Date: Tue, 18 Oct 2005 05:35:43 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Dad And Me, Part 25

Dad And Me by Pete Brown    petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part 25


Stryker ushered dad into the room, and he looked just
as magnificent physically as he always had.  The lamps
caught the sheen on his skin (they'd oiled him of
course, knowing he was to meet his owner), but from
the way he was standing I could tell that this wasn't
really the dad I'd known from when I was a kid - he
was standing with his head bowed, completely servile.
I suppose I shouldn't complain - after all, that's
what you want a slave to be, isn't it?  But this was
my dad, for fuck's sake.

I motioned for Stryker to leave us alone, and once the
door had clicked shut with that expensive heavy sound
that only solid oak doors make, we were alone.  Once
before it had all gone wrong, when dad and I had just
looked at each other, just after I was confirmed as a
free man, and I  was determined that this time I'd get
it right.  Words aren't enough in circumstances like
these, are they?  So I got up, threw my arms around
him, and said simply "Dad!"

His muscles were so hard against my body, and at first
it was difficult to make proper contact as dad just
stood there, impassively, and with his hands neatly
clasped behind his back it was difficult for me to
embrace him.  It was almost farcical - even though I'm
a big guy, I do have limits to the length of my arms,
and I couldn't wrap myself around dad with his arms
like that.  I carried on trying, though, pushing my
head down to rest it on him beneath his neck and above
his pecs, and I just stood there.  Then, as my nose
filled with the masculine scent of him, I put my head
down further and began to suck at and tease his left
nip.    I felt dad getting really turned on by this -
it must be a family trait, to have some sort of direct
connection between the nip and the dick - and he was
stabbing at me as I stood there so close to him.  Then
the ice began to break, and he gave a soft moan as I
continued, and I felt the tension in his arms as he
fought with himself to remain there in the proper
position of "slave rest".

I stopped for a moment and pushed my arms between his
and his body, so that he was almost forced to unclasp
his hands, and then, to my joy, he  threw his arms
around me and gave me one of those great bear hugs
he'd done as a child.

"OH, dad...", I whispered, and I heard him reply, at
first very hesitantly "Steve....  Master..... Oh,
Steve....  Oh Steve, come here, son....."

Look, I don't care what they say in all the newspapers
and everything about it being OK for men to cry - I
don't.  But, I have to tell you, it was hard as we
stood there in each others arms like that.  I carried
on pressing my face into his tough, hot skin ( working
naked in the sun all the time makes it very leathery),
but now my hands were racing up and down his back,
feeling the muscle and enjoying the hard knobs of his
spine as they stood out.  And as they worked lower, I
thrilled as my finger tips first went into the top of
his butt crack - that lovely enticing place right at
the base of the spine, from where dad's big, powerful
butt cheeks were flaring.  It's funny, isn't it, but
the moment your finger first slides down there it's
almost so much warmer than the rest of the body?  And
somehow it's always faintly moist - I suppose that's
because the sweat runs down the back and ends up
there, and can't easily evaporate.  I'd forgotten what
it was like to feel such a perfect body - don't get me
wrong, I loved sex with Tony and Miles, but their
bodies were just not like Dad's.  Miles was thin and
kind of skinny, whereas Tony was larger, but lacked
the muscle tone of dad.  Dad was just perfect - or was
it that he was the standard by which I evaluated other
men's bodies, having learned all about the joys of man
to man contact there? And so by definition he was
"perfect" as far as I was concerned?

Dad's hugging of me had loosened my shirt and it had
ridden up out of my pants, and I now felt his hands on
my bare skin:  hands that were tough and calloused,
covered in pads of tough skin from constantly using
tools as he worked.  And dad, being dad, didn't waste
time - his big middle finger was teasing me, too, as I
slid down the first little bit of my butt crack.

We changed position slightly so that our heads were
side by side, and one of his hands started to stroke
my head and turn it towards him.  "Steve....", he
whispered, and I went to kiss him.  But it wasn't like
it used to be - as my lips pressed towards his, I was
stopped:  that awful snout ring hanging down over his
upper lip felt vile:  it was cold  and alien against
my lips, and there was the usual trickle of mucus that
made dad's mouth kind of slimy.  I remembered how my
own nose had run almost constantly when Charles had
had a snout ring put into me, and I knew dad couldn't
help it as it was the irritation of the septum that
made it happen.  But all the same it was a bit
distasteful, and I didn't like it all that much.

Still, we did kiss, but it wasn't as long, or as deep,
as I remembered we used to when we were lying on the
mattress in the mower shed at night, and I was
disappointed.  Or perhaps the reality can never quite
match the  imagination's remembrance of these things,
especially not when I had been anticipating it for so
long.

I didn't know what to do then.  I really hadn't worked
this through very well, as somehow in my mind  the
scene always faded out once dad and I had made
physical contact.  It's just as well I always prepared
better for all the board meetings at the bank I had to
go to!  I was a little flustered, therefore, and
loosened my grip on dad, and by reflex he did the same
to me.  I took a step back and took a look at him
"Dad, you're looking great....."

"It's the life, Steve.  But you'd know that...."

God, this was going to be tough!  I backed away
slightly, towards the couch, but dad just stood there!
 Still, at least he wasn't at "slave rest".  I  sat
down, and said "Come on, dad...."

He took a pace or two towards me, but began, haltingly
"A slave isn't allowed on the furniture, Steve...."

"For fuck's sake, dad!  I own this place!  I can do
what I like with the fucking couch!"

It's never wise to lose your cool in circumstances
like this, is it?  Dad just stared at me, and said
slowly "Yes, Steve, you own the couch.  And I guess
you own me, too."

"Well, yes...."

He smiled at me, sensing his unease, I think.  As you
know dad and I were both strong personalities - well,
dad was, until that bastard Hawthorne ordered him to
be "broken" - and we always did these sort of mind
game things when we jockeyed and manoeuvred, each
trying to get the upper hand.  Dad definitely knew
he'd scored a winning hit there.

"Look, dad, this slave thing... Well, let's not make
it a barrier between us...."

"Oh fuck me, Steve!  Are you totally stupid?  Have you
completely lost it somewhere?  How can  it not be a
barrier between us?  I'm a slave, you're a free man,
and what's worse, you're my owner!  You're sitting
there in your fancy city clothes, and I'm bare-assed
naked - well apart form all these rings and the
collar...."

"But that's the way it is - slaves here at
Manderleigh, the ones working outdoors, at least,
always work naked.  You know that...."  As I said
this, I tried to move on, as it was getting us
nowhere.  I put my arm around dad's shoulders as he
sat there, stiff and awkward, and pulled him towards
me so that  I could kiss him again.  But I still found
the little drool of snot trickling out just a bit
repulsive, and so there was no pleasure in it.  I hung
in there, though, and with my other hand reached down
and stroked dad's dick:  it was just as I remembered
it, rock hard, but with that lovely silky feel that
dicks have.  And they'd shaved his balls recently,
too, as when I began to cup them and feel them, they
were soft as silk in my palm.

Dad took an active part in it now, as one of his big
hands snaked around my head and he held me tight to
him, so that we couldn't stop kissing.,  his tongue
forced itself into my mouth, and in spite of the
awkwardness of the snout ring, we managed to get our
mouths almost at right angles to each other so we
could have that really deep, deep tongue play that's
so exciting.  I continued to stroke his dick, and
could feel the first signs of pre-cum beginning to
flow, as it got wonderfully slippery in my fist.  Dad
in turn started to grope at my crotch, but as I was
still wearing my pants and my boxers, he couldn't get
far - although I was hard, too, and I knew that my
boxers would be getting slimed with my own pre-cum.

We broke off, and dad pulled me to my feet, and before
I could do or say anything he'd undone my belt and
pants, and almost brutally pushed them and my boxers
to the floor.  We fell back onto the couch and he
began kissing me again, but now, with free access to
me, his hands were stroking and caressing me just as I
had been with him:  once again, we were both playing
to see who was going to be on top.

"Oh, Steve, I've missed you....", he whispered.

"Me too, dad", I replied, not really knowing what else
to say.  And it was actually true, too:  I had missed
dad, I suppose.

We carried on kissing and caressing, but it became
clear that as in so many interactions like this
between two guys, we needed to end up fucking.  You'll
remember that when I was a kid dad had always fucked
me, and then there was that famous time when as I grew
older and stronger and more powerful, we'd fought and
I'd finally overpowered him and for the first time I'd
rammed my dick up his ass.   After that, as I don't
really like taking dick, I'd always fucked him.  I
wasn't concerned now, as he was a slave, and owners
always get to decide who does what to who, don't they?

So when we stood up again and dad told me to kick my
pants and boxers off my feet as I looked ridiculous, I
willingly did, and began to wonder where I'd take dad
- have him lie across the back of the couch, or
perhaps kneel on all fours...

"You're getting fat, Steve", he said, and slapped my
butt playfully.

"No I'm not, I'm in good shape for a guy of my age,  I
can tell you..."

With one arm around my waist kind of controlling me,
dad reached down and took a big pinch of flesh off my
belly between his thumb and forefinger.  "What's this
then?"

I gasped, as it hurt.  "Stop that, dad, it hurts!"

"Do it to me, then...."

He stood there waiting, and I tried to get a good
amount of flesh off his belly, but of course it was
rock slid, and I only succeeded in getting a tiny
amount in my hand.  "See, Steve!  That's how a man's
belly should be."

His eyes were smiling now, and before I realised it
he'd put one leg behind mine, and pushed me backwards
- he was still holding me so I didn't fall, but I was
off balance and couldn't prevent myself from going
down onto the floor, followed by dad, who kissed me
again and stroked my dick some more.  Then to my
astonishment I heard him say "I guess they don't lube
you, do they, Steve?  So perhaps I'd better jerk you
off - I don't like having to fuck a dry ass..."

"Hey, no, I don't take dick, dad..."

"Oh yes you do, Steve!  You always did as a kid, and
then you did again when you lost condition...."

"NO, dad..."

But it was no use - dad was pawing at me, and I tried
to throw him off, but couldn't.  We started to wrestle
and fight - once more, trying to land punches on each
other but not with the serious intention of doing
permanent harm, I suppose.  But it was no good - I was
out of condition, and was just no match for dad's
superb condition.  Before I knew it, dad was sitting
astride me, his knees pressing my biceps into the
floor.  I could feel his hot, moist ass on my chest,
and I was helpless - there was just no way that I
could move, with dad's weight pressing down on me like
that.

He rose up slightly, so that his dick and balls were
right above my head.  "Right, Steve, since you don't
want me to jerk you off and lube you, this is your
only chance... Get my dick good and slathered with
spit, boy, as that's the only lubrication I'm going to
use...."

"No, dad...", I started, and was going to remind him
that he was a slave, and he'd better obey, when my
mouth was filled with his dick head.  He sat there,
holding his dick at its base, by the cinch ring, and
slowly and carefully stuffed an inch or so into my
mouth.  I mumbled, and started to gag, and dad pulled
back and out of me.

"No...", I began again, and now I saw dad grinning as
he pushed back into me, this time not stopping until
it touched the back of my throat and I began to choke
and gag and almost vomit.  I knew I was thrashing my
legs and body around, but it was no use - I was
completely helpless.

Dad pulled out of me again, and I could see his dick
now not only covered in my saliva, but with a sheen of
mucus all over it.  He laughed , and when he saw I was
about to speak, he swung his dick from side to side,
striking my cheeks with it. "Come on, boy!  You
remember your dad's dick, don't you?  You used to like
this when you were a kid, Steve.... What's changed?"

I went to tell him that what had changed was that I
was no longer a slave, and was his owner, but as I
opened my mouth, the big, hard, warm slimy thing
rammed into me again.  He then rocked up and down a
bit, as if he was actually fucking my face, and I
could feel his cinched balls slapping against my chin
as he did so.

At last he pulled out totally, and sank back onto my
chest, and now I really could feel his sweaty asshole
right against me (it's always just that bit hotter,
isn't it?).  I was gasping and choking too much to be
able to say anything, and before I could do anything,
dad nimbly got off me, flipped me over onto my front,
hooked one arm under my belly and hauled my ass in the
air.  I wanted to scream "No!", but  I couldn't.  It
wasn't so much that I was still choking, but that I
was somehow caught up in the drama of it all - feeling
dad's body against mine again, the eroticism of having
a big powerful guy taking charge of me, and of course
the memory of that last time, when he'd done exactly
the same thing.

So he fucked me.  And it hurt.  And I squealed, just
like some men do, however careful you are wit h them -
but with justification, in my case!  Dad just thrust
away, long and hard, never seeming to care about what
was happening to me.  And then I heard him cry "Oh
fuck..., yes....." and his body slammed into me one
more time and stayed there.

Gradually he let me down onto the floor, and leaned
forward over me.  I felt the massive weight of his
body on my back, and it made it almost hard to
breathe.  His strong thighs, were sort of intertwined
with me, and his head was right up at the nape of my
neck.  I could feel his heart racing and his chest
heaving as he gulped in air, and the warmth of his
breath on my skin was somehow at once both reassuring
and sensual.

He seemed to be laughing, softly, and in it I heard
him whispering quietly so that only us two could hear
(although there was of course no one else present,
it's more intimate like that, isn't it?) "Oh Steve,
that was great, son.... I have missed you.... You're a
great fuck, boy...."

I felt tears rolling down my face, not so much from
the hurt, but because I remembered how it used to be
when it was just us two.  And also, I suppose, because
I now knew that I had a terrible, terrible problem - I
mean, how was dad going to be a slave again, now that
he'd done this to me, his owner?

We lay there for what seemed like hours, but was
probably only five or six minutes, then dad pulled out
of me and got to his feet.  He reached down and took
hold of my hand, and pulled me to my feet.

"Steve, I'm covered in your shit...", he joked.
"That's one advantage of always fucking slaves, you
know:  you can suck a dick fresh from an ass as it's
only just got cum and sweat on it!  Now, I need to get
clean, and we probably need to wipe your ass as what's
trickling down your thighs looks a bit brown!"

I still don't know whether it was the shock of dad
being in control again, or what, but I sort of mumbled
about going to a bathroom, and with dad resting his
arm across my shoulders and kind of gripping the back
of my neck with his big hand, indicating the control
he probably felt, we went out of the study.  One of
the house slaves was standing there and looked
astonished to see the two of us naked like that - but
he was a good slave, and stood there at "slave rest",
presumably knowing that if I wanted anything, I'd
command him.  But I didn't, and we sort of went up the
stairs, and along the wide bedroom corridor.

As he saw us approaching, the house slave who's
usually up there stood aside and respectfully opened
the door to my suite for us, and closed it behind us
when we were inside.  Dad looked around, and said
jokingly "Well, this is a step up from the mower shed,
 Steve!".

We went into the bathroom, and I saw dad looking at
the huge bath tub.  He was like a big kid, really - he
fiddled with the elaborate temperature controls to get
it filling, then went over to the hand basin and stood
there casually washing his dick.  He came back over to
me, who was still almost mesmerised, pulled me half
around, and before I knew it he'd raised his thigh
into the air, bent me over it, and pushed my butt
cheeks apart and was wiping it with toilet tissue.  He
let me go, showed me the soft white stuff covered in
my cum and shit, and dropped it into the lavatory
bowl.   Wiping the other guy's ass when you've fucked
him is something you do when you know the guy well and
you've fucked a lot, I always think, but this was more
like dad doing it to a very young kid - did he know he
was subtly attempting to exert control over me by
taking me back to my childhood, I found myself
wondering?

"There, nice and clean!  Now, are you ready for a
bath...."

"No, I don't want one..."

"Steve, you're just like you were when you were a kid!
 Do you remember what I used to do with you then when
you didn't want to get into the tub?"

Laughing, dad almost scooped me off my feet again, and
threw me into the warm, scented water!  There was
almost a tidal wave that swept over the marble tiles,
and engulfed dad, and he now seemed almost weak with
the fun of it all.  He climbed in to the big tub,
pushing and shoving at me so that I was sitting
between his knees, and he wrapped his arms around me
once more, and pulled me back to press against his
chest.  I could feel his cinched dick pressing against
my butt, and he began to nuzzle at my shoulders and
nibble at my earlobes.  I started to relax, and
actually enjoy it - it was a long time since I'd been
in a tub with another guy, especially one with such a
sexy body as dad!

"Steve, Steve....", he kept muttering, and then one
hand strayed down my body, and began  to stroke my
dick.   I couldn't help it - it was just so fucking
amazing:  the water, the scent of the bath stuff, the
feel of dad's body against mine, his hand on my
dick.... My head went back as I moaned in pleasure,
and dad pout his forward and kissed at me again - we
couldn't go deep, because of the angle, but it just
seemed to be the right thing to do.

He carried on stroking me, and before I knew it I felt
my balls tighten, and I shot a huge load of cum  -
most of it into the water, but some onto dad's knee
which was sticking up out of the water like some
strange island.

Dad laughed out loud now.  "Jesus Christ, Steve -
that's disgusting, cumming in the bath!  Still, at
least I'm not going to tell you the old joke tat
starts 'You know how cum floats....?'.....  But I
think we'd better get out, as I can feel my skin all
wrinkling up."

He got to his feet and stood there on the soaking wet
bathroom floor, his big bronzed body streaming with
water.  He pulled me to my feet, and I reached for a
towel, but he stopped me, and propelled me across the
roam and out into my bedroom.  I knew we were leaving
wet trails across the carpet - carpet that had cost me
a lot of bucks - but somehow I didn't care.  He pulled
back the covers of my bed, almost threw us both down,
then pulled them up again, right over our heads, so we
were kind of cocooned in a dark, warm, wet space. One
part of me knew that the silk sheets were probably
being ruined, but another knew that I didn't care.

We began kissing and stroking each other, and having
tour wet bodies sliding over each other, hot and
sweet-smelling from the bath,  wrapped up in this
little secret place, was utterly fantastic.

Look, I'm not going to write pages and pages telling
you just how amazing that night was.  No part of each
others bodies was unexplored.  He fucked me at least
twice more, and I didn't care.  And I fucked him, too.
 It's so rare that two guys can use each other like
this and take pleasure from it.... And I count myself
lucky.

I woke with the dawn, as the slaves evidently hadn't
disturbed us and had not come in to draw the drapes,
and lay there for a few moments remembering all the
delights of the night.  I reached out for dad, and my
arm scrabbled frantically across the bed - which was
empty apart from me.  I thought at first that he'd
just gone to the bathroom, but when he didn't
reappear, I got to my feet.  And then I saw him,
standing at the window, looking out and down at the
pleasure gardens and the vast expanse of bright green
grass.


"Hey, dad, come back to bed...."

He turned, slowly.  His head was bowed.  "If master
commands it...."

"Cut all that crap, dad...."

"No, son.  I'm a slave, and you're my owner."

"Dad, last night...."

"No, Steve.  Last night was something special.  But it
won't work, Steve... Master."

"Don't be so fucking stupid...."

"No, Steve.  You're not thinking properly.  You were
always impetuous."

"Dad, I can set you free..."

"No, you can't.  Once a slave, always a slave, you
know that.  And I did do what they convicted me for,
you know that.  There's no way out."

"Dad, you can live here.  In the house.  You might be
a slave technically, but..."

"It wouldn't work, Steve.  They all know I'm a slave.
They've all watched me in the studding barn.  They
wouldn't know how to treat me.  It would be bad for
discipline on the whole plantation - I'm sure Mr
Stryker would tell you that."

I had to agree, as Stryker had had a conversation
something like that with me once, I remembered.

"But dad, you can't carry on as a slave..."

"Steve, I can.  It's not a bad life.  I get fed, I
work, I've got Chas and Juan to fuck, I stud, I don't
have any worries..."

"But you're a slave, dad!"

"Yes, Steve.  And a fit, healthy one.  A man with a
body he can be proud of.  One not stressed out, as you
seem to be.  One who's in great shape, not with a
layer of fat in a paunch...."

I went to say more, but dad bend his head, spread his
legs, and clasped his hands behind him in "slave
rest".

I didn't know what to do.  I threw some clothes on and
went down to the study, and called Stryker in and
explained things to him.  He listened intently, and
said "I think you were unwise, sir.  Unwise to start
what you started last night.  Joe was perfectly
content, and everything was going well here.  I don't
know if we can recover  from this."

"What do you mean?"

"There are two things, sir - Joe, and the other
slaves.  Let's take Joe first - there have been enough
studies now to show that when a slave is properly
'broken' - as Joe was - and accepts his status - as
Joe does - then the chances of him ever becoming
'free' again are small.  He expects his food to arrive
at regular times.  He expects his life to be arranged
for him.  And he becomes incapable of doing these
things for himself.  No, Joe is a slave, and the
kindest thing for you to do is to keep him as such -
if you try to treat Joe as a free man, or even make
life better for him here, he'll start to suffer from
stress as he can't handle it.  And if you don't work
him hard, he'll lose that fantastic body he's so proud
of.  And you've told me yourself that he likes
studding, and sees it as what makes him a 'man' - in
the world of the free, he couldn't do that, could he?"

Look, I argued a bit, but Stryker just coming back
with "Studies show...." And "Psychologists now
know...." And a whole lot of other stuff like that.
As I've told you, he was a really good head overseer,
and I guess he'd really read up on all of this.  But
then he suddenly said "But I don't think you've
thought of the effects on the other slaves, sir."

"How so?"

"Well, the whole of slavery is really predicated on
the assumption that once you're a slave, that's it!
You can't just let Joe be 'free', or even treat him
radically differently, without fermenting unrest and
even revolt in the other slaves.  And it was very
unwise of you to indulge in all of that sex last
night, sir.... As it is,  I've had to have the house
slaves rounded up and gagged, ready to send off to
auction tomorrow - so service will be disrupted today,
sir, I'm afraid."

"What on earth for?"

"Sir, they were watching and spying as Joe fucked you
when you were calling out 'Stop' and 'No' and stuff:
I heard them telling each other about it.  So they're
tainted, sir:  they've seen a slave disobey his owner,
and then the owner took no corrective action.  I'm
going to sell them before the news spreads to a wider
circle - if the niggas began to think they could even
dare disobey....  We have hundreds of them, sir, and
only five overseers!"

"Oh no, Stryker.  You're going too far.  You're not
going to do any of that."

He looked at me, long and hard.  "Sir, I've run this
place for Mr Hawthorne, and now for you, sir, and run
it well.  But if you don't let me run it properly, I
don't want to run it at all - I don't want to become
known as the overseer who was so out of control that a
slave revolt broke out."

"You can't be serious, Stryker."

"Never more, sir."

Was he bluffing?  I don't know.  But, frankly, I
wasn't inclined to find out - I didn't want a whole
lot of dissent and strife, and finding a new overseer,
one who knew Manderleigh so well, would be extremely
tedious.

"Very well, Stryker.  Sell the slaves... Do whatever
you want."

"And Joe, sir?  I'm afraid he needs to be
disciplined..."

"You go too far, Stryker!  Don't push it.  I can
hardly order my own father to be sent off to the
public whip master."

Stryker looked at me.  "I suppose you're right, sir.
And it would tend to destroy his value - when the
flesh on the back and the butt is all torn up and
permanently scarred  it's not a pleasant sight, and
we'd have to take him out of the studding barn..."

I sat there for a long time then, wondering what to do
about dad.  And without the full complement of house
slaves, it took ages for my breakfast to come, and
then it was not served properly.  What a fuck up, I
thought - perhaps Stryker really was right.  As I sat
musing, I  looked out of the windows and there was
dad, and Chas, and that Mexican - Juan, dad called
him, I think - toiling up and down, the sun glinting
off their sweating bodies as they pulled the heavy
mower.  Dad looked happy enough.... Perhaps I could
just postpone a real decision, in case things changed.
 Who knows, in another year or so, dad might tire of
studding, and then I could review the thing again.
Yes, that seemed sensible.

I rang for a slave to refill my coffee cup, and it was
extremely annoying that it took so long!

Later that day, in the afternoon, Stryker told me that
there were a couple of neighbours who wanted to stud
one of their nigga bitches, and although we didn't
usually do this on a Sunday unless there was a special
party, I shrugged and said "why not?"  I strolled
along to the studding barn but gestured to Stryker
that he was just to get on with it as usual and not
announce me to the guests, and went up to the balcony
where I'd first seen it done all those years ago.  Dad
stood there, proud and ready, as usual, and I could
see that he did enjoy it, really enjoy it.  But not so
Chas - although he now performed satisfactorily, his
heart just wasn't in it:  Stryker didn't have to cane
him to get him to begin, once he'd been "introduced"
into the bitch,  but I thought that the traditional
open-handed slap across the butt to signal to the
slave to begin was especially hard!

Afterwards, when the guests had gone, I remained there
and then called Stryker over and mentioned my concerns
to him.

"Yes, he performs now, but he hasn't accepted truly
that he's a slave, and a whitey stud slave at that.
It's lucky we have your dad... Joe, sir -  to keep him
under firm control most of the time, and it's only at
times like this, when they're both blindfolded, that
Chas knows that Joe isn't on the case.  I've seen Joe
really lay into Chas if he has detected improper
attitudes for a slave, and that's just what's needed -
as I've told you, we only have a very few overseers
here, and we can't watch everything, all the time."

"So he doesn't like studding?"

"Oh no, he likes it enough!  I guess that before he
was enslaved he used to fuck women, and the occasional
guy, of course.  So that's not the problem.  It's more
that he doesn't accept that he's got to do it to
order, in public, as studs do."

I smiled to myself.  I remembered how Chas - Charles
as he then was -  had had that fucking awful snout
ring put in me, saying that this is what marked me out
as a stud!  And I'd experienced last night, of course,
the one in dad's nose and that had prompted me to
remember just how irritating it was.  I asked Stryker
if we needed a veterinarian for snouting, and he
shrugged and said "Well, no  It's easy enough to do.
We've got the pliers that punches the hole through the
septum, and it's easy enough to close the ring up and
super glue it closed.  We only really have the
veterinarian to give them anaesthetic - we used to do
that ourselves, but there's a new law on the humane
treatment of livestock and slaves that says that only
the qualified can now give injections."

"So call him out...."

"Sir, the expense!  Saturday night!   He'll charge a
huge call-out fee, and double or triple the hourly
rate...."

"Yes, thank you, Stryker, for looking after my
interests as usual.  But I do want it done - I think
that with a proper stud's snout ring, Chas might
accept his role better.  It looks as if it's always
going to be expensive, then, as I can only get here on
the weekends...."

"Unless we do it without anaesthetic, sir.  There's
only a momentary pain, I'm told."

I winced as I remembered how this "momentary" pain had
gone on and on, when Chas had ordered it done to me.

"Oh, in that case,  carry on...", I said casually.

Stryker was his usual efficient self, and two more of
the burly overseers were soon gripping Chas tightly
They held him up  against the work bench in the
mechanic's shop on the estate, then used the big vice
to grip his head firmly.  Stryker was very careful not
to crush the skull - although  I think Chas' ears were
hurting somewhat, judging from his screams - and then
told his men to be most careful to hold Chas' body
still as e didn't want him thrashing around and
risking damage to his neck as his head was held
rigidly.

Chas screamed, as you'd expect, when they punched the
hole through his septum, but  I think it was
unnecessary for him to keep screaming and whining as
they threaded the snout ring through and clued the
ends together.  And when they released him and he
stood in front of me, bowed and cowed, his chest
covered in the blood and mucus that was still
streaming form his nose, I do think he could have
tried to be more of a man, and not some whining
coward.

All in all, I suppose, it was a successful weekend:
I'd finally made some sort of "closure" with Chas for
the way he'd treated me;  and resolving my issues with
my father was , at least, started even if the
conclusion was postponed, with Stryker's assurances
that I was doing the right thing.

End Of Part Twenty Five