Date: Sat, 6 Aug 2005 23:36:29 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Dad And Me, Part 5

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

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

Part 5

Some sort of strange thrill ran through me as I heard
those words.  Look, dad and I had never been
particularly prudish around the place - we were two
guys living together, and if I was in the shower and
he wanted to pee, he just came into the bathroom and
did it.  And if he was having a rare lie-in on a
Saturday or Sunday when he wasn't working, I'd take
him a coffee in bed and if it was hot and the sheet
was barely covering him, so what?  There was never
anything sexual of course, and we didn't go out of our
way to expose ourselves to each other;  but we didn't
make a fetish of covering ourselves either.  So I was
used to seeing dad naked, and of having him see me
naked, but this situation was different:  Mr Hawthorne
and Mr Stryker were going to look at us both, and were
going t compare us!  I felt my dick stirring and
fought desperately to think of something completely
unsexual, like calculus, but the more I tried to
ignore it, almost the worse it seemed to get. I didn't
know why I was excited like this - at one level it was
thrilling to have these two men about to compare me to
dad, but at another level, I could also feel the blood
rushing to my shoulders and head as I started to
blush, knowing that it was humiliating and
embarrassing to be used like this.

I was kind of expecting dad to protest and refuse to
strip.  He had a pretty fiery temper and hated to be
ordered around - in fact, if he hadn't been such a
hard worker I think he'd have got fired from his job
several times for telling the foreman to piss off when
he ordered dad to do something, rather than asking
him.  But to my surprise, still keeping his head bent,
he moved his hands to the front to undo the drawstring
holding his shorts up, dropped them to the floor,
stepped out of them and bent to pick them up.  He
folded them neatly, then still holding them in his
hand, put his hands back behind his back and resumed
the "slave rest" position.

I half turned to him, hardly believing what I'd seen
as dad had done this.  For one thing, the big band of
pure white around his middle had gone:  dad wad snow
the same deep, dark tan all over.  And for another,
his dick seemed to be even bigger than ever.  As I
stared at it, I saw at once that, like me, his balls
had been shaved and his pubes reduced and trimmed;
but what really seemed to make the difference was that
at the base of his dick and balls there was another
"collar" just as we both wore around our necks:  it
seemed to fit snugly in there, nestling in the remains
of dad's thick wiry pubes, and I understood why he
looked so massive.  Like most guys my age I'd looked a
lot of things up on the Internet, even though I had no
intention of using the myself, so I knew that some
guys liked to wear cock rings that both thrust their
dicks forward a bit, and which prolonged their
erections.  I remembered reading that one advantage
was said to be that it took a lot longer for an
erection to subside as the cock ring trapped the blood
in your dick, so I guessed that this was what was
happening to dad - not only was his dick thrust
forward a bit, but it was perhaps a quarter erect.

"Steve, shrug those shorts!".  Mr Stryker's harsh
words, delivered in a menacing tone, brought me out
from my thoughts.  I looked at dad to see what to do,
but he just stood there with his head still
submissively bowed.  So what could I do?  I fumbled
with the drawstring on my shorts, and as I had seen
dad do, dropped them, picked  them up, folded them,
and stood there.

"Oh yes, Stryker, I can see it now!", I heard Mr
Hawthorne say.  "They really are alike, aren't they?
Same nice big aureoles, same general bone structure
and musculature:  once Steve gets down to some serious
work I'm sure he'll get those attractive stomach
ridges that the father has.  And it's fortunate that
both of them have neatly-turned navels, as I do so
hate it when a man's navel seems to writhe out from
his belly."

"Young Steve's well hung, too - that' a very desirable
trait we can point out to or clients that seems to
breed true from the father!  I always prefer men with
balls that hang freely behind their dicks, as theirs
do.  But what about the rear view?"  His tone changed
from one of amused interest when he had been talking
to Mr Stryker, and he said now in one that was clearly
a command and one which he expected to be obeyed,
"Turn around, both of you, and hands to your fronts
then so I can see your backsides properly."

I almost gasped as I saw dad turn, as there was one
other big change to his body that they'd done:  there,
right across his shoulders, stretching almost from one
side to the other, was tattooed "JOE".  Some smaller
characters underneath, which I couldn't quite make
out, were numbers - and then I guessed they'd put
dad's SIN there, on the small of his back.  There also
seemed to be something on his butt, but he turned too
quickly for me to see it.

Well, having my back to Mr Hawthorne and Mr Stryker
was better than having my dick exposed to them, I
suppose.  But then they had a lively discussion about
the degree of tapering of our bodies from our
shoulders to our waists, whether the ratio of our body
length to our leg length was the same, and whether my
butt was more, or less, of a "bubble" than dad's!  It
was totally humiliating to hear two men discuss us
like this, but all the time dad just stood there, not
even trembling with rage as I might have expected him
to.

"Face us again", Mr Stryker called, and I did as dad
did and turned once more.

"I'd like to take a closer look at the boy's dick,
Stryker", Mr Hawthorne said.  "Come over here, Steve."

Dad was still standing there, looking down and
motionless, and I didn't know what else to do so I
took a couple of steps towards the two men.
"Interesting", Mr Hawthorne observed.  "You'd have
thought that the father would have had him cut at
birth, like most boys.  Especially as he's cut
himself, so there's no family tradition of allowing
males to keep their 'skins."

"Shall I schedule him for a visit to the
veterinarian?", Mr Stryker asked.

"No, let's wait and see how he gets on."

"But if we're going to stud him, sir... The clients
prefer a 'skinned stud, as it's somehow sleeker and
more hygienic looking.  I think a lot of the ladies
don't like to see the 'skin drawing back as we insert
him into the mare..."

"Quite so, Stryker.  But once we have him 'skinned,
there's no reversing it.  So let's not be too hasty...
But I would like to see the head now."

As Mr Hawthorne said this, Mr Stryker leaned towards
him and whispered something in is ear.  Mr Hawthorne
nodded, and I heard him say "I suppose you're right -
the sooner we start getting them used to each other,
the better.  We may as well begin as we intend to go
on."

"Joe, present and display Steve's dick for your
owner!", Mr Stryker called out.  I heard dad mutter
something behind me, and Mr Stryker now sounded angry
as he replied "Joe, you know that the automatic result
of failing to obey is punishment.  Now, we want to see
you present and display Steve's dick - so do it!"

This time I heard dad say quietly but quite distinctly
"No, please don't make me do that... It's not
right..."

Mr Stryker was very angry now. "How dare you!  How can
anything that your owner wants you to do not be
'right'?".  He turned to Mr Hawthorne and said "I'm
afraid that this slave is more stubborn than I
thought.  He seemed to be properly broken, but
evidently not.  I can try punishing him, but I doubt
that it will work."

"Try it any way, Stryker.  The slave needs to know
that he will receive an immediate punishment for any
failure to obey, even if we subsequently have to do
more to emphasise the point to him."

"One last chance, Joe.  Either do as you were told, or
fetch the punishment horse over so that Mr Hawthorne
can see you get your stripes..."

As I stood there and watched, dad went to the far
corner of the room and came back half carrying ,half
sliding across the polished floor a punishment horse -
like all the furniture in the room it looked to be an
antique, probably left over from the first time we had
slaves in our country, I suppose.  I watched dad's
muscles strain as he pulled the heavy thing in front
of the two men as they sat there, and then, with a
little shrug which I suppose showed his defiance of
them, and which I knew they would think was insolence
in a slave, he lay down on the leather top and
stretched his body out so that his arms were by the
front legs.  Still showing his contempt for them, he
grasped the handles on the bottom of the front legs,
as if to say "I can take it - you don't need to tie me
down."

I'd never really seen dad's ass like this before - the
horse was slightly angled away from me, so his
muscular butt was almost full on to me as he stood
there with his feet planted on the ground.  As I
watched he made himself as comfortable as he could by
spreading his ankles a little wider so that his belly
was flat down on the horse, and of course as he did so
I saw his balls sac swinging between his thighs, and
got just a glimpse of his dick handing in front of it.
 I could see now, quite clearly, that the thing that
I'd caught a glimpse of on dad's butt was a big,
stylised "M", like the one at the front of the
"Manderleigh" sign on the gates to the estate.

Mr Stryker reached under the horse and took a cane out
of the tool store there, and flexed it between his
hands.  He made a couple of strokes through the air
with it, and I could hear the hiss it made as Mr
Stryker used his powerful body to drive it hard. He
looked at Mr Hawthorne, who nodded, then raised the
cane again, but this time the swish was followed by a
sharp "crack" as it landed on dad's butt.  Dad gave a
loud grunt, and I saw his whole body jerk forward on
the horse - it seemed to be completely involuntary,
something his reflexes had done, without dad being
able to stop it.

I watched in horror as a red line appeared right
across dad's tanned butt, but before I could do
anything, Mr Stryker raised the cane and bought it
down again, to leave a second red line parallel to the
first.  This time dad shouted - no, screamed - as the
cane hit him.  "Stop it!", I shouted "You're hurting
my dad...", and as Mr Stryker raised the cane for
another blow, I tried to stop him, grasping his wrist
as he held it in the air just before starting the
stroke.

Stryker was a big, powerful guy and I had no real hope
of preventing him hitting dad again, but I just had to
do something.  He just kept his arm in the air as I
futilely tried to pull it down and wrestle the cane
from his grasp.  Then suddenly I was lying on the
floor, my ears ringing and my head spinning:  Stryker
had just hit me about the head, very hard, with his
other hand.

"No!", dad shouted, and half raised himself off the
horse.  "Please, sir, please Mr Stryker, don't hurt
Steve.... He doesn't understand...."

"This is what your obduracy and stubbornness has done,
slave!", Stryker told him, ignoring me and standing
there looking down at dad who was now almost cowering
as he lay on the horse.  "The normal penalty for
laying hands violently on a master is a public
whipping, and that's what I should order for young
Steve here.  But I am going to be lenient, just this
once, as it is his first day here.  And, of course,
that young skin of his would probably not recover from
a real whipping, and that would damage Mr Hawthorne's
investment.  So I will give him just six strokes on
the cane....."  He turned to me and went on "But
understand this - if you ever, and I mean ever, lay
hands on a master again, then there will be no mercy.
You will be tied to the whipping post and flogged to
within an inch of your life."

"Please, sir, please Mr Stryker", dad almost gasped
out. "Please don't even do that.  He didn't
understand, he didn't know....  Six strokes on a young
guy like that is too harsh..."

"Nonsense.  He has to learn.  And like when you're
training a puppy, a little physical punishment really
brings the lesson home."

"Sir, please, no.  Please, Mr Stryker, it was all my
fault.  If I'd obeyed you, Steve wouldn't have seen me
getting punished, and he wouldn't have tried to stop
you.... Give me the punishment instead, sir,
please..."

Stryker stood there, looking down at dad.  "Very well.
And you...", he went on, turning to me as I still lay
there, half dazed.  "Do you understand what your dad
is doing for you?  So just sty out of this, and keep
quiet, otherwise I'll double the punishment!"

He turned away, not expecting me to reply, and I had
to watch as six more times the cane came down on dad's
butt, each time eliciting a scream from him, and
leaving behind a thin, vicious-looking red line across
his muscles.  When Stryker had finished and he told
dad to get up, it was clearly very painful as dad got
to his feet.

"On the horse, Steve", Stryker then rapped.

"No!", dad shouted.  "Please, sir, you said I could
take his punishment... You agreed....."

"I don't bargain with slaves!  I have given you most
of the punishment that he deserves, but he also needs
to have some knowledge of what lies in store for
disobedient slaves.  And it would also do him goo to
know what you have gone through for him.  Now, no more
argument, or I might decide to punish you both, even
more...."

Stryker turned to me and said calmly "On the horse,
boy.  You saw how your father rode it - now get down,
and take up the position."

I knew that if I hesitated dad would do something
stupid and get into even more trouble, so I stepped
across and lay down on the leather top, a leather top
now really wet with dad's sweat.  As he'd done, I
gripped the handles on the front legs, and pulled my
body taught, then spread my legs to get as comfortable
as I could be.  I remembered how I'd seen dad's balls
swinging free in this position, and knew that all
three men must now be seeing me in the same way, and I
felt blood rushing to my face as I started to blush.

I heard the swish of the cane through the air, and the
next moment my world exploded into pain, a pain more
intense than anything that I'd ever known before.  I
couldn't help it - I screamed as something hot and
fiery shot through my butt, blotting out all other
thoughts from my consciousness as my brain tried to
understand what had happened to me, and make some
sense from the sharp, fiery sensations of agony that
were flooding into it.

Stryker came over, grabbed my arm, and pulled me to my
feet.  He held me there, close to his body which I
could see was breathing hard form his exertion, and he
hissed "That was just one stroke, Steve.  Your father
took six for you, plus the two for disobeying  me
initially.  Can you imagine now how he is hurting, the
pain he is suffering?"

He stepped away, and looked at dad and me as he went
on "Understand this - if you disobey me from now on,
Joe, in even the slightest respect, I will not bother
to punish you.  Instead, I will give the punishment
that you deserve to Steve:  somehow, I think that this
will have a more pronounced effect on your behaviour.
 Slaves like you who think they are tough believe they
can take the cane almost indefinitely, but I suspect
you will not want to see your son suffering on your
behalf."

He turned to me, and said "Now, Steve, over and stand
in front of Mr Hawthorne, and let's pick up where we
left off."

I just knew that if I didn't do as he said he'd
probably cane dad again, so I took a couple of paces
towards my owner.  The fiery heat from the cane stroke
did at least seem to be subsiding into a dull,
all-over ache in my butt, and I deliberately tried to
stop thinking about it at all.  I set my face into an
impassive mask, as I didn't want Mr Hawthorne, or
Stryker, to know how much I was hurting.  Or,
actually, how angry I was at what they'd done to dad.

"Right, Joe, now get down behind him, and display him
nicely for your owner", I heard Stryker say.  "And
you, Steve, assume 'slave display'."

I felt the warmth of dad's body as he knelt behind me,
then slowly and carefully his arms curled around me
and I felt him put my dick onto the palm of his right
hand.  I desperately wanted to let me hands go from
behind my neck and reach down and stop him, but didn't
dare as I knew Stryker would resume caning us both -
it was awful for me and I'd only had one stroke, and I
just couldn't put dad through more after he'd taken
six for me already.  Dad now started stroking my dick
with the tips of his fingers of his left hand, and as
much as I wanted to, I just couldn't help starting to
bone up.

At one level it as hateful - they shouldn't make a man
and his son do things like this together.  But at
another level I knew I was finding it totally erotic -
the feel of dad's hands on my dick, the warmth of his
body as he leaned against my butt and thighs, the
occasional scrape of the stubble on his chin against
my flesh as he moved, and the feeling of his warm,
moist breath as he breathed in and out.  My bone was
rock solid now, and dad stopped stroking me, still
leaving my dick on his palm.

"Show me the head", Mr Hawthorne said softly, as if
not wanting to disturb the charged atmosphere.

I felt dad's body press close to mine as he leaned
forward and slightly around me so that he could see
what he was doing, and then he began to gently squeeze
the tip of my dick to make the head pop out from my
'skin.  As it appeared, he used his thumb to gently
push the 'skin back, and I couldn't help moaning
faintly when that wonderful sensation of my 'skin
sliding over my dick head came to me.  I knew that it
would be all shining and moist as I'd have been
leaking pre-cum, and this seemed to please Mr
Hawthorne.

"Excellent!", he said to Stryker.  "Just like the
father - a nice, good size, very pronounced flange
around the outside, and a good, dark colour.  They
really are alike, aren't they?  If anyone doubts that
the father's genes will breed true, we'll only have to
show them Steve here to clinch the sale!"

"I wonder if he's like his father in terms of
volume?", Stryker replied.  "Shall we find out?"

Mr Hawthorne nodded, and Stryker rapped out "Joe, make
him climax, but be sure you catch it all."  He leaned
forward and handed a glass ashtray to dad, who let go
of my dick for a moment to take it in his right hand.
Then, now leaning in to me so that I really felt the
warmth of his body, and starting to breathe hard so
that I was very aware of his moist breath against my
skin, dad started to jerk me off.

Look, no one had ever done that to me before.  I'd
never joined in any of the circle jerks that
occasionally went on in the changing rooms at school.
And I'd been so intent on getting my dick up my
girlfriends that I'd never wasted time trying to get
them to do it to me.  So as dad's fingers started to
slide up and down my shaft, this was the first time
I'd ever felt another hand trying to do that to me.
And as you all probably know, there's just no way that
another guy can jerk you off as well as you can do
yourself - well, I mean, he doesn't have the feedback
so that he can get the speed, or the stroke length, or
anything, "just right", does he?  And it was worse for
dad, trying to do it from behind me, and even more
difficult as he really didn't understand what to do
with my 'skin.  It's understandable, I suppose - he'd
never known the pleasure of sliding your 'skin on and
off your dick head as you jerk off, and just tried to
do me by stroking my shaft as if my 'skin was
non-existent.  Now I know that most cut guys are like
that, and if I still had the opportunity, I'd give
them a little lesson in the use of the 'skin in
jerking, before they started!

Still, having dad jerking at my dick and our naked
bodies pressed close, as the two men watched, was
somehow so erotic that it really didn't matter that
dad's technique was rubbish!  My dick was so hard it
was almost throbbing with sensation, and as dad's
fingers moved up and down, I just knew I would cum
very quickly indeed.  I began to moan with the
pleasure and the excitement - I couldn't help it - and
I felt my balls start to contract as they got ready to
pump cum out of me.  I moaned aloud again, and then it
happened - that wonderful, indescribable feeling as
your dick shoots and makes those involuntary jerkings
as all the muscles work together to force as much cum
out as possible.  Dad had been expecting it, though,
as just at the last possible moment he stopped
stroking me and forced my dick down, and held it there
as the "after shocks" ran through my body.

I could feel my butt sliding against dad's skin as we
were both covered in sweat now, and we remained like
that, dad kneeling behind me, holding down my dick so
that it pointed into the ashtray he was holding, for
what seemed like ages but was probably only a minute
at most.

Stryker broke the silence that was other wise only
punctuated by my rasping breaths. "Bring it here", he
said to dad, and I felt dad get to this feet and then
hand the ashtray containing my cum to Stryker.

Dad came and stood by the side of me now, but avoided
looking at me.  He assumed the "slave display"
position at my side, and we both stood there watching,
as Stryker dipped his thumb and forefinger into my
creamy cum that was lying in the bottom of the crystal
ashtray.

"Excellent colour, very high viscosity, and a large
volume", he remarked to Mr Hawthorne. "When did you
last cum, Steve?"

I blushed as I wasn't used to being asked questions
like that, and muttered "This morning, boss."

"In that case this is a very good quantity indeed",
Stryker went on.  "I know young men are at their most
fertile at sixteen, but this is excellent!  When we
stud him the clients will believe he's really doing a
good job at filling the mares - assuming he's fertile,
that is."

"Oh, yes, send a sample off for testing", Mr Hawthorne
remarked. "We need to be able to certify that he's not
shooting blanks."

"Are you going to perform the traditional 'new slave'
ceremony now, sir?"  Stryker then asked.

"I suppose that now is as good a time as any, Stryker.
 We've got the slave, we've got the lubricant already,
and watching the canings, and his father bringing him
to climax like that, has made me really ready for some
real excitement.   Yes, now is a good time."

"Shall I send the father away, sir?  And would you
prefer me to retire so you can do it in private?"

"No, Stryker.   I think that we might use the father
to assist - he and the son have got to get used to
appearing together as we might want double studdings,
so the sooner they lose their inhibitions the better.
And you'd better stay, too, in case the father - or
the son - need a little more discipline.   You know
I'm not shy about things like this anyway - an owner
does what he has to, after all."

"On the horse again, Steve!"  Stryker now commanded
me.

"No, please, sir, don't cane him again.... Cane
me....", dad said.

"Silence!  If you speak again, Joe, I will cane Steve
as a punishment for you.  Now ,Steve, on the horse!"

Resignedly I went and lay there again, as although I
didn't want the cane myself, I didn't want it for dad,
either, and I knew that if I didn't obey, that's what
would happen.

"Right, Joe, you can help."  Stryker's tone was light,
almost as if he was amused at what was about to
happen.  "This is Steve's first time, I would think.
A young man like him will be really tight - and we
want him to enjoy it as much as is possible in the
circumstances.  So take his cum, and really lubricate
and stretch him, ready for Mr Hawthorne."

I lay there, shuffled my feet to get as comfortable as
possible on the horse, and wondered what the fuck was
going to happen next.

End Of Part 5