generally, as he was so competent.  But this evening,
as we sat wit the last of a rather good burgundy and
the cheese (a habit I'd learned from Mr Hawthorne,
whose extensive travels had shown him the benefits of
the European way of dining), Stryker suddenly said
"What are you going to do with Mr Charles, sir?"

"Is there a problem, Stryker?"

"Well, sir, are you proposing to leave him here?
Whose orders will I obey, if there's a conflict -
yours, or Mr Charles'?"

I laughed and leaned forward across the table towards
him, twirling my wineglass by the stem almost in anger
as I did.  "Stryker, I am proposing to leave him here.
 But there's no question of him giving 'orders' - he's
a slave!  I haven't decided what to do with him yet,
but make no mistake about it - he's a slave, just like
any other."

"But he's Mr Hawthorne's son....."

"The LATE Mr Hawthorne's son, Stryker!  And it's his
actions that killed his father, indirectly - something
for which he hasn't been adequately punished - yet.
He's a slave here, just like any other.  You don't
have any problems ordering my father around, I know,
so you shouldn't have any problems dealing with this
slave either."

Stryker nodded, and I could see that he understood my
intentions.  "If you've finished, let's take coffee in
the study... And order them to bring Charles in, in a
few minutes."

The study is still my favourite room in Manderleigh -
unlike the drawing room which is much too large for
one person to sit in comfortably, or the vast open
entertainment and reception area which really needs a
crowd of at least twenty before it feels "used", the
study is more "homely".  I do sometimes have to work
in there on the weekends - people think it's easy
being at the head of a major bank, but even with a
good staff, there are some crises that get bounced to
me even so - so I have a comfortable desk, chair and
PC, and the only changes I'd had since taking over was
to have the big couches on wither side of the
fireplace replaced - all the activity that Mr
Hawthorne liked to indulge in had inevitably meant
that the fabric of them had become a little stained,
and I thought a fresh start was called for (even
though, I suppose, most of the stains were from me!).

Stryker and I sat next to one another still talking
business, when there was a respectful knock on the
door, and when I'd finished speaking and told them to
enter, one of Stryker's underlings brought in Charles.
 The slaves had much improved him:  his body was clean
and glowing slightly with the sheen of slave oil that
had presumably been rubbed in to him, his hair had
been cropped to the standard half inch or so that I
allowed, and he was clean shaven.  He stood in front
of me, between me and the fire, in standard slave
shorts.

"Steve!", he began at once.  "Thank god!  At last!
You can't imagine what I've gone through.  Your
fucking slaves have treated me terribly - I want them
punished.  And get me some proper clothes, will you?
It's not right to have me standing here in these slave
shorts.  At least a dressing gown, or something, until
I can get to the stores...."

I saw Stryker looking with amazement that a slave
should dare to speak like this, and his hand reached
for his punishment cane that was as always hanging
from his belt.  I reached out and touched his wrist to
stay him, then looked at Charles.  "You're correct,
Charles - it's not right for you to be in slave
shorts!".  I looked at the overseer standing behind
him, changed my tone, and said quietly "Strip the
slave!"

The man reached forward, and before Charles could
react, simply yanked the shorts down so that Charles
was standing there totally naked in front of us.  I
remembered now that one of his best features was his
dick - nicely in proportion to the rest of him, and
hanging down in front of a set of well sized balls
that were carried low and loose in their sac. The
slaves had done a good job in shaving him and trimming
his pubes to the small, short bar that I allowed, so
all was clearly visible.

"Steve, you can't have me naked like this....",
Charles almost wailed.

"Oh come now, Charles!  Naked?  You're not naked!
You're wearing your slave collar.  A slave is never
naked in a collar, and that's all he needs, isn't it?
You told me so often enough."

"Oh come on, Steve, cut it out... A joke's a joke!
Tell the slaves to bring me something to wear..."  He
bent down to pick up his shorts, as if meaning to put
them on whilst waiting.

"If you say one more word, slave, or make one more
movement without being ordered to do so, I'll have you
punished", I told him quietly.  He stopped, and stared
at me, as if he almost disbelieved what he'd heard.

"Let me remind you", I continued. "A slave wears what
his master ordains, and provided he's collared, that's
sufficient.  You kept me naked here, and although my
body was a lot more pleasing to the eye than yours is
- or is currently, perhaps I should say - I have
decided that you only require a collar for your duties
here."

"My duties...?"

I turned to Stryker.  "Six strokes, Stryker.  Good,
hard ones - don't break the flesh, but he needs to
learn to obey.  It's kinder if we teach him properly,
from the outset."

Stryker got up form the couch in a fluid motion that
was pleasing to the eye as his big hard muscular body
reacted, took a step towards Charles, then before
Charles could resist  he grabbed his wrist and twisted
Charles arm high up behind his back.  Charles bent
double and began to shout with the pain, but Stryker
just ignored him of course - he'd had enough
experience of controlling slaves to know how much
pressure to apply to cause sufficient pain so that the
slave was helpless but which wouldn't risk snapping
the limb.   In itself, seeing Stryker's tanned, strong
muscles contrasting with Charles' deadly white thin
body was vaguely erotic and I felt my dick begin to
stir, but as Stryker thrust him down on his belly over
the arm of the couch opposite and I got a glimpse of
Charles' balls swinging low between his thighs, I
began to get a really strong erection.

Without stopping, Stryker released Charles' arm but at
once dug his big fingers into Charles' neck to hold
him there.  His other hand released the cane from his
belt, and before Charles could even think about
squirming, the first of the blows landed squarely
across his thin butt.

It must really have hurt Charles - all that time in
rehab had left him thin, with wasted muscles, so the
cane had no cushion of flesh to bite on.  The red
weals appeared across the white skin immediately, and
I could only admire Stryker's skill at getting them
spaced out so precisely down the butt.  When Stryker
finished Charles just lay there, his initial scream
now having become a low, pitiful wailing.

I nodded to Stryker, who dragged Charles to his feet
and pushed him back in front of where I still sat.  I
looked at the pathetic object standing there, tears
streaming down his face and his puny body all hunched
up as he reacted to the agony from his butt.

"Let that be a lesson, slave!  We run an orderly
operation here at Manderleigh, and slaves behave
properly, and work hard.  Failure to obey the rules
results in punishment.  Do you understand?"

Charles just stood there, and I had to snap again "Do
you understand, slave?  Answer me, or face the
consequences."

Charles looked at me for a long few long seconds.  I
saw him thinking through what had happened to him.
"Yes.", he whispered.

"You are a slave now.  I am your owner.  Answer me
properly!"

I thought Charles might do something stupid, but after
a few more long seconds he whispered again "Yes....
Master."

I continued to sit there, then snapped "Approach me!".
 Charles took a couple of steps forward, and I reached
out to take his balls and dick in the palm of my hand.
 He tried to move back, and I had to say sternly "Are
you resisting your owner when he tries to inspect you,
slave?"

Charles seem resigned now, and stood there as I
weighed his balls and stroked his dick to some sort of
an erection.  I pushed his 'skin back with my thumb,
and looked at his dick head as it sat there, moist and
dark.

"It's not worth me inspecting the rest of him,
Stryker", I said, now in a business-like tone.  "His
muscles are almost non-existent and he's generally
flabby and weak.  But where it counts, he's in good
condition - once we have him 'skinned I think that
dick will be more than adequate."

"No....", Charles whimpered, and I chose to ignore
him.

"Yes, Stryker, I think this solves the other problem
we were talking about, too.  I wish to retire Joe from
stud, but, as you say, our neighbours have come to
expect Manderleigh to have a nice whitey available for
them.   This slave will do - once he's been brought up
to scratch.  He needs proper feeding and, most of all,
good, hard work and exercise to build up his muscles.
Work him naked, of course, so that pasty white skin
gets a good tan all over.  And I think we even have
the ideal job for him - I don't want him on one of the
nigga coffles - put him to work with Joe and that
Mexican on the ground work.  As he'll be taking over
from Joe in the studding barn, he may a well work
alongside the man:  who knows, perhaps he'll pick up a
few tips!"

"Three of them on the yard work, sir?"

"Oh yes, we really only need two if they're properly
supervised and 'encouraged'.  So to compensate, you
can take some more of the plantation land in to the
pleasure grounds - that will keep them busy.  But be
sure this one works hard  - he's got to look good for
studding, as we want the guests to choose him as a
younger man, rather than Joe."

"Please, master, no....."

"Slave, don't you know that it's forbidden for a slave
to speak unless spoken to?  But what are you objecting
to?  To having to work?  That's what slaves do!"

"Master, no, please don't make me stud...."

"Why ever not?  I seem to remember that you were eager
to make me more suitable as a stud, so you clearly can
have no objection to a whitey slave studding niggas!"
I turned to Stryker, and went on "But that reminds me
- our guests can be strange, and there was that issue
of the slave looking too much like a free man....
When this slave is more muscled, and tanned, he will
suffer from that problem.  So schedule him to be
tattooed with his name across his back, have him
branded of course, and I rather like the idea of studs
being 'banded' to make them display better.  So have
him fitted with the same type of bands as Joe has."

"Master, please, no...."

"I told you to be silent, slave!  One more word and
you'll be caned again."  My look seemed to quell
Charles as he stood there, and I looked at Stryker
again "There's a problem, though.... That name....
Charles... It's too long to fit nicely across his
back.  So we'll rename him Chas.  Yes, four letters,
that will do.  Oh.... and finally....  Get the vet in
and have him 'skinned:  I seem to remember that the
former owner's son thought that that was a good thing
to do to studs, as it made them 'sleeker' and guests
preferred 'the look'.  So have the slave Chas 'skinned
tomorrow - I don't mind if the vet has to be brought
in specially - it needs to start healing so that his
dick will be ready for studding quickly."

I saw Chas start to protest, and Stryker raised his
whip threateningly which did however quell him into
silence.  I gestured in dismissal, and the overseer
pushed him, naked, towards the door.  "Take him to the
mower shed and put him in with Joe and the Mexican", I
called.  "He needs to get to know his fellow slaves
intimately!"

I turned to Stryker, who looked worried.  "Come,
Stryker, it's what's called 'poetic justice', I
think."

"Yes, sir.  But what will folk around here think?"

"They won't think anything, Stryker.  They won't
recognise the slave Chas as the former Charles
Hawthorne III:  take away a man's clothes, give him a
slave haircut, tattoo him and brand him, and what
they'll see is a slave.  But to make certain, perhaps
for the first few studdings we ought to have him
gagged as well as blindfolded, just to make certain he
doesn't cry out."

"And Joe, sir?"

"What's the problem there?  I'm sure he's big and
strong enough to subdue Chas..."

"No, sir.  If, as you suspect, Chas gets selected for
studding instead of Joe, he'll become restless... ".
Stryker flushed slightly and almost stammered "If you
remember, sir.... When you were put to stud after
Master Charles' 'modifications'..... They stopped
asking for Joe, and he became moody, didn't work
properly, had to be caned more.... And perhaps there
was trouble at night, sir?"

"Yes, Stryker.  Good point.  But I think now's the
time to retire Joe from studding anyway.  We talked
earlier about all those little pickanninnies with some
of my genes in them... Enough is enough, I think.
Once Chas is ready, we'll retire Joe and just use him
for normal work."

"Sir, I don't think that's a good idea."  Stryker
really looked uncomfortable now.  "Look, sir, Joe sees
himself as a stud.  He likes fucking the nigga
bitches, sir.  If we take that away from him then
he'll become moody, and we'll have to punish him to
keep up his work rate....  I don't like to have to
punish the slaves continually, sir... It's bad for the
overall tone of the place, as slaves ought to
recognise that they work mostly without punishment, as
it's their place.  And a big, tough whitey who flouts
the general principles will be bad for discipline
generally."

I thought for a bit, and realised Stryker was right.
It was fundamental to dad that he was a stud, and I
didn't really want dad caned and caned all the time -
who knows, we might even have to have him whipped, if
things were really bad and he was totally disobedient.
 And freeing him wasn't an option - he was too much a
slave, as I knew.  So perhaps I could leave him - but,
on the other hand, I didn't like the thought of dad's
seed fathering more half brothers, whether they were
slaves or not!

As I've told you, I'm a pretty clever guy, though, and
after a few moments the answer came to me.  "Right,
Stryker - this is what we'll do:  Joe stays on stud,
but our gusts have to understand that he's always used
first.  Every one of the bitches gets fucked twice -
once by Joe, and then by Chas.  But when the vet calls
tomorrow, have Joe fixed - get him one of those
vasectomies, as I want no more actual breeding from
him.  That should keep him happy - you can perform
perfectly well after a vasectomy, they say."

"But sir, he'll know...  A lot of men have traumas
after a vasectomy even when they have it done
willingly.  Joe will end up with a castration
complex...."

"You're right, I suppose.  Look, tell the vet to do it
under a general anaesthetic.  Then, when he wakes up
with sore balls, let Joe understand that he had to be
knocked out as you needed to loosen his cinch bands or
something, and we were worried about the pain!  I'm
told a man's balls swell a bit after a vasectomy
anyway, so the story will all hang together - no pun
intended!"

Stryker smiled.  "Very clever, sir.  If things ever go
wrong in banking, you'd make a good chief overseer!".

End Of Part 22