Date: Tue, 6 Sep 2005 06:49:32 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Dad And Me, Part 6

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

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

Part 6

These days the old customs have almost entirely died
out, I suspect, and even in those times they were
fading.  An owner of many field niggas like Mr
Hawthorne never bothered to assert his ownership
rights over them, leaving it to Stryker, or some of
the junior overseers and guards, if they so chose.
But for house servants and "fancies" like me, he
thought that it was important to maintain standards
and keep alive some of "the old ways and traditions of
the South" that had been much more prevalent years
before.  Therefore he liked to fuck the new slaves who
were to serve around him, whether male or female, as a
way of confirming to them that they were totally under
his control and in his power.

The loss of virginity, whether vaginal or anal, is
something that most people thing ought to be bestowed
freely, to a lover, which is why human societies have
probably view rape as such a heinous crime (after all,
it's not all that important really - it's not as if
you leave the victim permanently damaged, as if you'd
snapped a leg off or anything;  But many societies
award punishments for it that are at least
commensurate with something serious, like murder).
But for slaves, there's no choice:  your owner
demonstrates to you very clearly and forcibly that he
now has total control over you and your body, and that
control extends to him taking his pleasure of you.  I
suppose I was aware of this, as the odd times I'd
watched slave dramas on TV there was usually a scene
where the owner forced the beautiful young slave girl
to have sex - it was even rumoured that some of these
scenes were not "acted", but that slaves were bought
in for the purpose specially.   So if I'd thought
about it, I'd have known what was coming next:  Mr
Hawthorne had ordered me onto the horse not for
punishment, but so that my ass would be conveniently
positioned for him to fuck me.

Dad knew what was coming, though, as when Mr Hawthorne
said quietly "Joe, let's make this as easy as possible
for Steve - take the container of his cum and use it
to properly lubricate and stretch him, ready for me",
he looked almost panic stricken, and said quietly "No,
master, please don't make me do this...."

I saw Mr Hawthorne nod at Stryker, and the next
instant my world exploded into pain again as Stryker
brought the cane whistling down to once more stripe
across my butt.  I couldn't help it - the searing
intensity of the sensation and the sheer
unexpectedness of it caused me to cry out, and I felt
my body buck violently on the horse.

"Now Joe,", Mr Hawthorne continued quietly, "You heard
Mr Stryker explain to you how in future any bad
behaviour on your part would result in Steve being
punished.  Do you want us to continue caning him until
you do as your are ordered?  Do you want to see your
son scream in agony like that - and, as you will know,
the longer the caning continues, the worse it gets as
already beaten muscles receive a second dose.  And My
Stryker might even have to continue down the back of
young Steve's thighs.... Do you remember the special
pain that causes, Joe?  Now you know you have no
choice in the end, as both you and Steve are slaves,
and as his owner, I am going to take Steve's virginity
sooner or later.  You can save him an awful lot of
pain and suffering by accepting the situation, and
obeying your orders.  Now, do as I said, and go and
properly lubricate and stretch Steve, and there will
be no more need of this beating."

I could see dad almost trembling with worry and rage,
but somehow I also sensed that he knew he was utterly
defeated.   He came towards me and stood near my butt,
and ran his finger gently, oh so gently, along the
painful stripe that ran along it.  "I'm sorry, Steve",
he whispered, "But it's in your own best interests,
son.... I've got to do this, to save you from being
hurt even more."

I felt the warmth and gentle pressure of one of dad's
big hands resting at the base of my spine, just at the
top of my butt crack, and then a finger from his other
hand starting to pry my butt cheeks apart, very
gently.  I stopped breathing for a moment, hardly
daring to believe what he was doing to me, and then,
as the pressure of his finger got stronger and he
touched my asshole, I couldn't help it - "No, dad,
please don't...", I called out in a low voice.

"Shh..., Steve.... It's in your own interests, son",
he almost whispered in reply, and I felt his finger
starting to push, gently but firmly, up into me.  I
shuffled my feet, tried to clamp my asshole closed,
but it was no use - somehow the combination of his
strong finger and the psychological effect of his
other hand pressing me down onto the horse took away
my will to resist.  I couldn't get up, I couldn't
scream, I just had to lie there and feel dad's big
long finger enter fully in to me, until the warmth and
sweat of the palm of his hand was against my butt.

"There, son", he whispered.  "Not so bad, was it...
Now hang in there...."

He pulled his finger out and looking back over my
shoulder I saw him rolling it in the ashtray
containing my cum.  When he then resumed poking his
finger up into me, it was much easier as I could feel
it slide in, and dad then moved it in and out a few
times, almost as if experimenting with doing this to
me.  It actually felt good, and without me even
thinking about it, my body relaxed, and I might even
have made a low moan of satisfaction.

Dad's hand, still on the small of my back, must have
detected this, as he said again "Hang in there,
Steve.... One more now...."

There was a  new, tight sensation, and  I wanted to
writhe around and murmur with both a slight discomfort
and a deep feeling of pleasure, as dad was now putting
two fingers up in to me.  And then, as he must be
stretching his fingers apart, I couldn't help myself:
I did give a low moan, as the feeling of having my
asshole stretched so gently and carefully was actually
very sensual.

Dad pulled out again, wet his fingers once more with
my cum, and returned to my ass.  I have to say it was
not so much fun when he pushed a third finger up me,
and now when he spread them apart, I knew my hole was
being stretched to what must be its limits.  At one
level it was uncomfortable, at another it was hurting
and I wanted him to stop, but at another, I didn't
want him to stop - I know it  sounds odd when you see
it written, but when a man is working on your asshole,
there is that very odd mixture of enjoyment and
concern, isn't there?

Dad pulled out of me completely then, and went and
assumed the "slave rest" position, his head
submissively bowed, in front of Mr Hawthorne.

"Excellent, Joe.  Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?
Can I trust you to just stand and watch as I take
Steve's cherry?  Or shall I order you out of the room
for safety?"

It was clear that Mr Hawthorne was musing to himself
and was not expecting a reply from dad, as he went on
"Now Joe, you need to remember the rules here, and be
sensible:  I'm going to do what an owner has a right
to do to a new slave, and you know that, as I did it
to you when you first came here.    I've decided you
should stay and watch, as you and Steve have got to
become familiar with each other and remember that
you're now slaves, rather than just a father and son.
If you interrupt, if you interfere, if you even say
anything, I will not have the slightest hesitation in
ordering a punishment caning both for you, and for
Steve.  I will accept no bad behaviour of any kind
from you, is that understood?"

Even I was a little surprised when dad whispered "Yes,
master."

"Good!", Mr Hawthorne responded, getting to his feet.

Stryker, lounging there, sprawled on his chair, looked
at Mr Hawthorne and asked "Do you want me to withdraw,
sir?  I can remain outside, so that if there's trouble
with either of the slaves, I can be in here in an
instant...."

"Oh no, Stryker!  Stay and watch, if you like.  I've
got nothing to be ashamed of."

I watched as Mr Hawthorne got to his feet then came
around behind me.  There was a rustling and a  "clunk"
which I knew must be his pants falling to the ground
and his belt buckle hitting it, and then I felt his
warmth against my thighs as  I stood there.  The next
moment his hands were resting on my butt, his fingers
to the sides and his thumbs in my ass crack as he
gently pried my butt cheeks apart, and then there was
that feeling, that almost indescribable sensation as
his dick began to nudge its way in.  I almost smiled
as the tip of his dick ran up and down my ass crack as
there was an odd mixture of tickling and pleasure
coming to my brain, but then it was undeniably there -
I could feel it resting against my pucker.

Mr Hawthorne leaned forward slightly, the pressure on
my butt increasing as he took some of his weight on
his hands, and he spoke quietly, almost whispering, as
if it was only me who should hear "Right, Steve...
Here goes.... For your first real experience as a man,
and as my slave.... Now it may hurt at first... But
I'm not a gratuitously cruel owner, and if it seems
too much for you, I'll stop..."

With that he pushed forward and I felt the inexorable
pressure of his dick head trying to get into me.  I
didn't exactly know what to do, and I suppose by
reflex tried to hold my ass shut, and Mr Hawthorne
pushed forward with more force.  "Relax, Steve....
Pretend you're going to take a crap and push
outwards... It will be easier for you..." He told me,
again in that calm, controlled tone.

Well I did, and to my surprise, his dick head slipped
into me quite easily then - well, I know now of course
that with dad's stretching and the lubrication of my
own cum, that was to be expected.  I gave a gasp of
surprise -  a nice surprise, not a nasty one - and Mr
Hawthorne slowly and gently, very slowly and very
gently, continued to press into me until I could feel
his pubic hair resting against my butt, and the front
of his thighs pressed right up against me.  He'd taken
his hands off my butt and now rested them on my
shoulders, not exactly digging his fingers into my
muscles exactly, but exerting pressure so that I knew
he was there, on top of me, skewering me with his dick
and controlling my body totally.

"OK, Steve?"

"Yes, master", was all I could whisper.

He began to fuck me then, pulling out very slowly, and
sliding back in again, and the combination of the way
that my body was responding to his dick and the
feeling of his skin pressed against mine was fantastic
- I couldn't help it, I found myself making little
groaning noises of pure pleasure, and whispering "Yes,
yes, yes..." In time to the gently rhythm of his
movements.

It could have gone on for hours as far as I was
concerned, but suddenly his action changed:  e started
to pull out much more quickly, then slammed forward so
that there was a distinct "slap" noise as his skin
collided with my butt.  This was much less fun for me
as I wasn't sure whether what I was feeling was the
most intense pleasure I'd ever had in my entire life,
or pure pain.  My little low moans and quiet cries of
"yes, yes, yes" changed to be more ones of "Uhhh...
YES" wit h each thrust, but then suddenly it all
stopped.

Mr Hawthorne relaxed his grip on my shoulders, and
sagged forward to lie against me - I could feel the
smoothness of the silk of his shirt along my sweating
back.  "There, Steve, you're properly my slave now.  I
have taken your cherry, Steve.  I have followed that
long tradition of slave owners in asserting their
rights to use a slave for their satisfaction and
enjoyment."

I could feel him pulling back then, and his dick
sliding out of me, and he stood upright.  I looked
around, and saw his dick, still semi-erect, poking out
from under the tails of his shirt as he stood there,
and then Stryker snapped "Joe!  Don't just stand there
- help your owner.  Clean him up!"

It almost defied belief - dad looked really grim, as
if he hated having to obey, but without a murmur he
knelt in front of Mr Hawthorne, put his arm around his
bare butt to steady him, then leant forward and begin
to lap at the slimy dick with his tongue.  It seemed
to go on for ages, as dad knelt there lapping and
licking at Mr Hawthorne's pubes and dick, until Mr
Hawthorne reached down and pushed dad's head back,
away from him.  "Good boy, Joe.  I'm pleased with you,
slave, as you are truly beginning to understand the
power that we have over you.  Now think very carefully
about everything you've been told about punishment, as
I don't want you to do anything foolish and spoil this
excellent performance."

Dad knelt there, listening, as Mr Hawthorne pulled up
his pants and buckled his belt, then went on "There's
another part of the tradition of an owner taking a
slave's cherry, and that's the bit you're going to do
now.... In olden times, especially when the owner had
just taken the virginity of a young female, it wasn't
thought right that it should stop there, as if she
became pregnant, it clearly would be the owner's child
and that would cause potential complications.  So the
master's fucking was always followed by a second one,
from a slave, so that the parenthood of any progeny
would always be questionable.  I like to uphold those
old traditions, and you will remember that after I had
taken your cherry, I had one of the nigga servants go
up you - not that you could be pregnant, of course,
but perhaps the tradition carried on as there would be
no chance of a slave collecting his owner's cum and
using it to artificially fertilise another nigga.  I
like these old traditions, Joe, and so now that
Steve's lost his cherry, he needs a second good
fucking to properly clear out my cum....  Go to it,
Joe!  I want to see that ass of yours really thrusting
away as you pump your seed up into young Steve."

"NO!", dad shouted as he got to his feet, and stood
there, no longer completely submissive, with his fists
clenched by his side as if his body was preparing to
fight. "No, master.  Don't make me do it!  It's not
right! He's my son..."

"Yes, Joe.  He's your son, but you're also both
slaves.  Anything I order you to do is 'right'. It
will reinforce for both of you that life has changed
totally for you.  Now, start to fuck him...."

Dad just stood there, and at a nod from Mr Hawthorne,
Stryker at once got to his feet, too, and stood next
to me, his punishment cane in the air.

"Don't try and stop Mr Stryker", Mr Hawthorne warned
dad. "Remember, laying hands on a free man will result
in a public whipping."

Once more the cane slashed down, and once more I
screamed as it slammed into my flesh.  Stryker gave me
two strokes this time, before Mr Hawthorne signalled
him to stop.  "Are you going to allow Steve to suffer
because of your stubbornness, Joe?" He asked calmly.
"Or are you going to be a good slave, and obey
orders?"

Stryker had the cane raised again, but dad whispered
"Yes, master."

I saw Mr Hawthorne smile, but Stryker seemed
disappointed at being made to stop the beating.  Dad
came to where Mr Hawthorne had been standing just a
few minutes before, and he sounded almost as if he was
on the verge of tears as he said to me in a very low
voice "I'm sorry, son.  I'm sorry, but I've got to do
this.  I can't allow them to keep caning you, son.
Hang in there... I'll be as gentle as I can, and it
will soon be over..."

I felt dad's hands on my butt then, and the heat of
his dick as he positioned himself at my hole.  He
pressed forward, and my mind was in a whirl... I
remembered to push outward, and  I could feel dad's
dick enter me, but it was somehow different.  This was
my dad, my dad's dick now forcing its way into my ass,
the dick that had produced me sixteen years ago.  I
was full of the physical sensation of it, the
delightful warmth and sheer sexiness of a man's dick
inside me, but at the same time it seemed somehow
wrong, that it should be dad that was having to do
this to me.

Dad was a s gentle as he could be, but his dick was
longer, and thicker, than Mr Hawthorne's.  I winced
and even gave little yelps of pain as he pushed in and
then stood there, his firm muscles hard up against my
own, and then as he started to rock backwards and
forwards, I began to pant and almost shout as the
feelings flooded through me.  It seemed to go on, and
on - he must have fucked me for at least five minutes
until I felt his whole body tense, and the small
guttural noises he'd been making became a great cry of
"Jesus fucking Christ.... yes.....", and it was over.

He stood still for a few instants, then slowly slid
out of me.  He went and stood in front of Mr Hawthorne
and Stryker, cum dripping from his dick still, and
with his head submissively down.

"Good, Joe.  That wasn't so bad, was it?  Now, I think
that's enough for today.... " Mr Hawthorne said
encouragingly.  Then, changing his tone, he asked
"Have you decided where the boy will sleep, Stryker?"

"Yes, sir.  I thought it would be good for them to
live together, as they're going to work together.
They are a father and son, after all, and I expect
they're used to sharing quarters.  The pen for the
ground maintenance slave is not all that big, but they
can both fit in as they're so close..."

"Quite so, Stryker.  Would you mind taking them there
now then, please, as I have some urgent e-mails to
attend to and calls to make as he Far East markets are
opening soon?"

"Yes, sir", Stryker replied, then beckoned to dad and
me to follow him as he started to leave the room.

As I got up from off he horse my butt really hurt
again from the strokes I'd received, and I winced and
knew I had a pained expression.  And as I walked
across the room, there was an unpleasant sensation
from my ass - it felt kind of hot, and sore, and
painful, these feelings coming through even over the
dull, throbbing ache from my butt.

Stryker led us out of the house and across the yard at
the back - it felt really odd to be walking along,
like that, totally naked, but dad didn't  seem to
care, so I just followed his example.  We went into a
wooden shack - well, almost a barn - and inside were
lined up mowing machines, saws, and tools of all
kinds.  On the back wall was a barred enclosure, and
dad went in.

Stryker motioned for me to follow, then closed the
door and locked it.  "You know I don't usually keep
you locked up, Joe", he said, "You know you can't
escape with that obedience collar on you.  But today's
events have been a bit unusual, and I think it's
better to remove any temptation from you both.  Now,
sleep tight!"

He strode out, and I looked at dad, and he looked at
me.  The barred enclosure was bare except for a small
mattress on the floor, with a single blanket lying on
top of it.  "Welcome to your new home, son", dad said,
trying to make a joke of it. He reached out and put
his arms around me, and I did the same to him in a dad
and son hug - except, of course, that as we were naked
I could feel my dick rubbing against his.  "Steve, I
never thought I'd see you again.... I'm sorry, son...
Sorry for having got us enslaved in the first
place.... And then sorry I had to fuck you... But I
had no choice, as you'll find out...."

"Dad, I never thought I'd see you again... Don't worry
about me, I'm tough, dad, I'll survive. But what's
happened to you... "

"You mean the tattoos, the cock ring..."

"No, dad... You're different... You didn't argue when
they told you to fuck me. You didn't tell them to fuck
off, tell them it was wrong.... You just did it...."

Dad sank down to sit on the edge of the mattress, and
gestured for me to sit beside him.  "Look, Steve,
things have changed.  I am a slave, and you're a
slave.  And there's no point in arguing - they hold
all the cards - they can punish you, deprive you of
food, keep you chained up..... You know how it feels
to be caned - can you imagine what whipping's like?"

"But dad, you always told me to stand up for what's
right, and never mind the consequences..."

Dad put his big strong arm around my shoulders, and
pulled me close to him.  "Look, Steve, that may be the
ideal, for free men, but it's different for
slaves...."

"Dad, you fucked me!"

"Listen, son, if that's the worst that happens to you
as a slave, count yourself lucky.  Now let's just try
to move on, shall we..."

"No, dad!  It wasn't right.  You should have refused,
or argued... You've changed, dad, you're not like the
dad who would argue with the cops about a speeding
ticket, who balled out the neighbours when they made
too much noise when I was studying...."

"Listen, Steve, let me tell you what happened to me.
After Mr Hawthorne fucked me - and it was the first
time for me, too, just as it was for you - they
decided that I needed to be 'broken'.  So they took me
off and made me work in a field coffle for six weeks.
 You haven't been up close to them yet, but here on
Manderleigh they have twenty niggas in a coffle, and
all of them are stark naked - they don't even give
then a tiny shred of clothing to cover themselves, as
it's an unnecessary cost, they say, and it's too much
trouble to arrange laundry and so on.  You have a big,
heavy iron collar welded on to you, and that's
attached by four feet of chain to the guy next to you,
and that's it:  a nigga in a coffle isn't a man any
more, he's just one element of a machine designed to
work, and work you do!"

"Because you're chained together they know you can't
escape, so they only need minimal guards. But you're
told how much of the field you've got to hoe, or of
the cotton to pick, and how much time you've got to do
it.  The field guards they do have just walk around
with whip things - tawses they call them - with
several strands, and if they think you're not working,
they lash out at you:  your back, your butt, even your
chest - and believe me, a tawse striking your nips
really hurts.  But the worse thing is that the whole
coffle is considered to blame, so it doesn't matter
which one of you they tawse:  it could be the nigga
next to you that isn't pulling his weight, but it's
you who gets the tawse."

"Then at night, in the nigga sheds, you can't get away
from your coffle as you're still chained.  And the
only recreation there is,  is fucking.  The niggas
fuck for fun, and they fuck to punish guys who they
think haven't worked hard enough.  And if they get a
"whitey", they fuck him to pay him back for being a
whitey who's one of the race that's enslaved the
niggas - even though he's a slave, as they are.  So
every night I had endless dicks fucking me, up the ass
and down the throat, and they liked to slap me around
a bit, too, to "tenderise" me, they said.  It was
worse as because I'm a big guy, I was chained into the
'heavy duty' coffle they kept for really tough jobs;
and all the niggas in that coffle are big  guys - not
just with tough, powerful bodies, but with thick, long
dicks.... The guards never came into the nigga sheds
at night, and if I staggered out the next morning
bruised, with cum streaming out of my asshole, they
didn't care:  coffled niggas need to sort things out
amongst themselves, they said."

I thought dad was about to cry as he told me his
story, as the words kind of tumbled out, a little
disjointed as evidently it was strongly emotional for
dad.  His voice got lower and lower as he said "You
know I'm a strong, tough guy, Steve.  But when there
are twenty big buck niggas chained to you, there's
nothing you can do about it - you just have to take
it.  My life was a hell - working all day without a
shred of clothing, the tawsing, and then the
fucking... And there was nothing I could do about it,
no way of escape because of the chains.  And it was no
good complaining to the guards - they didn't care, and
just tawsed me some more, for wasting their time."

"It went on, and on.  I lost track of the days.  I
hated the days, with the heat, the flies, the hard
work, and the tawse.  And I hated the nights even
more, as my coffle mates continued to stick their
dicks up my ass and down my throat."    Dad went
silent for a moment, and I could feel his body tense
against mine.  "I broke, Steve.  I was a strong,
tough, confident guy, but I broke.  One day I just
couldn't stop crying, and they made me work away all
day with tears streaming down my face.  But the niggas
didn't care, and that night they still fucked me, over
and over...."

"When they finally let me off the coffle and brought
me here, to work in the grounds, as a "fancy", I was
so grateful.  They said that if I cause any trouble,
they'll send me back, and next time I'll remain a
coffle slave for the rest of my life - not that that
would be very long, the way the niggas treat a whitey.
  So I have to obey, Steve.  And so do you:  I can't
bear the thought of what those big buck niggas would
do to a young guy like you, who doesn't even have my
strength to try to resist them."

Dad choked into silence then, and we just sat there.

"Dad, look, we're slaves, right?  They can do with us
what they like.  So we have to learn to live with
it..?"

"Yes, Steve.  But it's hard... Some of the things a
slave has to do...."

Dad sounded so weary, but he still held me to him
"But don't worry about it - I think Mr Hawthorne likes
you, and providing we behave, he might be lenient...
Now, we'd better try and sleep - it's tough, even
working on the grounds, and we have to be up at dawn."

The mattress was only a small one, and there was no
other room in the barred enclosure we'd been locked
in.  As we lay down, even though we'd tried, there was
just no way that dad and I could avoid touching each
other.  And it can go chilly at night, too, and with
only the one small, thin blanket to cover us both, I
found that when I woke up in the middle of the night,
we were pressed close together.  Dad was "spooned" up
behind me, his arm thrown almost protectively across
my body, and his hand resting on the flat of my belly.
 He was restless in his sleep, and was muttering
things occasionally as we lay there, and then, of
course, I felt his dick starting to bone up as all
guys' dicks do during the night when they're dreaming.
 Somehow it felt comforting as it nestled in the crack
in my butt, and I almost wriggled as I tried to make
dad as comfortable as possible.  It must have woken
him from a really deep sleep, though, as his hand
moved down, and I realised to my horror that he'd
touched my own erection.

End Of Part 6