Date: Tue, 25 Oct 2005 03:02:24 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Dad And Me, Part 32

Dad And Me by Pete Brown    petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part 32 - EPILOGUE

Note from the author:  "Dad and Me" is about the
relationship between Steve and Joe, and with Joe's
death, the story concluded.  But so many readers have
written to ask me "what happened next",  that I
contacted Steve and asked him if he could possibly
spare the time in his incredibly busy schedule to give
me one more interview so that we might tidy up a few
loose ends.   Here are my notes, transcribed from the
shorthand, of that interview which took place in the
bank's executive suite.

Pete:  Thank you for your time, sir.  You certainly
have a fine view from up here, right over the city..."


Steve:  Yes.  But time is money.  Now, you asked if
I'd mind telling you a little more of my life. It was
meant to be only the early years, before I really got
the bank into shape, and we did, as I think I hinted,
start to reap the rich rewards of my wise long term
strategy.  But I can perhaps fill in a few gaps for
you.

I was of course devastated by Joe's death, and my
inability to have made closure with him.  Had Jeff not
been waiting in the office, I do not know how I'd have
made it to the car, and the jet.  It was as if I was
sleep walking, or going trough a long tunnel with the
world outside.  Jeff just sat there, quietly and
patiently by the side of me, never asking, never
demanding, just being there for me.  Although he and I
had not discussed it in detail, he'd seen the "M" on
my butt after we became lovers, and his intelligence
had enabled him to piece together most of the story of
my life.  So he knew how close I had been to dad -
well, few sons spend so much time ,so intimately close
to their fathers, do they?  Especially not when
they're sixteen, and have their own friends, their own
interests:  dad and I had grown closer in these years,
rather than further apart, as so many fathers and sons
do.

When we got to Manderleigh it was pretty tough -
"carry on as usual" meant, for Stryker, carrying on
treating Joe as a slave as he always had done (even
though he knew the whole story).  You will remember
that he was always concerned about the effect on the
rest of the slaves about treating some of them
differently.  So he'd had Joe taken to the cold store
where we kept the produce awaiting shipment.  There he
was, lying next to a couple of niggas who had also
died that week, waiting for the carrier to come.  It
seems that we sell the bodies of slaves to a
fertiliser manufacturer, or something.  All three of
them had been stripped of their collars, and in Joe's
case, the cinch ring and snout ring, as Stryker
explained that at the factory the bodies go straight
into the grinders or something.  It made me fele
almost uneasy to see the paler colour skin around
dad's neck where the collar had come off, and the
small weals there that even the best fitting collar
tends to cause.

There was that tiny trace of a smile on dad's face,
though, and Stryker, seeing my faint distress, assured
me that dad hadn't suffered:  one moment he was
studding away, then he shouted his big customary
"Yes....", as he shot his load, and the next moment he
slumped forward, dead.  "I think, sir, that he died as
he'd have wanted to."

"Yes, Stryker - he was very proud of being a real
stud. And what a way to go."

"Sir, I realise I might have made an error - do you
want your father buried properly?  We could take him
out of here, to a funeral home..."

"No, Stryker.  He was a slave, and he knew it.  And I
knew it.  I've said my goodbyes now, let's go, and
leave him for the fertiliser factory.  Who knows, he
might end up nurturing the lawns here as he did for so
many years.  Bodies are only pieces of dead meat,
after all:  Joe is gone, except in our memories, and
it's senseless to mourn over the husk that used to
contain the man."

Stryker continued to look faintly embarrassed as if
trying to make up his mind about something, then
blurted out "Sir, I've kept this - I thought you might
like a momento of your father."  And there, in his
palm, was dad's snout ring, that ring that I had had
to push out of the way so many times as we'd been
together on that thin mattress in the mower shed, and
had wanted to kiss.  It was that which made me break
down finally, I think - I'd been maintaining an icy
self control now, but this poignant souvenir, this
thing that meant so much to dad, and which I had hated
when I had had to wear one, broke through the barriers
I'd erected.  I broke down, sobbing gently, and it was
the loving embrace of Jeff that comforted me.


Pete:   Forgive me for asking, but are you still
together with Jeff?

Steve:  Yes, of course!  He did go on to do some
part-time study, found he liked it, and ended up by
getting a masters in the psychology of sport.  He's
remained in academia - well, mostly part time, as we
have a busy life - and consults widely on things like
the training of Olympic teams for maximum performance.
 I'll let you into a secret: the USA is doing so
spectacularly well these days, in spite of all the
Chinese hoards who sweep the board otherwise, as a
result of Jeff's insights into the way to get that
"extra ten percent".  His training methods are, some
think, novel - but they work particularly for the team
sports, where any one member can easily be punished
(no, perhaps that's the wrong word) if the whole team
fails to turn in the results.  It's not so far removed
from the concept we use on the coffles.

Pete:  And what has been the biggest change in your
life from those days?  When the first part of the
story ended, you were in power in the bank, owner of
Manderleigh, and you've just told me that having
discovered Jeff, you're still together....

Steve:  Undoubtedly my son!  I had unresolved issues
with my father, as you will have read, and knew that
the only way to truly rid myself of these was by
demonstrating that I could do better with a son of my
own.   It was difficult - having been forced to stud
for all those years, I really couldn't bring myself to
go with a woman, even after the most expensive
consultations with psychiatric councillors.  Both Jeff
and I thought it best for the child to be conceived in
a "proper" union between a man and a woman, not in a
test tube, and this seemed to involve insuperable
difficulties because of my natural reluctance to
perform that distasteful act again.

Pete:  If it's not prying, can you explain further?

Steve:  It is prying, but in allowing you to write the
first part of my story, I feel I have exposed myself
so much that a little more is of no consequence.  We
had two problems:  locating a suitable bitch to
impregnate, and then the actual impregnation itself.
If the law was different, the obvious way to resolve
the first point would be to go into the market and
buy, albeit at a scandalous price, a whitey bitch.
But of course her progeny would be slaves, so that was
out.  It was Miles who devised the plan:  we searched
the bank's personnel files for a suitable mother.  She
had to be intelligent, fit, and single, and there were
other desirable secondary requirements, too - for
example, we wanted a "go getter" who would be
interested in advancement.  Having located such a
person, a junior VP, very much a rising star in
corporate marketing,  we found the second part easy:
it turns out that she was so bored by the constant
procession of "nice" men propositioning her at the
office that for relaxation she liked "rough" men -
blue collars, or even, it was whispered, slaves on
occasion.   It was thus easy for Jeff to meet her, and
with his body and rather rough and ready ways learned
in the forces, to seduce her.  She always insisted on
being fucked with a condom, something Jeff detests of
course as he obviously likes proper skin to skin
contact, but this worked to our advantage.

I jerked off into a condom, in which we made a small
hole, sitting in the limo outside her apartment, and
Jeff put this in his pocket and went straight up and
began to make passionate love to her.  At the
appropriate moment, he slipped a condom on himself,
and then slid the one with my cum on over that, and
entered her.  It was thus my seed that fertilised her
- and she didn't realise this until too late.    She
made the mistake, as she was so busy, of consulting
our in-house medical team, and Miles, now responsible
for all "none business" activities in the bank quietly
suggested to our chief medical officer that he should
"overlook" this pregnancy until it was too late.  By
the time she consulted outside opinion, it was too far
gone, and as you probably know, our stupid abortion
laws, brought on by those crazy "right to lifers",
make the attempt to even procure an abortion a matter
attracting slavery.

Tony is not still our ace marketeer for nothing, and
he soon managed to convince her that bearing the child
and handing him over for adoption was a
career-enhancing move, one that would also leave her a
wealthy woman!

Jeff and I began to bring up our son, and some months
later, lying in bed together, I said to Jeff that it
was time he found a woman and had a son too.  He shook
his head, saying that he'd done enough, as he felt
like a slave stud going through all that business with
the VP!  But as you are aware, I know how to
manipulate Jeff, and we did indeed do it all again,
although this time it was simpler as Jeff could simply
"doctor" the condom himself.  After all, as I
explained to him, I was an only child, and I loved Joe
deeply.  But a boy needs to grow up with siblings and
friends.  "Look at you and me, Jeff", I told him.  "I
want little Joe to grow up with a true loyal friend
and servant, as you are to me.  Your son can be to
little Joe just as you are to me."    But I'd prefer
not to say more on this subject as I want little Joe
and young Jeff to have as normal an upbringing s
possible, given that little Joe is the heir to one of
the largest fortunes in world history.  We keep them
well out of public sight, and they're growing up at
Manderleigh as I do believe that the gentle southern
way of life is more likely to turn them into proper
gentlemen - the country air, and wholesome food grown
on the estate, are exactly what boys need and it's
good training  for them to be exposed to slaves from
an early age, so they grow up with that innate
knowledge of how to own and control a huge herd.

Pete:  And Stryker?

Steve:  Oh, absolutely invaluable still.  He runs the
place, and  I couldn't do without him.  And he's there
"in loco parentis" for Jeff and me as we can only be
there on the weekends - he's got a bit of a soft heart
really, except where slaves are concerned, so he's
good for the boys when they want a bedtime story and
such, that you don't really want to entrust to slaves.
 Mind you, I couldn't risk a man who was so unsure of
his own sexuality that he needed those plastic
"enhancers" to be near impressionable young boys, and
when I told him this, he agreed to a course of
counselling that resolved the issue for him.  He still
looks faintly ridiculous of course with that tiny dick
and his muscled body - well, what man wouldn't? - but
when we're all around the pool now, swimming naked, he
no longer cares.  And I suppose we've got used to
seeing it.

Pete:  I guess that only leaves Chas.  What's happened
to him?

Steve:  Jeff and I had a number of disagreements about
Chas - Jeff is still so "soft" on the issue of
slavery, you know.   And I suppose I ought to be
grateful to Chas for being a comfort to Joe after I'd
been freed. To me, though, it's quite clear:  Chas
committed a crime - drug crime.  We need to protect
our society by ensuring that it's crystal clear that
any involvement in drugs, any involvement at all, by
the richest or the poorest, will result in
enslavement.  I'd be failing in my civic duty if I
released Chas - it would be tantamount to condoning
drugs!  Jeff says I ought to be grateful to Mr
Hawthorne, and "pay it back" by releasing Chas, but of
course that's impossible, as I've explained - and, in
any event, as I keep saying to Jeff, what have I
really got to thank Hawthorne for?  Even when it was
clear that I wasn't a slave, and he took me to New
York, he treated me like one!  I keep asking Jeff to
compare how I treated him with how Hawthorne treated
me, but he keeps muttering about loincloths and
foreskins and such like... Sometimes, he had no sense
of humour!

Jeff countered by asking me to think about how Joe
must have liked having Chas there once I was gone,
and, indeed, we did order Chas to be brought in and I
questioned him about my father.  He seemed genuinely
upset about Joe's death, perhaps more than I now was,
having had that cathartic release when I'd finally
seen his body.  "Master", he almost sobbed, "He was
like a second father to me.  You know how I lost my
own father, and then was enslaved, and Joe was so good
to me, so kind - he understood what it was to lose
someone close to you, master.  He said that I'd lost
my father , and he'd lost his son..."

A stab of what was almost like pure jealousy went
through me.  It wasn't enough that Chas had had
everything, when I was a slave - power, money, and
freedom.  Even when enslaved he'd had more than I'd
had as a free man - I may have got the money and
freedom and power, but had  "lost" dad, and he'd got
him.

My anger blazed, and I felt like having him whipped
for taking from me the thing I now knew I most valued,
Joe.  But he went on speaking, as if lost, somehow.
"I loved him, master, as he was so kind to me, kinder
to me than my own father ever was.  My father never
had time for me, and we were never close.  But Joe and
I had that:  time. Time together, every night, in the
mower shed. And we were close, master, as close as two
men can be."

"Did he fuck you?"

"Yes, master, of course.  I was terrified when I was
first enslaved as I had never been fucked by a man,
but Joe was so gentle, so understanding, and that
first night spent so much time reassuring me, that I
came to love having him in me, master.  And when I
ached from the work as my muscles were not strong, and
the tawse had stung and stung, Joe would caress and
massage me...  But I came to know that I was always
second best, master - at night, sometimes, if he was
half asleep he'd forget, and murmur 'Steve, Steve', as
our bodies pressed together.  It made me sad, master,
as I always knew I was only a substitute for you and
it was you who Joe really wanted."

It was good to know that Chas had been a comfort for
my father, and I felt even more guilty now that I'd
wasted all that time when I could have been with Joe
again properly.  But there is no point in worrying
about what might have been, is there?  You have to
move on.

Somehow it didn't seem right to keep Chas around the
place, knowing he'd been so intimate with my father,
and fortunately there was a neat resolution to the
problem:  you remember I told you about the senator's
aunt?   Well, she is one formidable lady, and when she
and the senator's mother and the senator visited me in
New York, I found her eyeing young Billy in a very
predatory manner when he and his "father", Tony, came
to dinner.  It seems she likes young men, as it "keeps
her juices running", as she so charmingly puts it.  I
did some very good business as a result of my
friendship with the senator, and felt I owed he and
his family a substantial debt of gratitude - and these
things are important in the south, as you probably
understand.  So that Christmas I gave Chas to the
aunt, or, rather, had him gift wrapped and sent around
"on permanent loan" as it would be improper to make
such expensive gifts to members of the senator's
family.  So now he studs her, and according to the
gossip in the slave quarters, he's in use almost every
night.  And of course you see him trotting along
behind her in tiny shorts when she attends garden
parties and other social functions, carrying her
handbag, umbrella, engagement diary, and all the other
things that a fashionable lady requires.

Pete:  That only leaves....

Steve:  I'm sorry, but my screen is reminding me that
my next meeting is already overdue.  I think you have
the outline of a good story there, don't you?  Please
though do remember to continue to use the pseudonyms
we agreed on, as we have today, as I would prefer some
of these intimate details not to be associated
directly with me.  And I certainly don't want hordes
of sightseers to descent on the "real" Manderleigh to
see where these events took place!

THE END
Pete Brown.  London, France and Ireland.
August-October 2005.